Clancy Nacht's Blog, page 13

True Detective Season 1 Finale Feels and Theories

So that’s all he wrote. True Detective is over and I’m sort of surprised by the number of people angry that things weren’t spelled out. Nah, not really. As a writer, this is part of my experience and kind of why I tapped out of the wild conspiracy theories when Nic Pizzalatto said, “Y’all are overthinking this.”

He said it a lot more politic than that, but I can only imagine the mingling of excitement and terror it would be to see your project pored over with such meticulous detail. I had a few really radical theories myself, but I didn’t want to burden the story with what I wanted it to be and let it be what it was.

It’s not how I would’ve gone with it, but I did love it for what it was.

There are a lot of people feeling like Chekhov’s gun was set on the mantle but no one was shot in the third act. I disagree. I think some of what people saw as a set up weren’t necessarily being read as they were intended. This is not necessarily the fault of the writer or the viewer, particularly when one’s relationship with the text is going to be personal by nature.

While I was open to the idea of Audrey potentially being molested by her grandfather and that being the reason for the Barbie rape doll set and the sexually explicit drawings, having engaged in both activities at her age and not needing molestation to do so, I wasn’t completely sold on the idea. I also went through a goth period and engaged in sex acts that may have been considered risky, or at least risque. Again, none of these things are the gold standard of child rape. Sure, they could be, but as it turned out, Marty was apparently just that toxic for the girls. Yeah, I know she was on medication, but so are most of us. Maybe she was depressed because her daddy called her a whore and slapped her–at least THAT I saw and for sure know happened.

As for the King in Yellow, I feel like looking at it on a timeline makes things make more sense. The housekeeper definitely knew what Carcosa was, and so she had been at least initiated into the cult in some way. Sam Tuttle, once he’d put it in a woman didn’t want her anymore. Also, we know he owned a lot of land and was apparently wealthy.

We also know that Errol was at Sam Tuttle’s house enough that the housekeeper noticed him. Also we know that the Ledoux brothers were known cousins of Childresses. And we know that Sam Tuttle impregnated a lot of women, meaning that there were a lot of half-cousins, etc.

This means that the whole Yellow King plus Carcosa mythos definitely happened at a time where Reggie would have seen rich men enjoying some good killing, even if that wasn’t what was happening at present. Not sure how long Reggie was in jail for, perhaps over that time Sam Tuttle died and the game changed. What we do know is that Reggie was later an acolyte of Errol.

This is where things are a little fuzzy as far as the tape is concerned because as we are to understand, there were five men on the tape. Men we know were involved in the cult are dead: Reggie, DeWall, and Errol. That leaves two (assuming that there were only five involved at the time.)

But there are definitely more than two men who would’ve had knowledge of the cult: Sam Childress, Errol’s father who according to the housekeeper gave him those scars and was bound on the bed, Sheriff Ted Childress who apparently covered up for Errol’s kidnapping of children in the area but who had died, the pharmacy shooter who killed himself after saying he knew who the Yellow King was, potentially Austin Farrar who was an administrator of Tuttle Ministry’s schools who was let go for embezzling and I think died in an accident due to his drinking, and Reverend Tuttle had the tape at least, though why he had it wasn’t made clear, but he didn’t burn it.

Now Theriot said he brought up pictures of naked children to Austin Farrar which is where we got that name and that’s who Rust followed up on when he “braced” Reverend Tuttle. That’s where I think he may have been involved because he’d brushed it off. Now theoretically Reverend Tuttle could’ve taken that tape as evidence or blackmail, or maybe he was being blackmailed by Farrar and it was gotten for him. This is where the narrative isn’t clear.

Also it’s not entirely clear what Reverend Tuttle’s aim was by having the task force. Was he trying to shut down the redneck continuation of his father’s cult? Was he going to try to bury it? I’m not sure that he could’ve stayed completely clear of the cult with Sam Tuttle as his dad, but he’d clearly adopted the sort of cult you could take into the daylight. I like to think that maybe he wasn’t completely untouched by what he was preaching and maybe he wanted to stop the violence against women and children, but if that had been true, then probably he wouldn’t have had the tape and probably he would’ve gotten to the bottom of things.

Senator Edwin Tuttle makes no personal appearances, but it is important to realize that when we talk about chain of command, he was Governor in the 90s and would’ve been the only one who could’ve arrested Sheriff Ted Childress, and if Edwin is covering for his backwoods branch of the family, as seems likely, he wasn’t going to arrest him. So Rust probably shouldn’t beat himself up too much over that.

I also suspect that Edwin had his cousin Reverend Tuttle killed when the tape was discovered. Given how quick he got the FBI to back him up that he was of no relation to Errol, he’s clearly connected and on to bigger and better things. If The Yellow King is a true position, Edwin’s the heir apparent, though whether he’s actually involved in perversity beyond politics, the story doesn’t supply.

What we do know for sure is that Errol was at least attempting to ascend. To what, it’s hard to say. He didn’t seem to claim to be the Yellow King, though he made a figure of what perhaps he imagined The Yellow King would be. It’s also interesting that he called Rust, “Little Priest” and said that he had blessed DeWall and Reggie. Obviously no one was entirely clear on what happened out in the woods but Rust and Marty, but Reggie said he’d seen Rust in his dreams. DeWall had said there was a shadow that touched Rust. There’s definitely something about Rust, though I’m not sure if it would’ve been different if Marty had chased Errol into Carcosa. But it does track back to Reggie telling Rust, “You’ll do this again.” Not sure if that was metaphysical wisdom or his knowledge that Errol was still out there. But he did seem to embrace death, so not sure if that is ascension to the cult.

