S.K.N. Hammerstone's Blog

The Porcelain Doll

The doll wasn’t the prettiest one on the shelf. She didn’t have the darkest red lips or the perfect pink bow. Her painted eyes weren’t bright blue and the long curls around her porcelain face were dark instead of soft blonde.

But she was still pleasing to the eye in an odd, dark, quirky sort of way. She sat far above on one of the shelves in the toy store in a dark blue dress, her tiny white hands folded neatly in her lap.

No one ever really noticed her. They were too interested in the brighter and prettier dolls. She sat on the shelf for several years before, by chance, a middle aged gentleman was collecting donations for the children at a dismal orphanage across the square.

The shop owner, being a business man, began to go through his stock to choose the less popular toys. His eyes fell upon the dark, little doll on the top shelf and he looked at her in curiosity.

“I had forgotten you were here,” he remarked, playing with a button on his gray waistcoat.

“It’s alright,” the doll thought to herself. “Everyone forgets me.”

The shop owner shrugged it off and placed her in the box with the rest of his small donation.

“Thank you very much.” The man from the orphanage thanked him as he took the box. “I am sure they will love these.”

The doll was tossed back and forth in the box with the other toys, a chilling breeze cutting through the slats in the lid as they were carried the short distance to the awaiting children.

“Is someone going to actually want me?” she wanted to know.

“I brought you something.” The man’s voice drifted through the cracks in the box.

The sound of the children’s excited cheers sent a thrill through the doll as the box was set on the floor and the lid was removed. Little hands reached inside, taking out toy after toy until the only one remaining was the doll.

She tried not to take it personally as the children dashed away with their new prizes. They couldn’t help if she wasn’t what they wanted.

“Now what’s this?” The man reached into the box to lift her out, looking down at her with thoughtful gray eyes.

He smiled and carried her across the room to a little boy who sat alone in a corner, ignoring everyone else. His short blonde hair was hidden by a cap and he stared at his feet, a sad look about him.

“Look at this, Kieran.” The man held out the doll to him. “Look how pretty she is.”

“She’s alright.” Kieran shrugged but his bright green eyes lit up and he unwillingly reached for the doll.

“Why don’t you take care of her for me?” the man asked.

“I guess.”

As soon as the man turned his back the doll was wrapped tightly in his arms.

“You are beautiful, little doll,” Kieran stated.

The doll felt her heart begin to melt; a heart that had known no feelings save for loneliness for a long time. All it took was the warm arms of this child.

He took her everywhere he went, doting on her day after day and holding her tightly as he slept.

She did nothing to resist the feelings that entered her heart, loving this dedicated child.

As the weeks past he started to have less time for her. He would leave her in his room or forget her entirely. Still the doll loved him the same, waiting for him to come back to her. He needed her, the poor child, and she would give him whatever he wanted.

Then one day he came in angry. She didn’t know why. First he hugged her but then he dropped her on the floor.

“You’re just a doll!” he announced. “You can’t replace me having no family! I don’t want you anymore!”

He stormed out of the bedroom, leaving the doll on the ground. She couldn’t even pick herself back up. Little cracks had formed from her porcelain body hitting the wood. Her heart was aching but it wasn’t for his rejection of her. It was for him. Even broken on the floor she would continue to love him.

He left her like that for a week. Every time he walked by she tried to smile and comfort him in some way but he ignored her. Then one day he picked her up again and the touch of his warm hands to her cold body sent chills through her deprived soul. He loved her again.

He didn’t spend as much time around her anymore. In fact he only held her when he needed her but it was enough for her.

Then one day a little girl came into the room, looking curiously upon the dark doll with the little cracks in her face and body.

“You poor doll,” she sighed. “If you were a real person I would feel very sorry for you. Here you are in his room, waiting for him to get back and love you day after day when he’s downstairs playing with other toys.”

“That can’t be true,” the doll thought. “He loves me. He needs me.”

“But you’re just a doll so it doesn’t matter.” The girl shrugged and left.

When the boy came back the doll wanted to ask him but she couldn’t. She couldn’t speak; she was just a doll.

However when he wrapped his arms around her to sleep all doubts she had that she was the only toy he needed went away.

Then he stopped coming to see her again. A young maid came to clean a few days later, gathering the trash.

“Who lets a child play with a broken doll?” the maid wondered to herself.

She picked the doll up and carried her downstairs. It was then that the doll saw him playing with other toys, laughing and enjoying himself.

It was in that moment she realized that she had never been special to him. She had given him everything she had as a doll and he hadn’t cared. She meant nothing. She was just a toy and now she was just a broken toy.

