Wednesday, February 29, 2012


The night was dark – pitch black – except for the stars in the sky. It was a new moon, which made the stars seem even brighter. I perched atop the steeple of a desolate church in an abandoned town of a forgotten corner of the world. Couldn’t remember exactly where I was or what day it was. All I did know was that it was time to kill again. It was war; they were the enemy. That is the lie I kept feeding myself for all these years, like a glutton. With eyes closed, memories of better days filled my head, when I was young, when I was a man. My wife, she was beautiful. Sure most men will say that, but mine really was. Her eyes were like crystal blue gems that sparkled in the twilight. Her hair was soft and silky, and her skin was as smooth as a babes. But that was ages ago. She had passed from this world, and my final memories of her were not as fond as my first.
I had just returned from a Holy crusade, fighting for the same Church that I fought against now. They told us our sins would be forgiven, that God would not punish us for killing our enemies, who were evil spawns of the devil. Funny thing is that you could use those very words to describe me now. When I came home the night that I returned, she threw her arms around me. It had been almost 2 years since we had last seen each other. And when I left we were practically newlyweds. Her touch was not as tender, her grab quite forceful. I took a hold of her with passion, and we rolled on the bed. I was on my back removing my shirt and she seductively moved her hand across my chest. But then her eyes changed from sparkling blue to pale yellow. Her teeth grew jagged; her canines protruded outward like the fangs of a cobra. Fear and confusion consumed me. I had just come back from serving the Lord, while my wife had become a demon. She lunged at my throat, but I grabbed her by the hair and threw her off of me. The succubus that had been my wife moved toward me again, so fast that I could not stop her. She slashed my cheek and then sprayed me in the face with venom so acidic it burned through my flesh. On my knees, I prayed for salvation, and for my wife to be returned to her sweet innocent self. There was no way I could fight her, she was still the woman that I loved. That was when he arrived. His voice boomed, calling the demoness before me to stand down, and he thrust a silver spear through her heart. All at once she caught on fire and was consumed into nothingness. My eyes burned, my face was bleeding, but still I tried to look at the man who had just saved my life. All I could see was a black blob in front of me. Then I fainted.
            The next morning I woke up in a strange bed. My savior stood over me with some porridge for breakfast. He told me I needed to regain my strength. The porridge was thick and red, and smelled like iron. At the time I was not sure what it was exactly. The mysterious man who had come to my aid was tall, with a strong jaw and broad shoulders. He was older, looked maybe 50 or so, though I would discover he was much older than that. His hair was silver grey, and he wore a cloth around his nose and mouth. His eyes were piercing, and looked red in the dimly lit room. He told me that we were in the cellar of a monastery in France. That made no sense since last night I had been at my home in the hills of Great Britain. My head was throbbing, and I felt weak and strong at the same time, like I was teetering between life and death. He assured me that this pain would pass quickly and that soon he would tell me more. After that I fell asleep for what felt like days. I had no dreams, which was odd for me for I usually had many. But since then I have never dreamed again. Maybe because there is no hope in dreaming when your reality is Hell.
            Days passed and then weeks, and I discovered much over this period of time. It was very difficult to believe at first but the evidence was too convincing to not believe. In order for me to survive the toxic venom that had been doused onto my face by a creature that was once the most beautiful maiden to ever walk God’s green Earth, this man, my savior and now master, had to sire me. He was a vampire, a demon. And now so was I. But he was much more than just a vampire. He was the High Guardian of the Faith, and I was now one of his knights. I had heard of this order before – the Guardians of the Faith – but had never known anyone who had been a part of it. They were an elite group of warriors, who were saved for those special occasions where the might of mere men was just not enough. They would come on an enemy in the dark of the night, slaying them with a precision like no other. Now I understood it better. Though never would I have dreamed that the very Church that severed God would make a pact with the Devil, or at least part of his brood. And now I was part of this organization, fighting for the same Church that I fought for in the crusades. More holy wars, more death – it was hard to see God’s hand in any of this.
I never understood why my master let me live, why he saved me that night. He told me that he had known of an enemy plot to kill me. They had captured my wife while I was away at war, and through a ritual they had transformed her into the monster that I met the night I returned. The Church could not afford to lose such a soldier as myself. They had plans for me, big plans, as I was one of their best. Now those plans had evolved, and being undead as I was, I could be an even stronger asset for them. But first I had a lot to learn from my master about my new powers and how to use them for good, or so they told me. Honestly, I would much rather have been dead. An endless lifetime alone without my love was no life I wanted, especially not as a creature of the darkness. There was more to this perplexing tale, some of which I had to learn much later. Thoughts of suicide played in my mind constantly. I even fought my battles recklessly at first, hoping that I would be killed, but there was something inside of me that kept me from dying – a force of nature. I would say it was my spirit or God, but I was certain both had abandoned me by then. My scarred face was my constant reminder of what I now was, and what I had lost. I was forever changed. I even had a new name – Penance – the name given to me by my master because I would cleanse the world of its sin through the destruction of all that was evil.
