SELECTED TALES FOR HALLOWEEN - BY BLAZE MCROB

 

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07HCNN8SJ/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i45

Selected Tales for Halloween, by Blaze McRob, is ready for your reading enjoyment. This is a compilation I believe you'll really enjoy. There is a most interesting collection of horror prose and verse waiting for you within this tome. 

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Book description:

For some Halloween lasts all the year through

But if this doesn't apply to you

McRob's six tales for your trick or treat sack

Should keep you awake through night velvet black

And every minute 'til Halloween next,

So terrifying you'll think you've been hexed.

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Here's a generous sneak peak of the action.

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He stands before the large bay window, looking down upon the streets below, not really needing to see the evil happening. The visuals, courtesy of all his sensory perceptions, attack his mind.

And yet, The Committee condones such sadistic behavior as this. "Let them do as they will. It will all be sorted out later," they say. "Their feeble minds cannot grasp the concepts of good and evil, not enough for them to advance to an elevated status at any rate."

"Elevated, my ass!" he thinks. "All of us on The Committee were once like these weaklings. We found it difficult to reason, to discard depravity and debauchery for the less than obvious elements of good inherent in humans and the world surrounding them."

Pacing back and forth, the raw energy of evil present in this city sickens him. Someone in his position should distance himself from what is present here. After all, it has taken him many lifetimes to achieve his elevated status. Yes, he has evolved beyond the rabble scratching around to make ends meet, to find a reason for existence, and perhaps … just perhaps, to find at least some happiness from the filth which is ever-present here.

But through it all, he remembers. How can he possibly forget the times when he was beaten down by those wanting to keep him, and many others, in a state of abject slavery? Maybe the absence of freedom wasn't slavery as many envision it to be, but when one's soul is torn from the physical embodiment of humanity, what else would it be? One becomes nothing more than a Zombie, a dancing, unthinking, undead persona manipulated by a necromancer concerned only for his own welfare. And, his own power.

He laughs. Now the power belongs to him, an advanced being capable of an existence beyond human understanding. Yes, to those like him, the ones who have reached the "most perfect" stage of development, a utopian society exists, one in which Heaven is a state of glory residing within the minds of those fortunate enough to have reached the pinnacle of all that is.

Truth be known? They are Gods. And yet, should Gods look the other way when the unfortunate ones wallow around in ineptitude and suffer at the hands of the evil ones?

Ah, the Gods might have lost any semblance of previous humanity when their ultimate tableau was achieved.

Selchor, on the other hand, still retains compassion within his soul. It pains him when the unfortunate ones suffer as he once did. There is no reason for this. Those who can help, should help.

He dresses for the evening, donning the clothing of the time, and grabs his walking stick when he leaves the apartment. Once he reaches the streets, he blends in with everyone else around him.

His cane beats a staccato along the sidewalk as he walks towards the place of supreme evil manifestations. For too long, this street has been a sinister one, hiding secrets, exposing pain . . . pain shoved upon those much too young to experience it.

A large man, easily 300 pounds, bald, and wearing an expensive suit, embroidered shirt, and fancy wingtips, comes out of the adjoining alleyway and motions for him to stop.

"I take it you're here for the young girls," he says. "Name your age, and we can fulfill your fantasy and allow you to live life to the fullest, doing what so few are able to experience."

Selchor smiles at the man. "Yes, my good man. I am here for the children. Your fame has spread farther than you can imagine."

The pimp gives the stranger a funny look, wondering exactly what this man is talking about. "And exactly what are you looking for, might I ask?"

"I would like to have all the young ladies assembled before me, so I can choose."

"All of them?"

"Yes, all of them. I will gladly pay you up front if you are concerned about my intent."

The big guy salivates at the thought of his entire assemblage being paid for. "Of course. Whatever you wish, sir."

He grabs a cell phone out of his pocket and makes a couple quick calls. Within minutes, a dozen young women of differing ages are paraded before him.

