Selfie

Look at this! I found this in poor wee little Brad's journals!!!!

He didn't do my coat any justice, but don't I just look so fucking fuckable and gorgeous?!?!

Caaaaan you feeeel, the LOOOOOOVE toniiiiight??

Because I sure can't!

Hello.

You don't know me, but I know you! Actually that's not true, you know me, because Our mutual Friend here (oh look at him, he's so cute, thrashing around like that) has been talking about me quiiiiiite a lot on this blog.

He even gave me a Name, a new Name, a name that isn't really what I'm called at all but that I like quite a lot, just the same. (His name is Brad, by the way. Funny he didn't tell you that but elected to give me a name over himself) The Monster. It's kinda catchy, innit? More eloquent than my real name, because my parents were uncreative motherfuckers like that. So I'll just yank this title he gave me, here on this ADOOOORABLE little blog, and- oh!

Oh, he's trying to knife his way through the ropes, guuuuys! Guys, follow me, I'm going to

that's better. 

I cut off a few of his fingers with the knife~! ^_^

You know, he knew this was going to happen. From day one, he knew how much I hate people who snitch. I think I'll shoot him in both kneecaps now

BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT FUCKIN HAPPENS TO SNITCHING LITTLE BITCHES LIKE YOU

From the moment Brad entered my organization, my Crime Ring, whatever you want to call it...he knew what happens to those who choose to betray me. It's aaaaallllll over this blog, his FEAR of me. I just love being feared, you know, so very very very much. I'm happiest when people fear me. When people fear me, they stay out of my way, they do what I want! and that just gets me feeling all giddy inside! Brad feared me, you can see it in this blog, and yet he chose to deliberately leak information about me to the internet! The scandal, guys, I tell ya! The scandal!

So you see, I had to take him out. And I have to cut out his tongue right now because a.) he won't be needing it anymore, and b.) it looks soooooo delicious when he SCREAMS.

there. Got that taken care of.

I think I like this blog thing! It looks like there's a whole wide world of people out there who use this to talk about what they're doing, who they are, WHERE they are, and all of it seems so...interesting! As long as I don't give out my own information like that rotten snitch Brad then there's no reason I can't follow all of the lovely people who use blogs to talk about...whatever the hell it is you idiots use this shit for. There are even stories about the boogeyman, and other scary creatures, which is the COOLEST SHIT I've ever heard of!

I'll be seeing you around, guys, I promise!! I have to go now, though. I have Brad to take care of, to feed to my boys, and then I'll sleep and wait for tomorrow. I've got a buuuuuusy schedule tomorrow, and I want to be well rested for that.

I'm only human, afterall.

oh God

shes here

The Monster Is Onto Me

It knows. I don't know how it knows, but it does.

Let me back up and explain myself, so that what I'm saying sounds less like some jack-off making no sense on a blog and more like a proper story, at least like a proper explanation.

Last night, me and a couple guys from The Monster's operation were hanging at my place, playing cards. It was quiet. There aren't many quiet days, or quiet nights really, not anymore. So it was nice to sit back, relax, breath in the cigarette smoke of a few buddies and enjoy a few rounds of poker. Plus a few rounds of beer, to go with it all. Nothing quite so warm and fuzzy as alcohol, not when you're scared.

And then there was a knock on the door.

I got up, I answered it, I didn't think anything of it on my way to the door.

But it was The Monster. Standing there, staring at me with those glassy grey eyes that never seem to blink.

"Card games tonight? How about I join you, hmmm, sweetie?"

The Monster talks like that, like it's your best friend and your worst enemy at the same time. It had it's coat on, the one made of human skin-leather and hair, the one that now that I think of it I don't think I've ever seen it not wearing. It didn't wait for an answer to its question; it just strolled into my apartment, the Devil itself entering my home.

I'm never going to feel safe again.

It played cards with us, that was all. Nothing happened. But I know it's onto me. The Monster doesn't make house calls, the Monster never visits unless it's seriously fucking pissed off at you, if it's planning something awful for you. And in the middle of the night, in a room full of scared shitless guys who knew how fucked I was, how fucked they might be just for being in proximity to me, The Monster went on this long rant about how anyone leaking our information is as good as dead. What was the phrase it used? Oh yeah.

"Snitches don't get stitches...they get a visit from me!"

I need to get out of town. Tonight.

Overnight Monstrosity

I heard this one from a buddy of mine, who heard it from his friend.

Sometimes The Monster calls us directly. If you get a call from The Monster, you'd better kiss your ass goodbye. Everyone knows that, it's never a good thing to get a call from The Monster. The boss only calls you if you fucked something up real bad, otherwise someone else calls.

My buddy's friend, let's call him Al, he got a call from The Monster. The boss told Al he was going to get picked up that very same night, by one of ours, and taken to a secret location where he was going to 'collect his prize!'

"Can you imagine that?" My buddy said. "Al knows he's gonna die, and The Monster basically fuckin' tells him 'congratulations'."

Al's prize was a night in an abandoned building. The guy who drove him there, our guy, The Monster put his head on it's wall. No one knows why.

But Al...my buddy says Al came out a completely changed man.

"He said to me, he said 'Man, it was fucked up!' And he was shaking, this hard-ass motherfucker. Just shaking the whole time. He was screamin' nonsense, he'd gone crazy, dawg. 'The walls, they moved, man! They had images of my family, my kids, my wife, and then there was blood! S-so much blood...' he said."

But that wasn't the worst of it.