We only fought at night, as we could not go out during the day. Being creatures of the dark, the light of the sun could prove to be fatal to us. The war we waged was mostly against other demonic beings – vampires, shape-shifters, and even creatures from the depths of Hell. Their blood and the blood of the men who fought by their side was our food, the only way for us to survive. Our weapons of choice were all forged in silver – swords, knives, and spears for the most part, though some of us had much more creative weapons. We also made sure to have all of our weapons blessed by the priests, and because of this we could not hold them without thick gloves to protect ourselves.
But those days have come to an end. The crusades are long gone, centuries ago. And now the tides have turned for I am an enemy of the Church, hunted by them every day, or rather night, of my life. I find caves and hollows to sleep during the hours where the suns rays blanket the earth. Though, I wish I could bask in those rays, and feel their warmth. My body is cold. And I still ask my self why I live on. Why I don’t just walk out into the light of day and let my body fade to nothingness, releasing me from this prison. That thing inside me won’t let me die. That force won’t let me go. So I carry on, wondering when it will all end – this war between light and darkness – confused by who is really good, and who is evil. And how did I end up fighting against that which I fought for so many years? Much happens when you learn the truth. And I learned a lot.
            It was a new moon, much like tonight, except on that night there were no stars in the sky. Clouds rolled over us, as the fire from our torches were our only light. I lead our group to a castle in the south end of Turkey. The lord of that castle was like us, a vampire, but his allegiance was to the wrong side of the war. His minions flew down to us, attacking from above and clawing at our heads. We put up our shields and struck with our weapons. But they were fast. Fortunately, for us so were we. By this time I had learned much of my powers, as did the men who fought beside me. We were taught by our master, and he was the best, an ancient vampire who had been from the first. Not many could say that. The creature inside that castle was another, though. With our wings spread and our claws revealed, we took to the sky and battled our enemies on their turf. Quickly we began to make progress, and cut our way through the horde of beasts before us. We lost some of our own as well, but eventually, we defeated all of the minions of the dark lord we sought to kill. We sieged the castle and moved inside. He was waiting for us; he was waiting for me. In no time that beast slew all of the soldiers who were with me. But for some reason he kept me alive. He just looked at me. I was unable to move. That is when he spoke.
            His lips did not move; they didn’t have to. His voice whispered though my head. Telepathy was a power only the ancients knew how to command, along with telekinesis which is what held me stiff, unable to move as he unraveled things I did not want to know or believe. But I found myself unable to resist doing both. There was a truth in what he said to me, a type of truth I had not known in a long, probably, because I was used to lies. But, I had known this type of truth once before. I found it in my love. That is why I was so accepting of all that I heard. It felt as if it were coming straight from her lips. Those soft, warm lips that I missed so much. I had been a fool this whole time. There was no ritual that turned my wife into a demon. No, it was my very master who did it. He had wanted me to join his team for some time, seeing potential in me that he saw in no other. He knew that if he corrupted my wife he could win me over, especially if he could appear to me my savior. Certain authorities in the Church, men who hungered for power, going to any means to receive it, even to the Devil himself, sanctioned the order that I had joined. Though, it was not sanctioned by the Faith. My master was the true dark lord, and the side I had fought on was the true enemy. The demon before me was no angel either, though, but he was accepting of his inner beast. He knew what he was, and he was not trying to live in the shadow of men. He was a murderer, a monster, and he could destroy the entire world with the wave of his hand. But he had no desire to do so. He did not want any earthly power. He just wanted to exist. Killing only what he needed for food. Though at this stage, he did not even have to do the killing, but rather had his minions bring him sweet meals from time to time. The monster allowed me to leave with the truth, wanting to see what I did with it, and what I would and could become. He also felt I had potential. He had never known a young blood to be as powerful as I was, or so he said. My power was rooted in the ancients he had told me.
            That night I escaped with my life, or whatever facsimile of a life it was and went into hiding. My master knew I had the truth now, and his soldiers hunted me day and night. For centuries I have fled from being destroyed, gaining more knowledge of my powers and myself, hoping that one day I will have enough power to defeat that evil demon that spawned me to this undead existence and repay him for taking away the only love I ever knew. But he is an ancient like that dark lord I met that night, and my power is still nothing next to his. By I vow that the day will come when I end his reign and serve him a penance that is long overdue. But before that day more blood must be shed. I need to feed in order to survive. Some of his soldiers will be my victims. They will pay for his sins for now, and they will also pay for mine.

