AnythingHorror Central

The submissions are in, and over 2 pots of coffee all eleven (11) stories have been read, re-read, and re-re-read.  After much deliberation, MUCH deliberation, the winner has been selected.  But before I announce the winner I’d like to go over exactly how we (more on this in a second) decided the winners.  That’s right; I said winners!!  You’ll remember that Don over at T-Shirt Bordello (http://www.tshirtbordello.com/) sponsored this contest.  But Don is more than simply sponsoring this contest; he also agreed to help me read the entry’s and pick the winner.  But Don was so impressed with all the stories (as was I) that he said he wanted to increase the prizes.  So here’s the new prize breakdown:

FIRST PLACE:

Bates Motel Key Chain

Bates Motel Mug

Bates Motel T-Shirt

Bates Motel Ashtray

SECOND PLACE:  Bates Motel T-Shirt

THIRD PLACE:  Bates Motel T-Shirt

and here’s the kicker …

EVERYONE ELSE GETS A BATES MOTEL KEYCHAIN!!  Thanks to Don over at t-shirtbordello.com for his incredible generosity!!  And everyone remember that T-Shirt Bordello is THE place to go for horror t-shirts, mugs, ball caps, and more!!  Send some love back to Don because I know he’ll be interested in doing another contest down the road.

Ok; now let me tell you how the winners were chosen.  And for the sake of full disclosure I will tell everyone that 2 of the entry’s came from people who have submitted either a guest review or article to anythinghorror.com.  But I can tell you that that had absolutely no impact on choosing the winners.  Here’s how the process went:  All 11 stories were printed out without the name of the person who submitted them.  I also forwarded copies of all the stories to Don.  So Don and I read the stories blind and Don then emailed me his suggestions for the winners and I made notes as to my winners.  Then to get a 3rd set of eyes into the mix I had my wife read the stories (also blind).  I compiled everyone’s “grades” (each story was rated 1-5, 5 being the best) and the winners were selected.

Let me tell you that it was friggin’ HARD narrowing it down to the top three.  Myself, Don, and my wife are all seriously impressed with all the stories that were submitted.  Everyone was super creative and really kicked ass.  There were stories told from the perspective of the road leading to the Bates Motel; from the perspective of the bar of soap in shower; of Hitchcock choosing which fruit to use for the stabbing sounds; excerpts of the minutes from the Fairvale Chamber of Commerce, and of a collector who takes his new acquisitions a little too seriously.  All the stories are strong and surprisingly the vast majority of them contain passages about masturbation!!  I KNEW I had a sick bunch of followers!!  LOL

So without further hesitation here’s the top 3 winners:

THIRD PLACE:  Matthew Funk’s story “I Have to Get Rid of Mother”

SECOND PLACE:  Jason McKinney’s “The Bates Motel Bar of Soap”

… and the FIRST PLACE winner is …

Derek O’Brien for his story “Pyschopomp”!!!

Congratulations Derek!!  Besides the actual story itself, I love the title!!  It works on so many levels.  We all really loved your story and I thought you did a really amazing job conveying a lot in just 500 words.  And as promised I’m going to post Derek’s story but am also gonna post Jason’s and Matthew’s as well.  Enjoy them and let me know what you think.

Now I need all 11 of you to send me your mailing addresses to my email at anythinghorrorscott@gmail.com.  And Derek, Jason, and Matthew; please send along what t-shirt size you wear.  Don’t worry, as soon as the prizes are all sent off I’m gonna delete your addresses from my email.  Oh wait … maybe I can sell them to Hong Kong gangster in Thailand!!  (I’M KIDDING)

Thanks to everyone who submitted a story.  You all did phenomenal jobs and I now know that I better keep on my toes with my reviews and articles!!  It’s truly nice to know I have a talented bunch of creative and twisted writers out there!!  And don’t forget to visit Don over at T-Shirt Bordello and check out all the great horror & non-horror related goodies he offers.  I wanna give Don a huge thank you for making my first real website giveaway such a great one.  I have a feeling we’ll join forces in the future again.