One thing I’ve been puzzling over since the beginning was the lapse in time between the big, showy sacrifices. There are the child murders and there was at least one adult female skeleton in Carcosa. (on a side note, there are babies… and a birthing basin, so I guess he and his half-sister were making baby flowers? ugh) Errol says he does to children as was done to him, so, you know, his dad’s dead and I’m finding it hard to muster up sympathy, but there is no defined set of rules as to how this works. That said, Errol is crazy, so maybe there isn’t one. But there were 7-8 years between the female sacrifices.

All we really know that much about is Dora Lange’s. She seemed to volunteer as tribute. She said she was going to be a nun. Now, clearly Errol knew how to get rid of bodies. He had a lot of land to bury them in. But these special ladies he gave crowns and set up specially. Perhaps he was blessing them with death for their ascension? They are certainly treated with more care and dignity than children that are cast away. It’s possible he really is hoping to be caught, but those murders are different.

The mimicry of voices made me think he was trying on different identities. He’s had to be a bit of a chameleon, enough of one that Rust looked right through him. He definitely presented to police as simpleton, cheery painter guy to the teacher, but obviously there’s a fiendish intelligence there. Also, he and his half-sister seemed rather like children left to fend for themselves. Mimicking the television is a childish game.

Not that much of this matters after he’s dead, and I suppose that’s the point of not answering these questions. The motive is really only that important when you’re trying to figure out who’s next and once Errol is dead, no one’s next, at least not from Errol. Everyone else who may be culpable in the cover up is done covered up and are nigh unreachable.

That fact is maybe what will help Rust and Marty move forward with their lives. At the very least, there won’t be more victims. Rust choking up thinking about his daughter’s love was so moving. While the TAKE OFF YOUR MASK that Errol yelled at Rust was a call back to the play The King in Yellow, up until now, we’ve never seen behind Rust’s mask. The shadow he had been carrying so long was perhaps that he’d let down his daughter and his father. Death probably wasn’t an ascension for Errol, but being near it seemed to help Rust ascend back to humanity.

For me, that’s a solid ending, a good one that solves the basic problem we started with. Can’t wait for next season!

Filed under: recaps, true detective Tagged: feels, theories, true detective, true detective feels

Hannibal Feels: Kaiseki Recap

Here we are again, a new season, bold new killings and no longer do we need to send someone to help Will Graham. Because really, who are we going to send that can get past Dr. Chilton? Or Hannibal for that matter.

One thing we do know from the very beginning, Jack Crawford doesn’t look like he’s going to make it past Dr. Lecter! Wow, what a start. Now, if I were putting money on the actors, of course I think Fishburne would have it. But this isn’t the actors, so I think Jack Crawford is kinda screwed. Knives flying, guns being disarmed, and Hannibal throwing himself violently against the door!

How did I not see you were a cannibal? Stop eating my hand!

Aside from the excitement of the actual physicality of the scene, if indeed Jack Crawford is going to bite it, this could be a major trumpeting that this ain’t your daddy’s Hannibal. There have been tweaks from cannon all along, of course. Alan Bloom is Alana. Freddie Lounds is a lady, too. Miriam Lass seemed to be a roll up of Clarise Starling and Will Graham from the books, only while Will sort of happened into Lecter’s lair and made it out alive, poor Miriam did not.

Okay, so that part is kind of major as far as marrying it all back to the books, and of course Will Graham winding up in the sanitarium where he’s consulted like Lecter is later is also a major divergence, but, I mean, what are we going to do without Jack Crawford? Oh, the perils of not being the titular character.

Anyway, Kaiseki! And we move into the past, 12 weeks earlier with some sushi that I’m not sure is people, because I’m pretty sure flounder is flounder but for all I know, I’ve been eating human this whole time. Damn you, flounder!

Anyway, it’s a flounder of mourning that Hannibal is sharing with Jack. They are both very sad about Will Graham. Apparently Hannibal’s ruse only lasts 3 months, at least with Jack. I’m not sure how long Will winds up in the sanitarium because Hannibal knows what to do with bodies.

Now that his mind is no longer on fire, Will Graham has taught himself the art of mind fishing. He’s still haunted by the nightmare stag, even when he’s actually in Chilton’s dunking booth–a very small cell where Will is not being psychoanalyzed, though not for lack of trying. He asks to see Dr. Lecter, who shows up as the Wendigo in Will’s mind-creek. But don’t worry, that’s not the official visit.

Apparently, Alana Bloom filed a report that questions Jack Crawford’s judgement in bringing Will Graham into the field. There is an internal investigation being launched. Apparently, if Dr. Bloom does not recant her report, Jack Crawford will be SOL in the future of the FBI. He’s incredibly calm about this, but you know he feels responsible. However, it does set up that it’s maybe in his best interest if Will Graham is correct and Hannibal is the devil.

Workers trying to clear a clog in a dam come across bodies that have piled up. Gross.

Then the pretty. Hannibal visits with Dr. Du Maurier where he discusses Will Graham’s request to see him. Hannibal misses him, he says. Du Maurier says he’s obsessed. I agree! I have read fanfics, so I think I know how deep this obsession goes.

Anyway. Hannibal still feels that he and Will are friends. He sees them as very much alike and therefore they can’t help but be friends, right? Right. Sure.