The maid carried her out and the doll couldn’t help but feel she belonged in the garbage bin that she was dropped into. She had never meant anything to anyone and now she had been used for what she was need for at the time and then left.

What use would anyone have for a broken doll?

The Sculpture

It was beautiful. Every curve and smooth surface. The clear, glassy sculpture reflected the blue and white light around it, absorbing the depressive and dismal shine. It rested precariously on a pedestal in the middle of the cold room and the attention of the viewer could not help but to be drawn to it.

The sculpture was soft with a light all its own. It stood by itself, reaching out to anyone who dared to look at it. The viewer must touch it and draw in its warmth. It makes them feel better. Everything they are lacking that they can’t get from anyone else; it will give them.

If they need love they will never feel more loved than they do when they are touching that sculpture. If they need hope they will never feel more hope than in that moment. If they need strength it will give it to them. It will give them anything they need, no matter what the cost to it.

Because every time someone touches the sculpture it loses some of its luster; something inside of it fades and a little bit of its warmth escapes. Person after person comes up to it, drawing and taking everything they need from it.

Word spreads and there is always someone taking what they need from it. The beauty starts to fade and the surfaces start to get rough. It’s no longer clear with hundreds of finger prints on it.

Every now and then it falls a little, its perch on the pedestal losing grip. Still they keep coming and it keeps giving. With everything it gives to others it doesn’t have strength for itself anymore.

People start to get angry when the rush that it gave them last time they visited isn’t as strong the second or the third time. It’s starting to lose power because there’s nothing fueling it. All it had is being taken away.

Eventually it can no longer absorb the light around it. The surface is too clouded and damaged. The room grows dim over time and the sculpture is now on its side, hurting desperately. Yet it still keeps giving. It has to. It has to help these poor people. It has to give them what they need.

It has given these people everything it has but they’re angry at it. They want more than it has already given and no matter how much it gives it will never be enough.

Then one day one of them comes in for love. They’ve taken it over and over and they need it now. They lay their hands on the sculpture but nothing happens. They try again but still nothing.

The sculpture has become a pathetic and horrifying sight. It has fallen on its face, a small crack growing deep inside it, barely visible through the callous and dull exterior. No light pierces through and any glow of its own has long since vanished.

But that person can’t see what they and so many other people have done to it. Instead of understanding what the little sculpture has given to so many people they grow angrier.

Why can’t you give me what I need?! Why can’t you give me what I want?!

A hard blow to the sculpture causes the crack deep inside to grow. The person leaves the sculpture even worse off than before. It isn’t long before the next person comes in with the same results.

Over and over again the sculpture is scoffed at and hit and hurt. The crack inside of it grows and it joined by chips on the outside and other cracks throughout. All the warmth is gone as the glass becomes ice.

The ice is even more fragile than the glass and in the last blow to its once tender surface the sculpture shatters. The tiny pieces fly throughout the empty room, the dark all-consuming and terrifying.

No one visits the sculpture anymore because it has nothing left to give them. It had everything taken away from it and in the end it broke. The pieces still lie on the floor, waiting for someone to put it back together so it can go on helping others. But no one comes and no one can fix it.

The little glass heart with all of its warmth has been destroyed because no one noticed that it was dying. 

A little bit about Me

Hey guys,

So since I am always curious what the people are like whose blogs I read; I wanted to give you guys a little bit of an idea of who I am.

First off I am a college student at Penn State (yes, the Paterno one) in my freshman year. I am finishing up my first semester as a corporate communications major. (Yay! go me!)

But let me back track just a little so you know who exactly you are reading from/ about. This is me:



I work as a model/ actress at Look Actors and Models located in Bethlehem. When I am not doing that I am a barista at a local coffee shop. Thrilling; I know. This is why I must live vicariously through my work as a horror blogger. Ok so maybe not everything I blog is terrifying but still.

My favorite tv show is Supernatural



Shocking, right?

I like eating and I probably eat more than a teenage guy, so shoot me.



I cook all the time but I have to be careful because I have a gluten allergy but hey; so does 1/3 of the population.

I am very cynical and sarcastic, ask anyone I know. I also have a tendency to be on the perverted side on occasion.

That is just my sense of humor.

That is probably a basic description of me but think of it as a PSA and a warning. This is the person whose blog you are now reading.

The Face Behind the Mask

He never stopped moving, never stopped traveling, never stopped dying inside. He couldn’t. If he did the regret and guilt and horror would consume his soul. Every town and every city that he passed through was left with a fragment of the stain of his existence. People didn’t talk to him. His presence was too terrifying. Any who got close enough would see the shadow of depression that hid behind his eyes.