Now enjoy the stories.  First Place Winner:

PSYCHOPOMP

by Derek O’Brien

Ramiel had followed Marion Crane for days. By chance he’d spotted her while he was flying over Phoenix, and though at first glance there was nothing about her to attract someone like him, still he followed his instincts, staying close to her and leaving more obvious mortals for others of his host. Once or twice along the way he doubted himself – he was otherworldly, not omniscient – and considered leaving Marion with her stolen money.

His doubts vanished when she met Norman Bates, a sundered, dangerous soul intimate with death.

Now Ramiel stood, invisible and intangible in the shower, his wings wrapped around himself as if to keep him dry, and watched Marion sculpt suds from the cheap soap to lather her arms and breasts, occasionally delving between her legs, lingering with an indulgent smile. Ramiel had never been corporeal, but he could appreciate the attractive, vibrant woman before him. She had such potential.

Which made was what to come all the more regrettable.

As if on cue, the bathroom door opened, unseen and unheard by Marion. Ramiel knew it was Norman, his arousal fuelling his insanity. Marion’s death was imminent.

But… it wasn’t inevitable.

Ramiel knew no supernatural agency demanded she be murdered tonight, alone in a seedy motel. And maybe he was just getting maudlin with age, but now he genuinely considered helping her. Nothing overt, just give her a shudder, enough to make her turn in time and have a fighting chance. She wasn’t evil, not like some souls he’d attended. Yes, she’d stolen that money, but had since resolved to return it. Why not help her?

But he already knew why: it wasn’t his place to make value judgments. Life and death was beyond fair or unfair. Evil people died in their sleep, good people were murdered in seedy motels. If he saved her, why not the next one? And the one after that? Where would it end?

No, all he could do was what he always did, what all his kind ever did: be there for these souls when it was their time.

Marion’s time came with a flash of steel, a scream, a vicious, relentless breach of flesh. She struggled futilely, her strength and life following her blood down the drain. She pulled the curtain down with her as she died, a vinyl shroud.

Norman departed. Ramiel ignored him, kneeling down in the tub. He didn’t have much time; the soul, brutally severed from the body like this, could be lost. With a gentler, more careful penetration than the knife had offered, he passed his hand into her, searching, searching-

There! He withdrew it, cradling it cautiously in both hands. It was shaken from the events of a moment before, but still intact. Marion Crane’s soul had survived! Marvelous!

He carried it outside, spreading his black wings and ascending into the desert night, still protecting the precious soul until he found a quiet spot for himself.

He didn’t want to be disturbed while he feasted.

———-

Second Place Winner:

The Bates Motel Bar of Soap

by Jason McKinney

My name’s Bartholomew and I have a story to tell! You know those bars of soap you find in motels? Well, that’s what I am, a cheap bar of soap in a cheap motel. I’ve had some good and bad times in my short life and this is the story of both.

The guy who owns the motel I work in is a creep and into some weird stuff. The towels heard from the bed linens that he’s into peeping tomfoolery and stuffing dead animals. He’s not a bad looking guy for a soft-spoken, dark haired broomstick but his mommy obsession’s more than a little off-putting. Like I said, the guy’s a creep.

My first task at my job was pretty awesome. I mean, how many bars of soap can say that their first go at bathing is with a hot blonde. This girl was smoking hot! She was sharp in all sorts of ways but unfortunately so was the knife that killed her.

I mean what the hell, you know? Here I am, minding my own business, slathering her up when the curtain opens up all of a sudden and this jackass starts stabbing her. Not only does he ventilate her with a butcher knife but he does it in his mothers dress! I mean seriously, what’s that all about?

My day was shot after that. He cleaned up the mess he’d made and used me to do it. That sucked! I went from sliding all over sweet boobs to cleaning up blood for Sweeny McCreepiness, the demented taxidermist of the desert.

The worst part was when he smoothed me down and tried to put me back in my wrapper. He did a crap job of it by the way.  Then he shoved me in his pocket. Not only is he blood thirsty and weird but he’s cheap too.

Next thing I know he’s talking to his dead mother, in two voices I might add, as he climbs the stairs fumbling with me. “Norman, get up here. Norman where are you?” he kept saying to himself in a fake, gross old woman’s voice. Ugh. Well, Norman did a crap job rewrapping me to begin with but because he kept handling me with his sweaty, skin wrapped, bony appendage he got me all lathered up, and not in a good way, and warped me out of shape, too. Then I landed right on the steps and now I have old woman carpeting on me to boot.

