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Out of the Demented Mind of R. R. Stark and into the Putrid Gutters of the World at Large . . .
Now introducing a new chilling thrilling spine-tingling, knuckle-crunching, blood-gushing, psychological super-suspense mystery chiller thriller killer theater extravaganza of mega-horrific proportions that will turn your eyeballs into gooey jelly, your spine into slimy limp spaghetti, and boil your blood into zesty tomato sauce, and make you fall off the edge of your toilet seat! Yes! It's a slasher gasher masher trasher chiller diller thriller! And now it's time for our theater of horrors, our carnival of the macabre, our heinous feature presentation of . . .
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A Prelude to a Madman with an Axe
Far beneath the bright light of a full round moon, upon the dark surface of an unsuspecting world, in the middle of the wretched night, there crouched the ominous dark figure beneath the dark shade of a dark tree along some nameless residential street, and yet the gleam of bare naked moonlight shimmered off the sharp edge of an axe blade, gripped tightly in his gloved hands. A muffled snicker could be heard parting his lips, through a dark stocking pulled over his head, but only audible to those listening, but none listened save himself, for he enjoyed the sound of his own muffled snickers, especially upon bright moonlit nights like tonight. He did not realize it yet, but on nights like tonight -- nights full of moonlight and shrinking shadows, whereby he could see his prey more easily -- they in turn could easily see him approaching. But he perceived himself as quick as lightning, pouncing upon them like a stealthy tiger before they could see him -- a demented delusion found only in his own deranged mind. And then approached his prey, a mild-mannered man in a business suit ambling down the sidewalk. The madman wielding an axe snickered, but then muffled it hastily, as he raised his weapon of choice high over his head, while he hid behind the darkly shadowed tree. The unsuspecting man had been eating something, and then he tossed something on the sidewalk. The evil psychotic stalker did not care; trivial things like this did not concern him. Then suddenly, he leaped from the shadows and into the full bright moonlight, hideously shrieking bloody murder, then he just as suddenly slipped on a banana peel -- the thing the man had tossed on the sidewalk -- then fell flat on his back, axe having slipped out of his loosened grasp and landing squarely in the middle of his belly. His hideous shriek became a piteous gasping squeal as the mild-mannered man stopped momentarily to look down, shrugged his shoulders, and ambled on, leaving the fallen Mad Axeman behind. As frightened prey fled, the temporarily delayed murderous stalker decided to give the helpless victim another chance, until next time -- at least that's how the demented imbecile perceived it, down in the deep dark depths of his deranged mind. However, the grim and ghastly reality remained, that the unamused mild-mannered man shortly arrived home, and safely, without further incident, having nothing special to tell his wife -- just another boring day, he casually told her. In the meantime, our antihero, the insidiously ominous Mad Axeman, felt a sharp pain in the pit of his stomach; not the feeling of defeat, but the intense penetrating feeling of the blade of his own axe going where no axe had gone before -- at least not his. He could handle a slight stomach wound, but the fact that his pride had been hurt was devastating! Being humiliated before one of his prized victims -- and out beneath the bright full moon yet! -- could not happen again! Better to be humiliated in darkness. That dreaded night he decided two things: that performing his do-badders deeds upon nights of the full moon were a bad idea, and also, that he had better find his way to the Emergency Room -- before he bled to death.
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Now we have set the stage for our insidiously ominous antihero, the diabolical Mad Axeman, who struck dreaded fear in the hearts of no man, or woman, or even child, except in the demented dark recesses of his own deluded mind, where he imagined he was the absolute prime evil that lurked across the face of the earth, in all his sinister maniacal glory. As much as we can reluctantly attempt to endeavor to see things from his twisted perspective, unfortunately we may tend to fail to reach this delusional high place of a new low. However, we shall vainly strive to attempt to vaguely try to strike horrible fear in the hearts of all who read! So all readers beware! For now before your bulging bloodshot eyes, we half-hazzardly present to you . . .
The Curse of the Mad Axeman!
