Tag Archives: blood

Spectrum City is Haunted part 4



Detective Roe thought he was lucky that Mark Chambers was taken off his hands so easily. The last thing he wanted was to deal with that mess. As he knocked on Phil Connor’s apartment door, he willed the twenty-something not to answer. That way he could get home like he’d originally planned before more busy work was thrown onto his desk.

There was an ache in his neck, but then again there was always an ache in his neck, and all he needed was to sleep it off.

He sighed after a moment of no answer until he noticed the door was ajar.

“Mr. Connor?” asked Roe. No answer and he swore under his breath. The open door could mean anything, and while he wanted more than anything to ignore it, his conscience wouldn’t let him. As much as he tried not to care, as much as he focused on doing as little as possible, always taking the path of least resistance, an open door could mean anything. Ignoring that didn’t feel right. He wouldn’t be able to forget the day if he was left wondering.

Roe was about to announce himself again until he saw the red mess of bodies between the television and the couch. His heart leaped and he withdrew his gun and froze, searching everywhere for anything alive. There was a sound coming from the hallway. Something repetitive, wet and smacking, and Roe looked down at the bodies one more time before stepping quietly toward the noise’s source, gun first.

It wouldn’t be until later that what he saw would make sense to him. Simon from forensics explained it casually. Not like he was enjoying it, but like he was actually proud of his job and cared that he recreated the scene correctly.

“He stabbed them both while they were still on the couch,” said Simon, miming out the motions as if he were Phil. “The first one through the neck and then the second across the face and then down through the temple as she tilted her head. The knife got stuck inside and so he left it there and went back to the first one, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to the ground. He then stepped on the back of her neck and pivoted, swiveling his foot like this,” he said as he mimicked the action, looking more as if he was smothering a cigarette. “Once she stopped moving, he went back to the second one and pulled back and forth until it came unstuck.”

Roe just listened, keeping his face indifferent and waiting to go home.

“After that, he got the second one down on the floor beside the first and knelt between them, taking turns raking over their bodies like this.”

Roe looked away. He got the picture, but Simon wasn’t done.

“After he was done slashing them, somewhere in the high double digits, he threw the knife behind him and then went in with his hands.” Simon got down on his knees and pulled pretend body parts out of pretend bodies, throwing handfuls of nothing over his shoulders. “That’s why the mess, you know? The guy just kept at it until there was nothing left to throw.”

“Great,” said Detective Roe. “Thanks.” He was about to turn away, but Simon stopped him, scrambling to his feet and putting a hand on the side of his arm.

“You’re good. Right?” His eyes attempted concern, but his mouth was all excitement. “Just another day, right? Not going to get to you is it?”

“Nah,” said Roe and he was surprised he was telling the truth. It probably was the worst scene he’d ever walked into, but then again he had a tendency to block the bad ones out. No sense in keeping nonsense on the mind. There was already too much of that in there anyway.

“Good, good,” said Simon. “So, um, you like mind if I ask?”

Roe just raised his eyebrows.

“I mean, I didn’t get to do the bedroom. Jeffers got that one. Not that I’m not thankful, you know. I definitely got the better end of the ass, but just…what happened? You had to shoot him, I know, but what was going on? He was fucking her, right? But, um, was she already…”

“Yeah,” said Roe. “She was dead. And he was fucking her.”

“What and so you just shot him?”


“Was there a threat? I mean, I’m not trying to call you out, you know? Kill the bastard. Good. Absolutely, but if Howard sees it like that…”

“Fuck Howard,” said Roe. He sighed. “Do me a favor?”

“Yeah, yeah, for sure,” said Simon. Still smiling. Still failing at concern.

“Tell them I’ll get started on this tomorrow. Tell them I’m…I don’t know, upset or some shit. Anything. Just vouch for me so I don’t have to deal. You got me?”

“Yeah, yeah man. I totally get it. I mean, if I were you…” and he trailed off because Roe was already walking to his car.

Detective Roe drove home trying not to think, but it was going to take whisky to get that job done and while he knew he had some, a full bottle he was planning on breaking his ten year sobriety with one of these days, he knew he’d pass on that. Even more than a good drunk, the one thing he usually wanted and forbade himself, now more than ever he just needed to sleep. The meds always gave him weird dreams, but that was alright. There wasn’t going to be a worse dream than walking in on a man covered in blood, fucking a blue body, her neck broken and twisted at a right angle into the carpet, his hands holding her under the tops of her thighs, ramming himself inside of her and looking up at him, screaming, “Please, please, just let me come. I’m almost there. Almost there. I just have to come. Just a minute and you can have her. Here I go. I’m coming, I’m-”

Yeah, thought Roe. My dreams are going to be nice.