Saturday, February 25, 2012


            2659 – what did it mean? That monster was out there taking lives, and Meyers and I couldn’t match the number to anything. But unfortunately, it was our only clue. My job is to get inside the twisted minds of those beasts that I hunted. I had to think like they did, and crack their codes. This has lead me to the edge of darkness many times, and I felt like this time I would go completely over and be swallowed by the evil around me. I was concerned for Meyers. She was a good kid with a lot of heart, but she was very green and very innocent. The darkness would devour her all too easy. You only lose your innocence once. I lost mine a long time ago. She was losing hers now.         
            A call came through at that moment. Another dead body had just turned up – a four-year-old girl. Meyers and I rushed to the scene. It was a cute little house in the suburbs; you know the kind with the picket white fence. We entered, not knowing what to expect. There was blood everywhere, like some kid got into a can of red paint and went to town. The creep must have been wearing gloves, because amid all the mess, we found no fingerprints.  We entered the girl’s bedroom and saw her lying on the floor inside a circle of what seemed to be her own blood. She was too young and precious to die in such a horrific manner, the way she was twisted and contorted. The beast had snapped her head back behind her, and slit her sweet and tender throat; her crystal eyes gazed at me, begging for mercy. I closed them, and closed my own for a moment. Who could do such a thing – end the life of one who had hardly lived? Some would say he saved her from the pain of the world, and that she would be in Heaven now with the angels and some god. I have never believed in any of that nonsense. The supernatural, life after death, angels, demons, none of that was real to me – only cold hard facts. This girls life was over, ended not by some demon from the darkest part of hell, but by someone of flesh and blood. There was no Devil, only the evil in people’s hearts. Where it came from I’d never know, but I’d seen it plenty of times. I was looking at it right now. I watched Meyers falling deeper into the abyss as she glared at the child’s bare chest, where in blackened flesh was branded the number 2659. She could not believe that a human being could perform such a perverse act. To her the Devil was real, and he had left his mark.
            We got back from talking with the girl’s parents, and I was not sure what to think. I slumped down into my chair and took a few deep breaths. Meyers ran over to the computer to cross-reference something in the database. While I felt more lost than ever, she was on a mission. Not sure what she was so keen on; the parents’ story seemed so unbelievable, as if they were trying to cover up something. But why would they make up such a fantastic story. Nothing made sense. The mother had been cooking, while the father was in the study. When Mom called everyone to dinner, the girl didn’t come to the table. Dad went to get her, and that was when he found her just as we had seen her. There were no screams; no one had broken in. The parents were the only ones in the house. When the father ran to tell the mother, he noticed all the blood on the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling. I was hoping for something more creditable, especially since these were our first eyewitnesses. But Meyers felt that they were telling the truth; she could see it in their eyes. The only truth I saw was the pain, a hurt that could not be consoled. That was what made this so difficult. I had to give it to Meyers, she was a good judge of character from what I’d seen, but the story that they told went against all that I believed and held true. There had to be another answer; but just as with all the other murders, the only solid clue that we still had was that enigmatic number -2659.
Meyers called me over. Apparently she had found something interesting. I looked over her shoulder to read the file that she had on the screen. It was from The Demon Knight Case. I remembered it well. Steven Ross, who called himself “The Demon Knight,” went on a month long killing spree in this very city about 5 years ago.  