Selchor laughs and says, "I'll take them all."

"All of them?" the pimp asks.

Handing him the money, Selchor says, "Yes, all of them."

The girls are shoved towards him, and Selchor says, "I am setting you free. Go and never return. There is nothing left for you here, and you need not worry about anything. I'm giving you your freedom."

They are reluctant to leave at first, but something about the calm exterior of their benefactor soothes them, and they scramble away.

The procurer is upset and attempts to shove the cane-bearing man out of the way, so he can retrieve the girls, but Selchor holds him, and his henchmen, back. In no time at all the former slaves are gone.

"But this is not what you asked for," the bald man says, anger shoved from every pore in his body. "I thought . . ."

"You think far too much, I must say," Selchor says. "I never said what I wanted the girls for. You merely assumed. You and your henchmen are evil people and should have your eyes opened to the truth of who you really are."

The fancy-dressed pimp laughs now. "I don't believe a man carrying a cane will be able to do much damage to the six of us."

"Do not be deceived by me or my cane. Your time of reckoning has come."

They charge en masse, but Selchor touches a button on the cane's handle, and a knife blade, easily a foot long, slides out from the end. "Looky what I have here, me lads. Guess what? I know how to use it too."

The fight is brutal. Blood, guts, and chunks of flesh fly everywhere. One by one, Selchor deftly removes their hearts, impales them on the blade, and places them in the hands of their owners.

Selchor watches as the spirits rise from the fallen bodies and stare down at what is now nothing more than food for the rats. He laughs, a most unsettling one, and says, "It appears that the time has come for you to go to Heaven or Hell. Which one is it?"

Confusion runs through their souls. This was not expected. Heaven or Hell is a choice left to them? How can this be?

"Yes, you have this choice," Selchor tells them. "Tell me: which path are you taking?"

Even before they have the chance to say that Heaven is the obvious choice, thoughts jump into their minds, talking to them of all the evil they have perpetrated in their lives. How many times were people, some very young, subjected to pain to supply them with pleasure and a fulfillment of power? Too many times. They grab their heads and cry out in pain, trying to exorcise the demons present within them.

It doesn't work.

All of them are dragged away to Hell. But, of course, there is not one Hell. For them, there are six Hells, and no two are the same. Selchor smiles as he watches their twisting, convoluted efforts to escape the grasp of the demons pulling them into the darkness.

Silence. The sweet sound of nothing takes over. The pimp and his crew are gone, taken into Hell on the wings of their own guilt. Justice has been served.

Selchor surveys the scene and his former humanity becomes more dominant. He loses none of the knowledge he has gained over time. If anything, he is more advanced than the others on The Committee. Knowledge, power, and humanity all belong to him.

Heaven and Hell are abstracts and reside within the minds and souls of those going to one or the other. If a person believes they have done good during their past life, they will advance to the next level of humanity, or they can happily exist in Heaven as they are. But those who are tormented by the guilt of the past evils they have committed will send themselves to Hell.

How sweet is this? Heaven and Hell reside within one's self.

Selchor knows now he cannot return to the lofty enclave of others of his kind. It is wrong to look the other way.

The world needs an interceder. Selchor is perfect for the job.

******

Selchor discards his earlier clothing and dons a new costume. One cannot exactly prance about on Halloween in attire that is not suited for the occasion at hand. Unlike mere moments before when he was on a mission, one which many might have seen as brutal, he was dressed perfectly. But now another part of the evening presents itself.

This is the time for festivities. In his last life on this planet, one of his greatest joys was the Trick or Treating, the Halloween parties, the scary stories, and all else that went with the evening. Nothing else even came close.