Only, when Hannibal gets to Will’s cell, Will doesn’t seem delighted to see him. In fact, he says that they are a million light years from being friends! But he does also admit that he no longer hears himself inside of his skull, now he hears Hannibal’s voice as his own.

This is, of course, what Hannibal considers friendship. Losing his individual self to Hannibal. I get the feeling later in the episode that Hannibal is hearing Will’s voice as his own. But we’ll see about this.

Will warns that what Hannibal did to him is somewhere in his head and he’ll find it. I get the feeling that Hannibal would like to see this happen, like part of him really loves having Will trapped in a cage where he can visit as he likes, because Will is dangerous to Hannibal’s freedom. However, I think he’d also like to know if Will can get himself out of this predicament. He probably likes to think that if Will can and does that he’ll come to the realization that he and Hannibal are more alike than not alike and will see his imprisonment as a soft punishment for not coming to that conclusion sooner.

Or not. But Hannibal definitely does not see what he did to Will as something that should impede their friendship. I mean, really, what’s a little murder and intubation between friends?

In the meantime, the FBI is set to investigate Hannibal. It’s apparent that everyone’s upset with themselves for not seeing Will’s trouble. No one seems to believe he was a stone cold killer, just that the encephalitis got the best of him.

Without Will, they are less one empath to solve crime for them, so Jack enlists Hannibal to come on down to the dam to start clueing for looks. There are several weird floaty bodikins. There is no mind metronome for Hannibal, but he does deduce that they were injected with silicone and perhaps the discards of imperfect trophies.

Du Maurier receives informed consent from Hannibal to tell the FBI whatever she thinks they want to know. She rightly realizes that she’s taking on all of the risk while Hannibal looks like he’s being cooperative. If she becomes a danger to him, she seems to realize what that could mean. But that doesn’t matter to Hannibal at the moment. He’s in happyland having played Will Graham for the day, seeing things as he would see them. Yeah, he acts like he’s got a crush, which would be kinda sweet in someone less demented. It’s a little like being a mouse who’s attracted the affection of a cat.

Alana visits Will. She’s taking good care of Will’s dogs, so she gets an A+. Poor Winston. He misses Will so much that he keeps going to Will’s house looking for him. That made me a little teary. Winston cares! “I WOULD’VE HELPED WILL GRAHAM BUT I DON’T HAVE THUMBS! IT’S BACON!”

While Will has given up some hope of mounting a legal defense that will get him out of this situation, Alana has not. He keeps firing his lawyers while she tries to put on record that he shouldn’t have been out in the field and throws him possible defense strategies. Will talks Alana into some hypnotism to try and remember how this was done to him, or for her, how he’d done it. Chilton listens in because he’s a creep. There don’t seem to be any other inmates in the basement, but who knows, someday.

Even in hypnotism, Will has a hard time not making people scary spooky. His fantasy Alana is a very pretty water smoke monster who kisses him into a weird buffet table of rotting food and a Wendigo. What’s for dinner? An ear.

Chilton goes to Hannibal’s for dinner to report on Alana and Will’s conversation. He’s apparently a vegetarian now due to losing his kidney. Or, as Hannibal says, it was taken from him. That doesn’t bother Chilton nearly so much as the prom king of patients giving him the cold shoulder in the dunk tank. Oh, that Will. He’s so smart and perceptive, why won’t he talk to me? Maybe you answered your own question, Chilty.

Hannibal seems especially chuffed to hear that he is Will’s favorite topic of conversation to anyone who will listen. Sure, he’s keeping tabs on that situation, but he probably believes his defense won’t be seen through.

On the subway, a young man with nice skin is told he has nice skin. Later, the man with nice skin’s car alarm is going off. I guess he uses his car on weekends or not in the city? Anyway there’s a plastic bag sticking out. He opens the trunk and… wakes up with his hand sewn to his cheek in a pile of bodies.

Team sassy science is stumped. Heroin in the discards, preservatives, silicone, they get the how, but not the why. None of the people have any rhyme or reason for why they were chosen. So Beverly Katz goes to visit Will to ask him what’s going on. I guess Hannibal can’t do that good of an imitation of Will Graham.

She presents the file, then pictures of people who are missing under similar circumstances. Will looks at the pictures, starts sorting them like a deck of cards and declares it…a color palette. Someone indict Pantone!

While eating what appears to be a school lunch on a tray…memories of intubation in which Hannibal inserts an ear into Will’s stomach return. I will never eat Salisbury steak again.

I think I saw a porn like this…what? I watch a variety for research. RESEARCH.

It appears that Winston isn’t the only one who goes to Will’s old home. Jack Crawford greets a mildly disappointed but still game Winston. Alana shows up in search of Winston. Apparently the dog is more willing to forgive Jack than Alana. There they discuss Will’s lack of interest in a defense versus letting everyone know that Hannibal is a serial killer.

Alana is frustrated because to her this means Will isn’t a psychopath, that he’s just terrified of admitting to himself what he’s done rather than reveling in it. Both Jack and Alana agree that in no way does a man whose name rhymes with cannibal eat people. Okay, that’s not how they said it, but Hannibal is, for the moment, above suspicion.

Jack visits Will who was enjoying more mind fishing. Not sure if Jack went to visit Will on his own or if Will summoned him, but Will is more than eager to share that he has recovered a memory and now he is like a dog with a bone. Now he knows without a shadow of a doubt that shenanigans were played and that he knows his own mind and his mind, even while on fire, would not let him go killerating people for no reason other than being kind of inflamed.