Live On No Evil, or L.O.N.E., is a novel I’m trying to pimp out to publishers right now. This is the mock up cover I made when I was considering self publishing. Below is an excerpt of one of my favorite parts. It may very well be the most evil thing I’ve ever written:

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No dreams was how Manson Feverjean slept. The noises in his severely trashed hotel penthouse suite fooled him into thinking he was dreaming as they barely rose him above unconsciousness. The drugs quickly pulled him back below until there were hands pulling at him. His head outweighed the strength of his neck, his whole body. The speaking was there but far like underwater whale moans. Even if he could move his head, his eyes wouldn’t open and so he left himself like a beached jellyfish all out of sting for the hands that kept at him and the sounds he couldn’t make sense of.

The hands wrapped him in the sheet, piss and whiskey soaked, and carried him out that way like a cocoon coffin.

It was one hell of a binge. When Lucas had never shown up, Manson got to drinking. It wasn’t enough and since Lucas had all the good stuff, never letting Manson administer anything himself, he went to the hotel phone to call his old hook up. Not remembering a name, let alone a number, he put on a pair of shorts which were actually just boxers because he didn’t know the difference. He slipped on cowboy boots made of real alligator and a fox fur coat, also real with skulls for shoulder pads.

Behind sunglasses, necessary under the serious Luminaut City sun, he walked away knowing his will would find him. And it did. A troop of fans began to follow the normally reclusive superstar and as they walked, joints were passed and pills were swallowed between scribbled and illegible autographs that reopened the stitches in his bandaged hand.

They led him to a club where his flaccid dick was sucked by multiple females that interchanged once their jaws grew tired from a line longer than the one outside to be let in. He snorted mounds of Trap off the tips of switchblades that were raised to his nostrils. Needles punctured his skin sending his veins and then brain into an insane rollercoaster rush.

This temporary revival sent him into a violent fury of destruction, flipping tables, throwing glasses and punching women. He was escorted out from there and went on to the next, repeating the process and leaving a wake of thankful bar and club owners who felt blessed with his presence and the impending publicity, sure to make the damages all well worth it.

This lasted through the morning and next day until the sun went down and he was dragged back to his hotel where it continued. The drugs, sex and violence raged on and with the help of more uppers, Manson pushed through, never really sleeping, just mentally checking out until he noticed someone else fallen into unconsciousness.

Each one he personally kicked awake. “No sleep,” was all he’d say, all he did say, communicating otherwise by pointing or throwing whatever was close.

He chased the last of the departing crowd down the hall with silverware, stabbing a naked ass with a fork, not sure whether guy or girl, and returned to find his door locked. He kicked his scaly boots against it until someone came up with a key and he pulled them in too and ripped off her hotel work uniform only to find a dick in the place of the pussy he was going to rape and so just kicked and kicked at it until it was so bloody and smushed and split that it kind of did look like a pussy, sideways though it was, and so he did rape it and laughed as he kept yelling, “No sleep! No sleep!” at the crying and dying hotel bag boy who was employed illegally, having been driven across the border in a box, but also because he was thirteen and paid only in room and board, working all of his waking hours in Luminaut City and dying with arguably the most famous dick in the world inside his lacerated pelvis.

Once he came, Manson Feverjean showered off the blood and other accumulations of filth and passed out drinking a bottle of whiskey and peeing all over himself.

He wasn’t lucky that Tommy Motts’ people found him before the police could, though he came to believe that he was after they cleansed him of his addictions over the next few days and brought his mind and body back to working health. He wasn’t lucky at all to be a part of Baphom’s latest film production and was wrong in thinking it was God that had intervened to save him from himself.

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Sin seriously,

Jeremiah Israel

The Blood Conspiracy

Blood Hands

If you asked people what the main religion of the United States is the majority would say Christian. Every president to date has claimed to be a Christian. The vast majority of politicians say the same. This couldn’t be further from the truth. True Christianity wouldn’t rationalize away mass murder and debauchery. No, that’s Vampirism and America is hands down the most blood thirsty nation in the world.

Jared Leto recently posted on his Instagram a picture of himself from 2004 beside a picture of himself in 2014. The older picture admittedly looks younger and healthier. The only caption to this picture was two words: Human blood. And yeah, I follow Jared Leto on Instagram.


Did you know that young blood is the fountain of youth? Yeah, you can totally live forever as long as you start drinking the blood of young people. Or at least that’s what the News wants you to believe.

The list goes on and on of celebrities using human blood in one way or another. Lady Gaga bathed in a tub full of blood as reported by the housecleaning staff of the hotel she was staying in. Kim Kardashian has had blood facials. Ke$ha is always doing something with blood or piss.

keshablood My favorite website hollywoodilluminati.com has long told the narrative of celebrities practicing blood drinking rituals and human sacrifices. Jennifer Lopez sacrifices virgins. Jodie Foster drank Kristen Stewart’s period blood. The list goes on. Even the Red Cross is being used as a way to farm blood from the masses and feed it to the elite class of celebrity vampires.

Unfortunately, the website was taken down and is still not up. I call conspiracy on that shit.

The first two words of my novel March The Damned are “Fuck vampires.” I mean that even outside the fictional context. A vampire wouldn’t call themselves a vampire. I’m well aware of the Vampire community and no, these people are not vampires. Vampires are parasites that use and end the lives of others to benefit themselves and their selfish desire for eternal life. They prey on the weak because they themselves are afraid of their own weaknesses.