I laid on that step for who knows how long before some schmuck with a badge showed up. Questions are asked, paranoia ensues and this poor joker takes a fall down the stairs. Let me make something clear, he wasn’t so much pushed, but rather slipped. The guy stepped on me right as he was turning to face Mr. Bony Faced Murderer Momma’s Boy. Ever been stepped on by a slightly overweight person? No? Let me tell you, you don’t want to be. The guy ground his damn flatfoot grime into me and on top of that took me down with him. Thanks for nothing, Ace. I swear we seemed to fall forever and at a weird angle too.

Now listen, Norman Creepy Pants knows how to clean a crime scene. I’m soap so I know clean. Unfortunately, I also know the feel of dead old lady. Creepy decided to wash mommy’s parchment like face before dropping me into the trash. I guess participation in three murders is the limit for a bar of soap. Why couldn’t I have been Dawn dishwashing liquid instead?

———-

Third Place Winner:

I Have to Get Rid of Mother

by Matthew C. Funk

I have to get rid of Mother.

Thinking it feels so wrong, I have to sit and bite my knuckles: Biting the hand that feeds me.

Sitting in Mother’s chair calms me. What I should have thought was, I have to get rid of what I’ve done.

Getting rid of Joe, that’s easy. Just dump him. Mother deserves better. The idea of Mother rotting underground or in the lake, fishes biting out those majestic eyes, is wrong.

Then it hits me: I can embalm Mother.

That’s what the heart-eating Incans did for their rulers, after all. I go to my toolbox.

The Chinese did it, burying slaves alive with their Emperors. I get the needles, thread, scissors.

That’s what the Pharaohs deserved, mummified to rise again and to rule as a disembodied soul roaming the world until that time. It may be seen as sick—her own son cutting and sewing and drying her—but Mother deserves no less.

The Egyptians used natron to dry the body. Natron is soda ash, which I use for my taxidermy, and bicarbonate, which I have for my stomach.

I lay Mother out in her bedroom, slip off her dress and poise the scissors. I stir inside like I always do before cutting into an animal—like juice concentrate stirring into liquid. She deserves better, yes, but she deserved a better son than me.

“That was always the problem, wasn’t it?” I say.

I spoon out Mother’s eyes—eyes that always seemed to be there when I was at my worst: Rubbing myself under the sheets. Playing with knives and puppies. Watching women.

I think on replacing Mother’s eyes but there’s no replacing those eyes. There’s no escaping what I did.

“Why did you do it, Norman?” I say.

I’m sawing Mother’s heart, lungs and stomach free as the answer comes: I was never precious enough for that heart, only got yelling from those lungs, failed to fill that stomach.

I gave and gave but it wasn’t enough. So I had to get rid of Mother.

“That wasn’t my problem though, was it?” I find Mother’s voice comes naturally.

I realize that’s true as I lay Mother’s hands in the salt solution—I know those hands tried to care for me. They rubbed ointment on my chicken pox. They took those Weird Tales magazines away, stains and all, no matter how many times I bought them. They tried to burn and belt and lock the sin from me.

I cry because Mother was right and I was the wrong one: My fault I got hard when she put on the ointment. My lust seeking stories of amputations and animal sex. My evil that made me crave escape from punishment more than I did true redemption.

I am so hard now. I realize there is no redeeming me. I do not dry my tears because Mother’s hand cannot.

There is no bringing Mother back.

“I should have been the one!” I cannot close the lid. Not yet. I am crying too hard. I need Mother’s hand to clean me.

“Yes,” I whisper back like Mother would. “You should have, Norman.”

I cannot close the lid. I have to get rid of Mother. But not nearly as much as I need to get rid of myself.

I set the lid aside. My hands are raw and notched: Murderer’s hands.

But Mother’s hands, they wouldn’t hurt a fly.

I leave the lid off. I keep Mother where I can get to those hands when I need them.

I sit in Mother’s chair and rub the natron on my face and my tears vanish. I remember the basic rule of preservation: Know what to get rid of and what to keep.

I rock and think about what parts of us will have to go.