It seems that Hannibal learned the system well–well enough not to crowd the issue with an overabundance of evidence. Just enough. Jack says that Will stood over Cassie Boyle’s body and described himself to Jack. Will maintains he was describing Hannibal. Just, neither of them knew it.

Maybe that planted a seed of doubt that took three months to blossom. Or maybe Jack sees something that makes him doubt. We will find out soon what unravels Hannibal in Jack’s mind this season and what that means for Hannibal’s future!

Also, the color palette thing.

So, if you have Amazon Prime, you can stream last season’s Hannibal free!

If you missed this episode, you can watch it online  until 5/23/14

Filed under: hannibal, recaps Tagged: hannibal, hannibal feels, hannibal recap, hugh dancy, Jack Crawford, Will Graham

Coming soon: Black Gold & Double Black in print

I don’t have an exact date for when these will be out, only that it’s probably around this month. But I got the flats and it’s pretty cool! So if you were waiting to read Black Gold or Double Black because you wanted it in print, it’s coming soon!

Filed under: Loose Id, writing Tagged: black gold, black gold 2, book, erotic, loose id, m/m

Coming soon: Black Gold & Double Black coming out in print

 

I don’t have an exact date for when these will be out, only that it’s probably around this month. But I got the flats and it’s pretty cool! So if you were waiting to read Black Gold or Double Black because you wanted it in print, it’s coming soon!

Filed under: Loose Id, writing Tagged: black gold, black gold 2, book, erotic, loose id, m/m

No, I’m not going to GRL 2014

And it’s not because I don’t want to. Or because management’s changed, or I couldn’t get to the website in time or anything like that.

I wasn’t going to post about it, but I’m getting a trickle of questions and so I figured I may as well answer here.

I’ve been very slightly quieter on social media after a string of posts about my migraines. I know a lot of that has been shoved to the side because I’ve been posting quiz results and other things. Basically I stopped talking about it because I was tired of thinking about it and I figured everyone was probably tired of hearing about it. But it hasn’t gone away. I just stopped talking about it as much.

Around November the frequency and symptoms of my migraines increased. I think in the grand scheme of things, I’m lucky. I get double vision along with the pain but the pain isn’t such that I can’t bear light.

However, double vision does make it difficult to do much of anything, including drive. And when the migraine comes on like that, I can have that symptom for 2 weeks. I’ve missed some work, done some work from home, and had a torture chambers worth of tests including MRIs and spinal taps.

The truth is, no matter how fun it is to watch House and see his genius revelations that lead to instant cures, my new life of rapid-fire migraines has no real cure, only treatment for the symptoms.

For the past month and a half, I’ve been trying out new and exciting poisons to tame the migraines enough that I can function like a normal human being again. The last one made it so that getting up to walk to the kitchen was an exhausting event, gave me nose bleeds, and often I couldn’t feel my hands and feet. I didn’t post too much about this because I was miserable and I didn’t want pity, I still don’t. I’m just using this as an example of how badly some of this trial and error goes. That went on for two weeks.

You know things aren’t going well with your headache when trepanning sounds reasonable. Image, Hieronymus Bosch

The medicine I’m on now seems like it may work. I still have one more week of ratcheting up the dosage and once I’m at full dose, that’ll be where the rubber meets the road.

Right now, I just don’t feel like I can make plans for October. I’m closing in on month four of trying to deal with this and it’s trashed all of the plans that I had made. This is a long-term illness and I am just at the start of it. I don’t even feel good about making plans for next week, let alone over half a year from now.

I’d like to be optimistic and believe that by October I’ll have it all in hand. Honestly, I thought I’d have it together by December, then January. February is on its last day and maybe I’ve got it arranged, but the point is, I’m just not sure if it’s under control in the way it needs to be for an extended period.

I had to make this decision for myself. I had to be very honest because I know that if I signed up, I’d go, whether I was well enough to attend or not. And if I was really, really not, I would be so devastated. Even more so than making the decision. Trust me, it wasn’t an easy one to come to. I’ll miss everyone there and will probably be watching jealously on Facebook and Twitter to see what everyone’s getting up to.

I may do some events closer to home where I don’t have to commit to an entire week and the stress of planes, trains, and automobiles. I’ll keep everyone updated.

Filed under: about clancy Tagged: grl, personal, rant

Out Now: Still Remains (m/m erotic horror)

Broken, abandoned and left for dead, Daniel wakes in a strange room, all but healed from fatal wounds inflicted by a father who never loved him. Slowly he pieces together the truth of his savior—or his captor. Mysterious and brilliant, Roman stirs Daniel, rousing hopes that neglect and abuse rendered dormant. He can’t resist unraveling the older man’s dangerous enigma, but will it mean love or death?

Still Remains available now on Amazon

Filed under: hannibal, promo, published, writing Tagged: erotic, hannibal, horror, m/m, promo, short story, writing

Somewhere Nice

The girls behind me are screaming, throwing their iced-down sodas at my back. Cubes spatter the back of my head; sticky, sweet liquid splashes in my ear. My hair carries it, wrapping around my face. It tastes sweet like Dr. Pepper, like cherries.

There is no choice but to keep moving forward, keep breathing. To look back would incur more scorn, more ridicule, and that I can’t take. Not from her. Not from Jennifer.

I try not to think of the freckles across her brow, the way her red hair spilled around her face when she was on top of me. Her brown eyes, how she looked at me, how soft she was. Cushioned, not hard like a boy. Not awkward. Just soft. Soft kisses, soft touches.

“Bitch!”

Is that her yelling at me? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. If it is, I’m blocking it out.