Chapter One The Approaching Night the Black Moon The abysmal dark night stalked the horridly pallid moon, its perpetual eternal prey, for it yearned to devour its fleeing feast all the more. Each time the phantom orb peeked up over the dawn horizon far ahead of it, then scurried across the pitch black sky of obsidian darkness, and then fell back down into the west to hide behind the next horizon. And so the never-ending chase lingered on, like some demented cat and mouse game. This is how he saw it, through a pitch-black nylon stocking splayed over his hidden face, as he watched the dark‑edged moon above, bearing an almost oval glow, yet not quite full. Just full enough to cause him to sweat blood in anticipation for his true night, his true hour of morbid bloodcurdling satisfaction that he wrought upon his helpless victims. But tomorrow, or the next dreaded day, it would be a glorious beacon of brilliance, a horrible time for his chilling, gruesome work, for his prey would clearly see him in hot pursuit of them, and they would either get away, or attack the unsuspecting stalker with some form of retaliation. Mace, purse, fist, or knife were the usual weapons of choice of the victim. Hence, those nights of the bright, headlight moon were over. He learned his hideous craft the hard way – and spending countless times in the Emergency Room was getting old. That was the bad old days of the medieval 20th Century. He had smartened up since. Now was the new era of the 21st Century, the New Millennium of Moon Madness had arrived! For now, he preferred an ominous black moon, or better yet, a night sky with no moon, no stars, only a thick cloud covering, as if to conceal his secret paths of putrid pursuit, as if no one could see him do his dirty deeds. But in reality these individuals were not stupid. They laughed behind his back, while kicking him in the ribs. Nevertheless, he perceived with delusions of sinister grandeur that this dark time gave him an opportune chance for a most hideous stalking, for this dark, stocking-faced stalker was a most psychotic madman, who skulked beneath the dark beacon of a charred, blackened moon, who reeked with dread and horror from many bathless nights, who haunted the evil night with an icy, cold-blooded killer’s instincts -- who often repeatedly cut himself shaving with his sharpened axe, whether for masochistic pleasure, or by accident, we aren’t quite sure. Or maybe because he refused to remove that silly stocking, or perhaps he was simply a genuinely deranged socially unacceptable psychopath with nothing better to do with his life -- or his butt-ugly face. Nonetheless, he was a loathsome menace to the fear-fraught society of his own deranged imagination. He was a demented legend in his own sick mind. However, one ominous thing was certain. Soon the sinister dark night of The Mad Axeman would arrive!
WOOOOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!
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And now, once again, we bring you your irregularly unscheduled deprogramming spiel, that dastardly uncompromised suspense-mystery thriller horror show that makes the hairs inside your nose prickle, the goosebumps under your armpits throb like insidious parasites, and worst of all, makes your brains slosh around inside your cranium like limp dumplings in a bowl of chicken soup! Here it is, the continuing macabre misadventures of that doctor of demented delusions, that practitioner of pathetic psychotic pathologies gone wrong . . .
The Curse of the Mad Axeman!
Chapter Two The Pursuit of the Black Moon
The Dismal Dark Night stalked the teasing Black Moon. And Jack Brainbox was empty upstairs ‑‑ until the dreaded day they gave him a box of rocks. Then he believed he was smart. He went around grinning stupidly, showing off his cute little box of rocks, but people just shook their heads. Then he met the feared and ominous Mad Axeman in all his insidious and pernicious lack of glory. One hideously dark and evil night, Jack Brainbox mindlessly plodded up the sidewalk of some nameless backwater town, under that ominous black moon, unsuspecting the eminent doom, his dreaded demise, his inevitable death, his fatal finale. The tall dark figure with a black silk stocking concealing his mysterious face, and razor sharp axe held high over his head, slowly and ever-so- carefully crept up behind poor Jack Brainbox, slowly and stealthily, sneak, sneak, sneak, ever so quietly as a dead church mouse that just lay there in a pool of dried sticky blood, not even moving an inch, as if it were deceased or something. So stealthily and slowly and quietly did he stalk . . . . . . . Then all of a sudden Jack Brainbox did something horribly unexpected. . . “Aah-aah--aah--AAAAAAAAACHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!!!!!” The startled stalker screamed and lurched back, arms reflexively flying up, hands spasmodically releasing his weapon, and the axe flew upward, upward, higher, higher, then it seemed to stop and hang there in mid freaking air, as if trapped in time . . . . like a dried autumn leaf in wax paper. Then it broke free, and began to plummet downward, down, down, down, down, toward The Mad Axeman, who was paralyzed with fear, frozen like a dried autumn leaf in wax paper. It came right down on top of his . . . . . . . to be continued on the next Horrid Night of the Full Black Moon!!!
WOOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!!!!!
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After thirteen hundred stitches to his ugly cranium in his next visit to the Emergency Room, due to the plummeting axe, he felt relieved that he was still alive –barely, so now let us continue with the awful tale of that diabolical, demented klutz, in this deranged continuing saga of . . .
The Curse of the Mad Axeman!
Chapter Three The Ominous Moon of the Midnight Horror Surprise
The moon shone bright as a camp light in summer time, skeletonesque winter trees looked ominous and frightening, at least to little children who remembered Halloween in all its hideous glory. But that season was over now, but The Mad Axeman wanted every night to be Halloween, and he knew exactly how to do it! Yes, indeed! Each night he would take a knife, and take a life. It might be a man in strife, or even his wife! He cared not, but he would make it Halloween every night! “Hey! There’s a gleeful song in that somewhere!” the mad master of morbidity pondered. Or perhaps he would make it Friday the 13th every night! Now that was an insidious thought! A clever nocturnal notion! Hhhmmmm . . . But now he was confused, not sure which one would work best. Under the bright glow of the late night moon, he held his arms out wide, cupped hands, doing a silly weighing thing, while he muttered, “Hmmm, Halloween or Friday the 13th . . . Halloween or Friday the 13th . . . Halloween, Friday the 13th . . . I CAN’T DECIDE!” He clapped his hooded head between his clammy hands, “I CAN’T DECIDE! What will I do?” He began to run insanely across the park. “”The voices are at it again! They won’t shut up! WWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” Suddenly he saw a figure up ahead, holding a gun. “Stick ‘em up, sludge-brain! Your money or your life!” The confused Mad Axeman stopped dead in his tracks, looking madly at the mugger, but he could only respond with, “That’s a horrible choice! I got my own crap to worry about! Halloween or Friday the 13th! Which should I choose! WWWWWAAAAAAAAA!” The mad mugger, rubbing his chin, commented, “Well, let’s see. I saw Halloween on video the other night, it was pretty awesome. But I saw Friday the 13th last week, and I liked it better.” “What?!” Then the caught-off-guard mugger came to his senses. “What am I doing? I’m holding you up and all you can do is distract me with idiotic horror movies??? You pathetic idiot!!!” “What?! Horror movies? What’re you babbling about?” “What?! Forget it! I’m talking about your stupid money or your stupid life! Which is it?” “No, no, no! Its Halloween or Friday the 13th! I can’t decide!” The mugger growled, “You’re pissing me off! I’ll just take both! Your money AND your life!” BANG! BANG! BANG! The robber bent down, snatched a wallet off the body, and ran off.
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Chiller Diller Thriller Theater Disclaimer: Fortunately, we reserve the wretched right enjoyed by all idiotically absurd cartoons, that being that the dead shall always be resurrected. As stupid as that idea is, which blasphemously belittles the morbid sick disgusting absoluteness of death itself! BUT, we don’t really want to see our infamous hero, the Mad Axeman, die, do we, as you so shockingly witnessed in our last episode? So, like Superman, he springs back into action! No, that’s too easy. Instead, our morbid malcontent ended up just nearly dead in the Emergency Room, being nursed back to life by some buxom nubile babe of a hottie nurse, so he could once again take lives every night just like he used to attempt to do but failed miserably every time. So, now that he is back on his flat-footed feet, out on the dark streets under his favorite ominous black moon, the Mad Axeman is at it again!