But no one wanted to get close enough to this tormented soul. No one wanted to see the terrible things that dwelt in the deepest recesses of his mind. No one ever stopped to ask why. They never asked him why he was a crippled shape of pain. He hadn’t always been that way or had he?

They wouldn’t know because they never stopped to ask. They couldn’t. Had he been normal in the way he appeared then they might have been able to approach him but he wasn’t. Some remembered him as the young crusader who saved their homes in the name of God. They contemplated if this could possibly be the same man before deciding that it wasn’t possible. How could it be?

The scars are what kept them away from him most. The deep, black mask of burned flesh that covered the left side of his face. Did it appear in other places as well? His left hand was always covered in a glove to hide the continuation of the hideousness that was his scars.

He rode a black horse that viciously attacked any who came near it. Maybe it wasn’t a horse though. Maybe it was only what could be seen by human eyes. Every piece of his clothing was blacker than night without an insignia or any form of identification or design

Everywhere he went, death came with him. It followed him like a cloud, descending upon the people he passed. He never entered a church or any holy place. It was doubtful that he could. No evil thing could tread upon holy ground. He never touched anyone. The unlucky few who brushed up against his skin were immediately dragged to the grave.

He was a beast like no other. A monster. Some thought that he was Lucifer, come to Earth. Others believed him to be a demon sent to destroy human life. They were all wrong. What that didn’t understand was that he had once been that knight who had given everything to keep them alive. They didn’t know that he had given up the gift of humanity to save a life.

He gave up his humanity to save a life that couldn’t be saved. What was he? What was this monster that walked among them? He couldn’t change the foreboding presence because he was foreboding. He was evil. He was terror. He was despair. He was depression. He was guilt. He was Death.

They couldn’t understand that Death was a living creature. Death was a man tormented by his past. Death was once a human. He was once a human but now he was death. Death walks among us. He is Death and he is alive.

My thoughts on American Horror story: Season 1

Hey guys,

Here are my thoughts on the first season of the tv show American Horror story



My first impression was how very confusing every episode was.

I didn’t really come to understand what was going on until the last episode. That aside, the creepiness level was insane! Ghosts, creatures, zombies, you name it they had it.

There was one instance of bad creepy where the ghost boyfriend of the teenage girl, Violet, rapes and impregnates her mother. (sorry; spoiler)

Still the rest of the creepy was excellent, especially with the amazing performance of Jessica Lange



I would definitely recommend this to fellow horror fanatics although it doesn’t make my top tv shows list.

Creepy makeup

Hey guys,

So I recently came across a make up artist named Jessica Harrison. She is a British woman who makes fake eyelashes out of, get this, Fly legs! No, I am not kidding. Want a picture?



Weird right?

If that isn’t odd enough for you, same makeup artist has figured out a way to make people’s eyes look like mouths.



I have no idea how she does this but i can tell you it is one of the freakiest things I have seen.

Blue Marks

You hear the voices outside; calling, screaming, panicked. There is one voice that rises above everyone else’s. A voice you know well.

“What’s going on?” he demands. “What are you all looking at?”

You come up behind him as he shouts from the open front door. You are quiet and tentative. Will he think you are trying to sneak up on him? You’re not trying to but it might make him angry. You make your footsteps louder so he can hear you coming before you stand beside his towering form.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. He hates when you speak so quietly. You want to go back and say it louder so you don’t annoy him but it’s too late for that.

“It’s none of your business!” He snaps at you and you cower against the door frame. You silently beg him to put his rage at another target.

“I’m sorry.” You try to pacify him.

“Get back in the house!” He roughly grabs your arm and shoves you back before he leaves and slams the door.

His fingerprints are embedded as bruises on your arm. You tell yourself to ignore it. He didn’t mean it. He loves you. He never meant any of it.

You go to the window, looking out at the yard. It is not the chaos that the sounds indicated it was. The neatly mowed lawn is perfect just like he wants it. Each rose bush is identical, all of the grass is the same length, everything is a bright green, all of it is in perfect order.

But then you notice one blemish; the shocking black mark by one of the rose bushes. The black stain is slowly spreading and growing on the lawn. Its source is pale and smooth like fine porcelain.

The source that is causing that black mark is swathed in white. The source is crumpled and twisted awkwardly. The source is unmoving even as the marring blackness spreads further and further, killing the grass in its path. The source is a dead woman.

Her face is hidden by the rose bush, her arms held above her head in defeat, her legs kicked out from under her, and her body leaking deep, red blood that turns to black as it touches the ground and stains her white robe.