The graveyard gates are cold in my already shaking fingers. The tights and my cheerleader uniform does little to combat the chill of the November air. But that isn’t what makes me tremble. The heat of my shame makes my skin burn. Ice cubes don’t stand a chance.

It takes a couple of hard pulls on the cemetery gate before I realize that they are chained together. I look back, questioning, but I can’t see anything except the headlights and the shadows of the girls, still shouting.

They keep back from the gates. From where they stand, they can’t reach me, can’t touch me. But that is the only way back. Now that I’m on this journey, I have no choice but to move forward.

There is just enough of a gap for me to squeeze through. Thin me, bony me. Girl at the top of the pyramid because she’s the lightest me. Girl most likely to land on her ass when the other girls don’t feel like catching me me. I hate me, my skinny legs, bony knuckles, mousy brown hair.

Highlighted now. Highlighted because mom was so proud. She was so proud that I made the squad. I think it’s the first time she’d spoken to me in a year.

I squeeze my way through the bars and the girls go silent, like now that I’m on the other side they think I’m going to be sucked up into the earth.

I’m nervous about that, too, but not because I’m ignorant like them. Not because I think there’s some sort of reckoning for homosexuality. I’m nervous because this is an old cemetery and wood rots. Because gasses below can cause sinkholes. Because it’s pitch black beyond that copse of trees and I already can’t see shit.

“Anne?”

That is Jennifer. I know it’s her and I don’t think she called me bitch. But she’s not stopping them. She sounds scared. I hope she is. Her voice, her betrayal, it sends me deeper into the cemetery, feeling my way along, touching bent and broken gravestones. Hopefully I’m on a path, not walking over anyone’s grave.

“Anne!”

She’s screaming now, and I know that means they can’t see me. Good. Because I can’t face Jennifer’s betrayal right now. I can’t see her face and not want to smash it.

Tripping over a thick root, I catch myself, and I’m panting, clinging to an old, scarred tree. I slide my fingers over the strange dips in the trunk, fingers coming up sticky from some deep wound.

I close my eyes and see lightning, feel burning searing from my shoulder straight down to my belly button. I back away, screaming, and trip over another root. I take the fall and lay there, twitching from the strange electrical shock. The air is cool on my breast, too cool, and when I feel for my uniform, my hand comes away with fabric.

Lying there, I finger the wound, but it isn’t deep. It tingles, but it isn’t sore, not the way burns normally sting. I touch my sticky fingers to it and think about the tree, about the lightning strike, how it would rip through its body, the smell of burning wood. Me, I don’t smell anything: no burning flesh, no polyester stench, nothing.

But I hear screaming. Shouts. Wailing. Jennifer, she’s calling my name; she’s rattling the gate, but it’s muffled, like she’s coming from centuries away.

There’s a crack like thunder that’s so powerful it shakes the ground. The trees and bushes whisper of the coming storm, and all I can do is smile.

Above me, I see light. Pure white light in a corona around the tree’s silhouette. It’s twisted and ugly, reaching up to the starry sky with gnarled branches like claws. Like a giant hand, old, true, tested. And all around it is light, bright, blinding. When I close my eyes, the image is still there.

I smell ozone, and my body tenses, ready for the rain. It slices at me like broken glass: sharp and cold, streaking my legs, scratching my face.

And Jennifer, I can’t hear her anymore. Just the echoing peal of her final shriek before there’s the sound of a car speeding off on gravel, leaving me here.  Alone.

When I open my eyes again, it’s dark. Something scuttles by my head. Twigs break, but I can’t see what caused it. Between the after burn and the loss of the distant light the lone car afforded, opening my eyes makes little difference.

Even the sky is gone, leaving me with only the wet wood smell and the feel of damp leaves. But the tree, I know she’s there, I know she’s waiting.

I shrug out of the top of my uniform. The chill air prickles my skin, and I shiver as much from the cold as from awe. I let my skirt fall. My panties, my shoes, they all fall away because I don’t need them.

Closing my eyes, I reach out with my hands, fumbling blindly, knowing she’s there and knowing that I will never see her, not with my eyes. But I can taste her, and she tastes like fresh soil, like rain on pavement. She feels like a lone flower growing from the cracks in asphalt. She is strong. I have never been held so tightly, but I can feel nothing. No skin, no lips, no soft breasts on my own.

Yet she is all around me. When I inhale, she is inside of me, growing like moss in my chest, crushing me, filling me. Still I wander forward, feeling nothing but broken twigs beneath my feet and a slow sense of suffocation.

* * * * *

Mary slammed the locker door. “Who cares what happened to her, Jen? She was a pervert watching us all showering. She probably tried to finger us in the pyramid. Gross.”

Mary’s pinched face grew even tighter, stonier.

Jennifer frowned, drawing her fingers lightly over her books. “She was on the top; her hands didn’t go anywhere.”

“Whatever.” Mary spun around, heading down the hallway, her bleached blond pony tail waving like she was saying goodbye.

Looking down, Jennifer swallowed. None of the girls wanted to talk about Anne. She’d just disappeared as far as they were concerned.

Opening her book, Jennifer looked at the love letter that had gotten Anne in trouble. All of their quiet chat, their innuendos, their sleepovers, and Anne had to go and write a fucking letter. Jennifer’s name wasn’t in it, but it didn’t have to be. She knew it was for her, and the other girls on the squad probably knew, too.

But Anne, she was new. They hadn’t grown up with her. She wasn’t part of the tribe. Not really.

