1. Dead Writer’s Society - A Halloween Story


    Date: 10/9/2014, Categories: Fantasy, Author: The_Technician, Rating: 68.8, Source: sexstories.com

    sounded especially eerie. “I know that I had a lot to learn. Sometimes my grammar wasn’t what it should have been, and my plot lines needed help and cohesion, but there are ways to tell me that without destroying me. The dead cannot go back to the living or I would go back to myself and show me that I could be, if not a great writer, at least a decent writer. But writing is dead within me now. ... because of you!” “If the dead cannot go back to the living,” snorted Nathaniel, “then what are all of you doing in my bedroom.” “Ah, yes, we are here, aren’t we?” said a man dressed in a dark, 19th century suit. “Like bells ringing in the night. Bells, bells, bells, bells, bells,...” “Edgar!” shouted the man in the toga. “If you say tintinnabulation I am going to smack you so hard that you won’t coalesce again until next Halloween.” Turning to Nathan, the toga clad man said, “You will have to excuse Mr. Poe. He wasn’t that stable before the rabies brought him over to this side and occasionally he gets carried away in his own prose.” He smiled and continued, “But he is essentially right. No one of us can come back from the dead to the living, but all of us together, especially on a night such at this, can do many things.” “That’s the how,” replied Nathan with obvious contempt in his voice, “But WHY are you here?” “To punish you,” said a very foppishly dressed man with a fur-trimmed cape hung carelessly over his shoulders. “We argued for weeks about exactly how to punish you for ...
    extinguishing the light of promise in so many young and gifted writers. I personally thought you should be thrown into a dark and squalid prison with the low life of London.” “We heard you, Oscar,” said the leader with a very tired voice. “I voted for bricking you up in a wall... or strapping you to the floor with a giant scythe swinging above you.” “Yes, Edgar, we heard that, too.” “But they liked my suggestion best of all.” It was the young girl with the mutilated arms. A man in a white suit with a bushy white mustache said, “Normally I don’t quote Scripture to anyone about anything, but what she suggested reminded me a great deal of Second Samuel, chapter twelve, where the prophet Nathan tricks King David into condemning himself for his actions with Bathsheba. David thought he was condemning a wicked neighbor who was stealing sheep, but he was actually condemning himself for stealing Bathsheba by murdering her husband.” “Samuel... uh, Mark, I don’t think he gets it,” said the leader. Turning back he said, “Nathan, let me explain it clearly to you. You punished the writers and their writings for no reason - unless you count the sick satisfaction you get from making others suffer as being a reason. So we have decided to let the writers and their writings punish you.” “How?” Nathan snorted. The man in the wide lapels stepped forward. “You know, some mugs just need roughing up. Let me and the boys have a couple of minutes with him and he’ll start to see the light.” “Oh, I think he ...
«1234»