You can’t help but wonder who she is. Who is this woman who is ruining the perfection you work so hard to maintain for him? Who is this lamb to the slaughter?

The sirens berate your ears in throbbing patterns. Three police cars have arrived, followed closely by a wailing ambulance. The red and blue lights dance around your eyes, pulsing with more life than your own heart.

He is snapping at the officers as they leave their cars, demanding to know what is going on. Why are these people in his yard? Why do they care? Why can’t they leave him alone?

But what are they doing now? The officers slam him against the hood of the sedan that he drives to work every day; the one that you are happy to see leave in the morning and the one that you nervously anticipate at night. They cuff his hands behind his back and force him into one of the police cars.

What are they doing?! Why are they taking him away?! Are you afraid or are you excited? What are you feeling? How are you supposed to know?

You finally gather the courage to leave the house as they take him away, his screams and shouts of anger permeating the air through the windows of the white vehicles. You can see his silhouette through the glass, his body jerking violently. You fling the door open and run the first few steps but your bravery ends there.

What are you doing? He told you to stay in the house. He told you this was none of your business.

You force the feelings down when you see it. What is that on her arm? It stands out like her blood on the lawn. Five identical blue marks in precise order and arrangement on the frozen skin.

A throbbing begins in your own arm as you get closer and closer to her. Her face is still hidden by the roses but you know. How couldn’t you have seen it before? It was so obvious. How could you be so stupid? He always told you that you were stupid. He was always right.

You kneel beside her and hold up your arm next to hers. To your horror yet calm recognition you see that marks on her arm match the marks on yours.

Dexter: My new TV show

Hello Everyone,

Recently I have been watching a new tv show that is probably not new to most of you. it is called Dexter



It is about a serial killer who kills other serial killers. The creepy narrative with Dexter describing just what his sociopathic thoughts are adds just the right touch to this crime thriller. I am still on season 1 but I strongly recommend it to any who like shows such as Criminal Minds or Law and Order.

I can’t believe I had never heard of this show before but now that I am watching it (on netflix) I am hooked completely.

This is not a show for the weak of stomach. It is definitely horror through out. So if an image like this disturbs you:



and yes that is blood, this is probably not the show for you.

Dexter is a forensic blood specialist who searches for meaning in crime scenes while the whole time he is solving these cases through his sister, a homicide cop. At the same time he is hunting down serial killers and “bad guys” in order to end their torture and stain on human society.

This show is based on a book series by Jeff Lindsay and I will almost certainly be picking up these books to read.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/550853.Darkly_Dreaming_Dexter

In any case this is an intriguing if not disturbing show that is worthy of my tv show lists.

1000 views!!!

I have just hit 1,000 views on Demonic little angel!!! YAY!!!!

Thank you to everyone who follows me or visited my blog. I know there haven’t been a lot of posts as of late so thank you so much for bearing with me and I promise that there will be more and they will be more frequent in the future. Once again a huge thank you

PS: most viewed post? The allure of supernatural (or perhaps Dean Winchester) ( http://sknhammerstonebooks.wordpress.com/2013/09/07/the-allure-of-supernatural-or-perhaps-dean-winchester/) with 111 views.

Mark Carver’s new novel: Cyn

Hello everyone,

My apologies for not being around lately. But I have good news! Mark Carver’s, author of the age of appolyon, new sci fi horror book, Cyn, is coming out in February! He revealed the cover today and I must show you

Yes; I am the cover model

The newly released description is:

CJ Miles is on the verge of a mental breakdown.

After a miscarriage and a bar brawl resulting in a dishonorable discharge from the military, CJ wonders how things could get any worse. But when her well-meaning but naive husband volunteers both of them for a mission of goodwill to a distant planetary colony infamous for its debauchery and lawlessness, CJ finds out just how deep the darkness can be.

Tragedy throws her into a nightmare beyond her wildest imagination and CJ is forced to summon every ounce of her skills as a soldier and as a woman. Stranded on a far-flung planet with little hope of survival, CJ makes her choice: she will not be a victim. She sets out to find answers and to punish those responsible, but what she discovers is too terrifying to even imagine.

Yet as she blasts through blood and bone and steel, CJ finds herself inexorably drawn into the vortex that she came to confront, and she realizes the darkness she fights has been growing in her own soul the whole time. Blinded by rage and praying for a miracle, CJ comes face-to-face with a question that all of us fear to answer:

HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO?

For more info follow this link https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18627612-cyn

Make sure if you are on goodreads to add it to your to read list.

Also check out Mark’s other books for a supernatural thriller