Jennifer winced, thinking about the girls yelling at her, forcing her to that old cemetery. What was that going to prove? Grabbing her cross reflexively, she wondered if what the town said was true. Maybe there were Satanists out there sacrificing virgins.

Virgins. Well, Anne wasn’t that. Not really. Jennifer chewed her lip, trying to summon the courage to drive to the cemetery right then. During the day it couldn’t be as scary, could it?

Dave slapped her ass, curling his fingers in to tip her forward. “Come on, gorgeous; you’re going to be late for class.”

She resisted the urge to smack him away. “I don’t think I’m going.”

“Ditching? Awesome. Let’s do it.” He thrust his hips against hers in obvious invitation.

“I’m pretty sure Mary wouldn’t like that.” Jennifer toyed with her hair, playing coy but thinking it might not be a bad idea to have a lineman at her disposal for the search. If she had to suck him off, so be it.

“Probably not. But look, it’s a limited time offer. You want this; you say so now or forever hold your peace.”

She tried not to look as repulsed as she felt. There was a time when an offer like that would have made her cream her panties–not because she wanted him, but because it meant she was accepted. Now being accepted by these people, by these violent aliens, wasn’t so appealing.

Jennifer smiled. “All right. Let’s do it. But on one condition.”

“No anal; I got it.”

“Ew.” She took a breath to control her revulsion. “I want to do it at the old cemetery.”

“Kinky. Let’s go, Morticia.”

* * * * *

I can smell her coming before she’s even in sight. Her lotion, her lipstick, the sharp smell of the cheap powder she uses to keep her face from being shiny.

And behind her, I smell him. Cheap cologne he wears too much of because he thinks it’s cool. Because he thinks it covers the smell of pot. Because he’s young and stupid and has the world laid out before him, ripe with possibilities just because he’s got a dick.

They’re out here together, and the tension rises like the sound of the ocean in my ears. I smell of brine, of earth, and I can taste the leaves and muddy water from where I lay.

When I stand, the air electrifies. Mud runs down my pale legs, cool and soft. I can feel her calling to me before I hear her voice.

“Anne! Anne!”

He’s behind her, and he isn’t happy. He’s shouting her name, calling her a bitch. He’s chasing her down and shoving her against a tree.

His hand is up her skirt, and she’s wailing, crying no. Crying for me.

My body is electrified; it sizzles and snaps. I see sparks like fireflies out of the corner of my eyes. I feel the surge; it snaps a branch above me and lands right behind him while he’s trying to force down his jeans.

I moan for the tree, for the loss of its limb, but it has given her enough distraction to wriggle away, and she’s running, running, running towards me.

I raise my arms, feeling the wind rustle through my fingers, feeling it catch my hair, and she sees me.

She sees me, and she screams. And recoils.

I can’t speak. I hold my arms out to her, and they sprout branches, leaves, growing like vines, splitting my pale skin.

She screams and screams again, swatting away my limbs even as I engulf her. She’s crying, and I know she’s scared, but she has come for me, and I want her. She doesn’t understand, but she will.

I crush her against my breast, harder and harder until she can’t breathe, until the screaming has ended. My chest splits open, cracking like the sound of wood breaking. Her bones grind, muscles and sinews snap. Her blood, bright blood, courses from her mouth, down the long line of her body.

And I swallow her. I take her in. It is ecstasy.

It leaves just him.

And we.

We are very angry with him.

He’s pulled up his pants, and he’s shouting. Red face, steroid pimples, buzz cut. He’s calling us a bitch. He’s swearing he’ll just leave us. Leave us here to rot, to die.

We laugh, and it forces the birds from the trees. Animals scamper. But he, dumber animal that he is, doesn’t notice, doesn’t understand.

We…we are united. We are one. I feel her in here with me, her body against mine, her spirit now complete. And she is happy. We are happy.

We watch him, and he is back in the graveyard, kicking over stones, waiting like he thinks he’s the predator. His fists are balled up, teeth grinding; it’s all so funny that we laugh. We laugh and the ground shakes, and he realizes his fear.

He drops to the ground, holding it tightly. We feel him like he’s on our breast, like he could hear our heart. We let him rest. We feel his pulse race, his body curl up like he’s a baby.

And we think of him. We think of his hot breath on our face. We think of the things he called us as he tried to pull out his little worm to violate us.

The anger cuts us, and we feel the crackle. We feel the burn. It singes our lungs.

We walk out to him, our legs heavy, stiff. Our skin is growing knobby, hard in chunks like bark, and I can feel the cycle is coming to a close. We are together; what more could we want?

But still we move on, each step hard and loud.

He lays there, staring in shock. We are a yard from him when he starts to scramble, but we are deep when we plant ourselves in. We shoot down through the earth, finding hard wood caskets, soft mouldered bodies. We leach the moisture, wick it away so it helps us move, makes us more flexible.

And then up. Up, up, up through the dirt and we feel the soft flesh. So fragile and bursting with warmth and life.

He screams, and our root goes through him, piercing him through the back and up through his heart in a satisfying spray of blood, bright blood. Then more. More roots, more tangled tentacles. We web him in, roots growing shoots as his blood feeds us. His marrow excites us. We pull him down into the earth, down deep below us.

And we feed.

Filed under: Uncategorized, writing Tagged: freebie, horror, short story

True Detective 1/5 Feels: The Secret Fate of All Life

True Detective. Now it’s getting thick. I’m not going to recap so much as give thoughts and ideas as I go at this point.