And being just one incarnation away from the supreme one, the magical qualities of the evening were not lost on him. Tonight, he feels it. There is more in the air than candy and bobbing for apples. Much more. In this part of the city in which he has chosen to dwell, there is evil and corruption everywhere. And his neighbors, none of whom have any idea who or what he is, who think him a cripple in need of a cane, are poor and must go from house to house or apartment to apartment to try and get a decent amount of candy. Yet, that is not easy when people are all beaten down and many families have one or both parents gone, or worse yet, are still present, but have fallen into such a state that they are worthless to themselves and their children.

How many children here go to school with bruises they must hide from the teachers and other students? Better to ask how many don't, or how many children don't go to school because they need to scrounge around for work of any kind to put food in the mouths of their siblings and themselves, and support the selfish habits of their worthless parents?

In his present incarnation, Selchor has the power to alter his image in whatever manner he chooses. Tonight, he wishes to be Captain America. Looking in the mirror to get everything just perfect, he smiles as a tug here and there produces the desired look. Of course, he will take along his cane. The children will feel safer with him carrying it, knowing he is still their friendly neighbor.

Hmm. Captain America, superhero or not, will walk with a limp and have a battered cane.

The children knock on his door, hoping he is ready to go and squeal with delight when he stands before them. "Mr. Selchor," a little hobo says when he stares at him, "you look great!"

"Thank you . . . ah, I'm not sure who you are."

"I'm Tommy!"

"Wow! You sure had me fooled with your great costume."

Of course, it's easy for a poor kid to be a hobo. All he needs is raggedy clothes, which he already has. And there are several ghosts also, since old sheets and blankets are certainly at their disposal.

None of the children have decent containers to hold their candy. Selchor expected that.

"I have taken the liberty to buy all you kids a big plastic pumpkin to put your candy in, and so people won't think you're all amateurs at this game, I have filled them halfway."

The children stare in disbelief. They have never come close to receiving this much candy before.

"Is everyone here?" Selchor asks.

Tommy stares at the floor, a sad look on his face. "Susan's not. She didn't have a costume and she's not feeling well."

The Interceder knows that's not the truth. Even Tommy has some visible bruises on his neck and arms. "I have a Princess gown that should fit your sister, Tommy, and a pumpkin as well. We'll stop by your apartment and see if she's feeling any better."

"But my parents . . ."

"Don't worry, Tommy. I'll take care of everything. Believe me.

"Is there anyone else who isn't here?"

Tommy's sister is not the only missing sibling or friend not here. Selchor seethes with anger but cannot show it to the children. "I see," he says. "Okay, we are going to take extra pumpkins to everyone, as well as costumes I have scattered around this place of mine. I'm thinking we go to Mr. Smith's apartment first. I'm sure his children would love to go with us."

"But Mr. Smith is really poor. He's getting ready to be thrown out of his apartment," little Billy says. "I know his children don't have any costumes."

"They will when we get there, Billy, and so will Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I have a Thor and a Wonder Woman costume here. Can never have enough super heroes."

The children laugh at Selchor, but they are more than eager to go to the Smiths' apartment first. They knock on their door, and a surprised Mrs. Smith opens it to them. Looking at all the children, she says, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't have any candy," a crestfallen look on her face.

"Not to worry," Selchor says. "We have candy and costumes for you. What do you say we hit the town?"

Mr. Smith comes up and stares at the group, a huge smile on his face. "Did I hear let's hit the town?"

"Indeed you did, sir. You and your family get dressed and we'll go."

They go to their rooms and come back in a flash, Mr. Smith wearing his Thor costume, carrying a hammer in one hand and his cane in another.

"Hot-diggities," Selchor says. "Two superheroes with canes. I'm liking this more and more with every passing second.

"And, Mrs. Smith, you are the most gorgeous Wonder Woman I have ever seen."She blushes at his remarks. "Thank you, Mr. Selchor. This should be a fun evening."

"It will indeed, my fine lady. And your children certainly look great in their Zombie costumes. I would say that our little group will make quite an impression on the neighborhood residents."

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I hope you enjoyed my story teaser. Happy reading!

Blaze McRob