It was all part of some insane ritual he was performing. By sacrificing these innocents, he would release some demon from its imprisonment in the abyss, and in turn be granted great powers and a seat at this dark lord’s right-hand side when it took dominion over the Earth. This head case took the lives of forty people that summer in a very similar manner to the murders that we were facing now. Though these new murders were a bit more grotesque, and Steven didn’t use any numbers or branding. But “The Demon Knight” could not be involved with these new murders; it was impossible. I explained to Meyers how we had captured Mr. Ross thanks to his ego. He had a short wave radio broadcast that he put out every Friday evening, updating his fellow followers of his dark lord on his progress. We were able to track the signal to his house. He was found guilty of murder in the first degree on all forty accounts, despite his plea of insanity. This of course got him a one-way ticket to the electric chair. I made sure that I had a front row seat to see him fry. Even at the last moment he never gave up on his dark quest. You could see his lips chanting some incantation as they pulled the switch. Maybe his prayers were answered in some strange way, for he didn’t die that day. The electric shock put him into a comatose state, leaving him alive but with no function left in his body. He is still in the nursing home, hooked up to machines to keep him alive as a vegetable. Talk about your tax dollars at work. It never made sense to me. We intended to have him die to pay for his crime, yet we kept him breathing. Meyers still thought he was connected in some way to this new string of murders. And now I knew why. I looked at the screen to where she was pointing, almost as if she had won the lottery. There it was in black and white, that very number that had been haunting us throughout this case – 2659. It was Steven’s room number at the nursing home. Someone knew this, and was giving us a message.
Maybe it was a copycat killer, or a follower of “The Demon Knight,” who was trying to finish what his master had started. Either way, we finally found our connection. But I was still puzzled at how Meyers was able get this information now, when it had eluded us for so long. She handed me a photo that was taken inside the home of the little girl. It was a shot of the wall that had blood smeared all over it. Meyers explained that when she looked at the photo and studied it, she realized that the markings on the wall were Ancient Sanskrit. She was an expert in ancient civilizations and cultures, especially written languages. She translated the writing and it said demon knight. So she cross-referenced demon knight and 2659 and came up with Steven Ross. She hadn’t told me about the writing on the wall because she wanted to be certain that she wasn’t wrong. The connection was perfect, and Meyers earned her first gold star.
We arrived at the hospital and were escorted to Mr. Ross’ room. When we got there, Meyers’ eyes opened wide. There was no doubt left in her mind. I was a little stunned myself. The room number was 2659. We entered to see Steven lying in a bed hooked up to a respirator and an IV. He couldn’t kill anyone like this. Out of nowhere he started to convulse. Nurses ran in to his aid. We stepped out and I walked over to the desk to ask some questions. Apparently, Steven had been experiencing these convulsions for the past two weeks. I was given a record showing the time and length of each. As Meyers and I left, I received a call. There was another murder at 6:15 PM. That was the exact time that Steven had his fit. We rushed back to the office, and I quickly pulled out the files. The times of the murders matched those of Steven’s seizures perfectly. This was surreal, there had to be an explanation. I called the hospital to speak with one of the doctors – he was dead. Somehow Steven Ross’s respirator stopped working, and they were unable to resuscitate him. The look in Meyers’ eyes said it all – she had pulled the plug.
The murders stopped that night, and the case went unsolved. Though, Meyers and I knew the truth. And thanks to this case and, of course, Meyers, I learned how to believe.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012


To dream again of days and nights,

Fantasies that are my own,

Or those long lost, from days gone,

From where I’ll never know.

To believe just to believe,

And not because I’m told.

To not have life broken down,

Like some formula.

And be more than flesh and blood.

To live, and hope, and love.

To know the gentle touch of angels,

And of faeries all around,

Of might and magic, and of dragons,

Not just what’s been found.

To believe in God and the Devil,

Battling for our souls.

And in goodness and in laughter,

A world so wondrous to behold.

To believe in all your heart’s desires,

Hope and pray and come to be

A people that are more than people,

A people who know how to dream.


Saturday, February 18, 2012


Thank you for stopping by and checking out my blog. I will be posting some of my free writing on this site along with whatever may be on my mind at the time. The stories and poems will not be edited much, so I appologize up front for their raw nature. I am excited to share the creations of my mind with those who are interested in reading them.

You can also check out my art work at, as well as the offical website for my novel  A Story Told at, and the offical site for Z and the Cancer Meanie, a children's book written by Hillary St. Pierre-Ford and her son Xander Ford that I illustrated at

Enjoy and God Bless!