"Snakes. Giant snakes, that's what Al says he saw. Says he got a text from someone that told him to go up to the second floor, and when he got there, there were giant snakes everywhere, all around him. They were wriggling around and hissing at him. After that, I dunno what the fuck he was trying to talk about. He kept screamin', he was so scared of what the boss did to him, he even banged his head against the wall a couple of times to try and 'make it stop'. I never fuckin' saw him again, after that."

No one did. Al was one of ours, but that doesn't mean shit when you work for The Monster. Whatever he saw, lots of our guys see that stuff, when they snitch or they sell someone out or they fuck up an important job.

You don't ever want to get a call from The Monster.

Monstrous Jobs

There are some jobs The Monster has us work that no one, not the sickest motherfucker, would enjoy. It calls a few of us in every once in a while, lets us get in on the action it reserves for its 'favorites.' Seeing as I'm pretty high on the totem pole, I guess, I get asked to participate or at least show up for these jobs pretty often. That's what happened yesterday, before I put up the first post.

Allow me to explain what that's like.

First there's the call. Someone higher up the chain from me rings my cell, I panic, these days a number I don't recognize is either a telemarketer or it's someone calling to set up one of these nasty jobs. When it's the job, the call almost always goes like it did last night.

"Hey man, look, you gotta show up for this warehouse job in the city tonight, 6 PM. The Monster wants you there."

"Shit, are you serious? I have plans already, goddammit!"

"Nigga, we all gotta show up tonight, don't pussy out. If you aren't there, we'll all come find you, and ain't nobody gonna be able to find you when we done with you. The Monster's orders. We all gotta do this, suck it up, bitch."

"Fine, fine, jesus...fuck this."

"You preachin' to the choir, mothafucka."

Then it's over, and I've only got an hour and a half to prepare for whatever's next, fuck it's so close. Why does it have to be so close?

When my plans are cancelled and I'm all set, I drive to the warehouse where The Monster usually does this sort of business, and I get together with all the other boys working this job outside the warehouse where we're summoned. We don't talk. Conversation would be admitting that some shit is about to go down, although silence is pretty much the same thing.

After about fifteen minutes standing in a circle, smoking cigarettes, one of us will get the call, the all clear. It's time to go inside. We enter through one of the doors around the back, because we don't want to be seen. The clean up job will be superb, like always, but it's still a risk The Monster might kill us for taking.

Something waits for us in the warehouse when we enter, it's different every time. Last night...last night it was people, three grown men, strung up by their toes against the wall. All of them are unconscious and we stare at them, not sure what to do, not sure who they are, but knowing that whatever's about to happen to them is not going to be pretty.

That's when we see it. The Monster.

It's sitting on the other end of the warehouse, across from us, staring at us with those foggy grey eyes like it lives in a world a million miles away. Maybe it does, I don't know, I don't want to know. When we enter, The Monster stands up, and strides across the room, like its trying to appear majestic.

"Hello, boys, hello!"

We all try not to shiver. The Monster is wearing a robe, a robe made of something peach-colored, with suspiciously human-looking "fur" around the collar. Its hands are shaking violently, they always are.

"I'm so glad you could make it!" The Monster says, cheerfully, like it's invited us to a tea party. "I've got a veeeeeery special job for you all today. Do you see these men? These traitors? Oh, yes, they're ours! Or they were ours, until they decided they'd go to the police, try to break out operation apart piece by piece by piece. They were in it together, you see, against us! Against our entire operation!"

The Monster's voice is like a siren, echoing off the walls of the warehouse, unabashed and free, like it doesn't care who hears. It probably doesn't. It sounds happy. I wish it didn't sound happy. None of us move, we wait for the boss to tell us what to do.

"Kill them." The Monster says. "Cut out their organs for me, and make them eat each other's insides. Take them apart piece by piece by piece."

Of course. It had to be something sick, something to do with eating flesh. I've seen The Monster kill and eat people before. It never leaves anything behind. It tears people to shreds for food, for fun. The guys hanging by their toes, they'll wake up in time to feel their organs being ripped out, in time to watch someone else get force-fed their liver or their heart or their bladder. It's fucking horrible.

So of course we have to do this job, we have to make these guys eat each other. The boss won't like it if we say no, the boss will probably make one of us kill the chicken.

That happened, last night, to one of the boys. I think it was the guy who called me in the first place.

Fuck.

I can't write about this right now.

The Monster sent us home when we were done. I haven't stopped shaking since.

I Work For A Monster

It's true.

I've been thinking about it recently, thinking real hard, and I've come to the conclusion that I need a place to talk about what I do for a living. A place where The Monster won't see me, won't know who I am, but where maybe people can talk to me about this.

I know, it's melodramatic, talking about my boss as "The Monster" like that. But it's true. That's what my boss is, is something horrible, something evil, something eldritch.

I've seen The Monster slice people up and use their organs as decorations before they've even had the good fortune of dying first.

I've seen The Monster wear skin and hair like clothes, bones as jewelry.

I've seen The Monster organize the deaths of hundreds, without a second thought, like its easy to command others to kill, and The Monster always smiles at this time.

I can only imagine what The Monster is thinking all this time, and I don't like to do that. I much prefer to stay in my own head, leave all that shit alone. I'm not brainy, I don't feel like making myself sick wondering what my boss thinks and feels. Our operation, we just do what The Monster tells us to do, and we hope that it won't kill us in the cross-fire because it is so, so violent and volatile and vicious.

I want out, but there is no out, not when you work for a monster, for The Monster.

It's not human, afterall.