LaDue. This is the man, apparently. We’re hot on his trail. A two man team and they’re going to take him down in an unconventional way. None of this seems to be getting much push back from the force that seems otherwise pretty well regulated. All these back channels and no one’s questioning it. Huh? The case is coming together easy, maybe too easy in some ways, but only in that too easy way that a detective wouldn’t question.

See because we’ve got Rust and Hale and they’ve had to fight their way through hell to get their witness and Rust, well he has a dark stain on his soul and that’s why he can’t meet this demi-religious dirt bag meth cooker. It’s all spooky. Surface spooky. The hooks fit, right? In a surface way.

Marty’s gotta follow their one connection to Ladue out into the middle of nowhere to where the meth cooker is. Their yellow king, or at least a bottle blond tall guy who, in a pinch could be a yellow king. His horns haven’t even proper grown out of his forehead, but otherwise he fits the part with some incriminating tattoos. Devil traps are everywhere and in the back? In the back are one dead child with two other abused and starving, waiting to be tortured and killed. The main cooker, the tall yellow one mumbles insane bullshit, talks the insane babble that he probably relieves, but god only knows what he thinks. I mean, he’s a meth head, so whatever.

Marty comes out, infuriated by seeing tortured children, and shoots the guy in the head. Rust is left to fix the scene like a shoot out so they can get the children out and make them look like heros. Interesting as that is, that’s not even the point. The point is, these guys were the pawns. This operation with their “protective devil traps” were the pawns. This was the shit you put out there to feed the cops to hide the really big shit. In the game of chess, you want the yellow king. These were the pawns.

After the celebration, Rust catches out a guy for a double homicide who offers insight into the Yellow King. The big guy. The one who kills the real people, the antlers. Not the one killing kids. The big 7-year-apart murders. The big guns. It’s a conspiracy that goes deep. The one that needs to be kept so quiet, they send on a task team to bury it.

Before Rust has his chance, the guy kills himself in the cell. This is clearly what kills their friendship, as I suspected from the start. As that there was an actual 7 year span between the murders. These others are only tangentially connected. Could be copycats. Or just allowed for other reasons. Hard to say yet.

Rust wants to learn more, but you already see the questions between them and Rust digging deeper. This is something he’s going to need to do alone. To be approached, he’s going to need to go deep undercover to really see it, to be trusted.

Theories on the Yellow King. Noticed in this episode that those who could see the darkness in Rus were those who had darkness, “Saw you with Carcosa in my dream” “See a real darkness in your eyes.” He has seen the darkness, been the madness, he will have to get to the madness to bring it down, that’s what I look forward to seeing.

I suspect the darkness in a man in a suit. I saw one in the preview in next week’s episode, in a yellow tie. A man who leads a church. Many old churches have been desecrated with old paintings and devil traps–maybe to claim them for satanic power, maybe to try and trap the evil spirits. Who knows until we know what they mean?

Very curious as to where this is going. Feel like we’re being pulled into the direction of Rustin as Yellow King but I’m not buying it. I think that’s what the task force would definitely want the world to believe, though.That would seem to be the way for them to play their part of the game.

Preview episode 6 trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZSZ3dOCH5Vg

Filed under: recaps, true detective Tagged: feels, true detective, true detective feels

Cover Reveal: Still Remains m/m horror erotic

Broken, abandoned and left for dead, Daniel wakes in a strange room, all but healed from fatal wounds inflicted by a father who never loved him. Slowly he pieces together the truth of his savior—or his captor. Mysterious and brilliant, Roman stirs Daniel, rousing hopes that neglect and abuse rendered dormant. He can’t resist unraveling the older man’s dangerous enigma, but will it mean love or death?

Coming Soon!

Filed under: books, hannibal, promo, published, writing Tagged: horror, m/m, writing

True Detective 1/2 Feels: Seeing Things

The episode starts with Rustin in modern time, a little more drunk and philosophical. They start by talking about the devil traps.

Meanwhile back in the 90s, the detectives inform Dorrie’s mother that she had passed and talked about her father who died in a car accident. Apparently she told her mother than she’d been going to church but didn’t seem to know what church. It gets them on the conversation about mothers. Marty’s mom was a real “Donna Reed” type. Rustin didn’t know if his mother was alive.

Next up was talking to friend of the victim who apparently also heard about a church but she thought her friend seemed loopy and high and very thin. There she gave a lead about a “shelter” where Dorrie was staying.

Interestingly, while Marty enjoyed his family on weekends and as days passed, we see Rustin has only a small, round peephole of a mirror in which to look at himself. Back in the car, Rustin explains why he felt the need to get drunk before he went over to Marty’s for dinner. We get more insight into what happened to his child who “passed.” Her name was Sophia. She was two when she was run over in their front yard. There are some theories that maybe he ran her over, that would certainly make his reflection hard to look at.

We learn Rustin had several deep undercover assignments, including narcotics with violent outbursts. “The job didn’t make me this way, I was good at this job because I am this way.” He came close to marrying again, but something fell apart and now, as a burn out, he is comfortable with who he is.

Marty, it turns out, rationalizes his cheating as blowing off steam because he doesn’t want to bring his dark self to his family. He is having an affair with a much younger woman who works at the courthouse who doesn’t appear to mind taking charge. While he doesn’t seem to want to build a life with her, Marty does seem possessive of her, warning her not to go out at night because of this, “Satanic killer.” But she wants more of a life than sex on the side.