So yeah, fuck vampires. Fuck anyone that’s going to worship themselves and their own parasitic life above anything else. By that definition, probably all presidents have been vampires. All celebrities, sports stars and corporate heads are vampires. That asshole that gave you shit in school: vampire. That dick you let borrow money to that you’ll never see again: vampire. That lying bitch that smiles to your face while shitting on you behind your back: vampire.

Or maybe not. Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about and maybe these are just coincidences that don’t actually point to any kind of blood drinking conspiracy. Maybe, but then I’ll leave it up to you to rationalize away the fact that George W. Bush is a descendant of the most famous vampire that ever lived.



… …


+I’m not a Christian.
+The above is all bullshit.
+My blood tastes bad.
+Please don’t kill me.
+Read my book.
+Fuck vampires.

The Sacrifice 011

The Sacrifice

The following is an excerpt from VERMyN:

“You must worship our Gods with a gift of sacrifice to gain Their holy understanding.”

Syd laughed over him and every head turned.

“He dares to mock the Holies?” asked another in complete shock and disgust.

“I worship no one,” said Syd as he clicked his cane tip against the marble floor to walk closer, “because I myself am worshipped. If these ‘holies’ have a problem with that, I encourage them to say so themselves.”

“The mortal dares to mock our Gods. He is unworthy.”

“Cut the bullshit. I’m here to close a deal, not to play Sunday school with you children.”

“The time is nigh!” yelled one of the shrouded men. “Bring us the sacrifice!”

The curtain opened again with the same python wrapped nude now holding a baby swaddled in burlap.

“Repent your blasphemy with the gift of pure soul to our Devil Lords!”

The nude laid the baby down in the middle of the circle of black hoods. Syd stepped forward as she grabbed the head of the snake suddenly from her shoulder. She unwound the reptile and it cracked its jaw open to snap into her forearm. Its teeth were hidden within her and she hardly started from the pain. The snake held for a moment, wriggling its fangs under her skin until she pulled on him to release. He let go only to snap back on to create a fresh wound. Blood collected and ran down her arm.

The first drops landed a foot away from the child and the nude traced a square around it. Her blood ran quickly and once she met its start she traced diagonally from the corners, creating an X of blood over it.

It’s the shape of a pyramid, thought Syd. The view from above.

“Present the tool of sacrifice,” bellowed the leader as the nude left weakly back through the curtain. The shrouded man across from Syd stepped forward presenting a large knife, the blade, guard and handle in the shape of a cross. The gold of it glowed with the candles and Syd took it by the handle over the blood spattered child on the floor. It wiggled and spat at the hot fluid on its face and hands. He bent to a knee and rested his mammoth cane flat to the ground. With one arm he reached under to cradle it.

“With this sinless death we glorify You our Lords,” boomed the deep voice behind Syd. “Let this soul be an offering of allegiance and willing slavery to our Masters.”

Syd looked into its eyes. The baby, so calm and oblivious, spattered at the blood in its face and smeared it in worse with its hands. Syd smirked and rose to his feet.

“This baby,” he said, “is more intelligent than all of you combined.”

The group scoffed.

“Every one of you is pathetic and every one of you deserves death far more than this child. You all sicken me. Wasting your brain on bullshit. Worshipping your invisible man. Use a little common sense and realize you are all delusional. The only sacrifice I’m willing to make tonight is on you. Every one of you.”

“Blasphemer! He is unworthy! Remove him from Their temple of worship!”

Syd remained calm as always. Though usually surrounded by security, usually they weren’t necessary. This was one of those occasions.

The first of Syd’s victims approached from behind and Syd sidestepped and spun, slicing the surprised man’s throat straight through to where his spine met his skull. As others jumped in, he danced around them, slicing their vitals while cradling the baby close. The knife ended up in someone’s stomach and Syd knelt to retrieve his cane. He batted away at their heads, sending one after the other to the ground either unconscious or dazed. Some scrambled away in retreat, but those that didn’t found death quick as Syd stomped them, tainting his albino alligator scaled shoes while crushing the skulls of the rest with the silver mammoth head.

The square and X pattern disappeared beneath the cloaked bodies and their escaping blood turned the aerial view of a pyramid into a red flooded wasteland.

The room was silent besides the steady breathing of the baby in Syd’s arms. All were inanimate except for one. The leader of the group pulled the knife from his stomach. A pained grunt turned into a cackling laugh. He stumbled toward Syd who spun out of the way, landing the swinging head of the silver mammoth cane into the side of the doomed man’s knee. The joints dislodged and cords snapped before his body hit the ground.

Syd used his now crimson red shoe to flip him over. He placed his heel into the leader’s stomach and rested the end of the cane in the socket of his eye. He hoped this might have been J.P. or at least one of the council, but there was no recognition from Syd. Just another nobody.

“Tell me, fool. Where are your gods now?”

“My Gods are everywhere,” he spurted in a manic calm. “And whether you believe in Them or not, They like you!”