Working in HIDTA 4 years undercover is what Rustin attributes his neural damage to, so he’s never entirely sure if he’s hallucinating or not. Apparently, those files are still sealed, but later, Rustin shares because he cares. Or doesn’t care. Or is trying not to care one way or the other, but clearly he can’t help himself.

In the 90s, Rustin visits with the sex worker he’d arranged to buy barbiturates from. He asks her about where Dorrie may have been working. There’s a “bunny ranch” in the middle of nowhere–was that the shelter Dorrie’s friend was talking about?

The next morning, Rustin is pleased to tell Marty about it, but is judgy about Marty returning to work in the same suit smelling of pussy. Defensive, Marty physically attacks Rustin. Calmly, Rustin slips his hands around Marty’s in such a way that he could break his wrists with a few pounds of pressure. Marty is forced to relent and goes to shower while Rustin checks his pulse.

They drove out, trying to figure out where this bunny ranch may be and stopped off at a metal working shop to ask if those guys knew where it was. They claimed they didn’t. While Marty went back to the car, Rustin, emaciated, brainy Rustin, managed to take two brawny guys down enough for them to give up the bunny ranch, which led them to truly the middle of nowhere along a lonely highway with only the smallest ornament indicating where to turn.

The property was big with several trailers and girls barefoot and in sundresses. They talk to the madam and explained they were there to investigate Dorrie’s murder. A very young girl who was apparently friends with Dorrie volunteered to talk. She reinforced that Dorrie was going to a church, leaving her things for what the girl assumed was a better life. She turns the bag over to Rustin.

In it was Dorrie’s diary about king’s children being marked, “Became his angels” She followed the “Yellow king” and “In Carcosa.” Rustin wondered if maybe Dorrie was being dosed. In the diary they found a yellow flier for a tent revival church.

Rustin went from robbery to narco and apparently while on the job killed a man for injecting a newborn with crystal meth. Instead of sending him to jail, they sent him even deeper undercover where he killed three more members of a cartel after which they dumped him in a psych ward in Lubbock, Texas. When he recovered, he cashed in favors from along the way and that’s how he ended up in Louisiana where he apparently could still sometimes be trippin’ balls via flashbacks.

Marty, frustrated by family day at his wife’s parents house, demands to head back to work. His wife is pretty annoyed by her parents as well, but there’s obviously tension. Marty is a good old boy in a lot of ways but he’s a basically good man, recognizing an underaged sex worker and trying to help her out. He believes the world is basically good. Rustin sees the world in some ways as it actually is, doesn’t judge, mostly because he can’t.

At home, Marty’s marriage is in real trouble. He’s withdrawn and she notices, but instead of moving forward, he tries to blame her. He realizes his insistence that the world as “basically good” and his belief that he’s shielding his family from anything is an illusion when he sees his girls have set up a fun-time Barbie gang rape with several Kens and a naked Barbie.

In the present, Rustin tries to rationalize and relive his daughter’s death. They said she felt no pain and he tries to believe that it was for the best because she was spared growing up, spared the pain and died happy, riding her bike. That she spared him the pain of watching her discover the world.

Back in the 90s, a Satanic Panic Squad (aka Task Force) is being set up to link all unusual murders and probably people. If you haven’t seen Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills and you love this series, it may give you some perspective on where it looks like this is building to. Anyway, Rustin realizes rightly that this task force wants to take over their investigation and will probably jam someone up that has nothing to do with it. The captain sets them straight on the pressures and the expected timeline for them to come up with a suspect. They explain the lead on the church and Marty bargains for a couple more weeks for them to try and run the case down.

There is apparently an eventual big throw down in the woods.

Marty knows this is leading to something. These detectives are trying to close their case on someone and he is apparently getting an uneasy feeling about whom.

In pastworlds, the detectives are following up on their flier. There are no dates on the flier and barely a map. They drive out to where they think it should be but see nothing. In the distance is the shell of a burned down church. Rustin sees patterns in the flight of birds–a vision that he associates to being on the right path. He claims that after he was clean a couple of years, the visions stopped. He’s not clean so…what is he seeing now?

They venture into the church which has apparently been burned down a couple of years. It looks unrelated until they find graffiti on one of the few standing walls of a naked woman with antlers.

Next week:

So, interesting things to note. Rustin is being interviewed in the basement, apparently. Or somewhere closed off. Is it a real interrogation room? Are they down there because Rustin asked for it because he didn’t want to be seen or did they not want people to see him? Is Marty being interviewed above ground because the new detectives want him to be seen?

And we now have a fair idea of where Rustin is coming from–apparently not the happiest childhood or maybe his mom gave up on him when he went OMGPSYCHOCRAZY killing people. Or… if he was the one who ran over his daughter. To me, this makes sense because of that weird mirror, though any one of those things could make oneself hard to look at. Arguably killing people in a cartel or who shoot up their babies with crystal aren’t exactly innocent, but he didn’t get to the place of doing that through a happy path.

Marty seems very everyman. He’s cheating on his wife but for what he believes are the noblest of reasons. This is, to me, pretty typical of how that sort of thing works. He wants to be a good man, noble, but in the end, he can’t help but be selfish and rationalize the objectively horrible. This leads me to believe that while he doesn’t want to go along to get along, he would. He has to. But he’s a good enough man that he’s pained by it.

It’s going to be an interesting ride. The preview…good lord it’s getting a little Hannibal again. Rustin may or may not know his own mind. Fantastical deaths and situations. Oh it’s going to get twisted but probably not satanic. Can’t wait!

Filed under: recaps, true detective Tagged: feels, true detective, true detective feels