Able to stalk young voluptuous gals with a sleazy, stealthy gait, then trip, stumble and crash into unforeseen trash cans. Able to almost mug a little old lady with a slinging WHAP! upside his head from a brick-laden purse, then get mace-sprayed in the eyes and go blind for a few days. Able to rob a well-dressed gentleman and get knifed in the gut and getting nothing out of it – except another visit to the Emergency Room. Yes! It’s a nerd, it’s a lame duck, it’s the super klutz of a fumbling clod . . .it’s . . .the Mad Axeman! And this is the next bloody episode of . . .
The Curse of Mad Axeman!
Chapter Four The Stalker’s Return from the Dark Dismal Grave
One dark ominous night under an odious black moon, our hero sat at a bench outside a nameless fast food joint. Attempting the awesome challenge of eating his hamburger through a black silk stocking pulled over his head, it dawned on him that no food was getting into his mouth. “Rats! Not again!” Then! He spotted his next victim! Walking down the sidewalk away from town. Yes! Away from town! Perfect! Perfect! He tossed the useless hamburger down to the hungry rats that heeded his call, then got up and began to pursue the unsuspecting, helpless, anonymous prey. . This time it was a large portly man built like a whale, wearing a sophisticated, double-breasted shimmering dark blue sharkskin suit. The Mad Axeman held his sharp axe out high, and stealthily slunk closer, closer, closer, and – tink, whoosh, thud! How embarrassing! Our ominous hero tripped over a pop can and plunked to the hard cement! Now that’s pretty embarrassing for a legendary horror character! But he quickly scrambled like eggs to his feet, but it was too late, he had alerted his target, who had turned hastily to see what all the commotion was. The huge man in the fancy suit noticed the ominously dark clad man in stocking cap, who was foolishly looking around trying to see where his weapon had gone. The angry whale-man growled, “YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME? HUH?” The mad stalker, now out of the mood and having lost his unbalanced equilibrium, scratching his head, replied, “Uh, no, not really. I couldn’t even eat my burger, so no thanks.” “Let’s do some STOMPING ACTION!” snarled the huge man, as he suddenly stripped off his suit, coat, shirt and trousers, revealing a makeshift super hero leotard type outfit in blazing red and purple. This was no mere fat man. This was a severely heavily muscle-bound obese wrestler in his tight fitting wrestler outfit, with blaring words in electric blue emblazoned on his bulging chest :KILLER CRUSH! And to make matters worse, the massive whale of an ogre angrily snarled, “Do you know who I am? Huh? Do you? Huh? Huh? Huh? Do you?” “Uh, no, and I really don’t want to know either--” “I’m the world championship award-winning mega-heavy monster-weight wrestler Killer Crush! GGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!” “Hmmm . . . I was just a little bit afraid of that.” The helpless victim continued, “And I’m gonna eat you for dinner, then spit you out and eat you all over again! GGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!” “Care to wear my silk stocking over your face while you do it?” our feared antihero threatened. Ignoring his hideous pursuer, the defenseless victim lunged at the sinister, insidious Mad Axeman, whose only hope now was that the silk stocking might clog the humongous man’s throat as he tried to chow down. The muscularly obese monstrous mountain of a madman jumped squarely on top of the dangerous deadly maniac in black sinister garb, crushing the life out of him, or perhaps just his feeble breath. Then the vulnerable prey got up and stomped and kicked and jumped on top of the ominous evil stalker again and again. When Killer Crush finally grew bored, especially from hearing the whiney groans from the heinous mad killer, he lumbered off in disgust, mumbling, “And he wanted a piece of me! Ha! WelI. I took some of him instead! Ha!” The horrible menace to society, The Mad Axeman, decided to take a little break from stalking and killing for a short while, at least until the next black moon, for he figured it was time for yet another visit to the Emergency Room – if he could crawl that far . . .
To be continued –--- > in your dreams!!!!
BWOOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
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Ladies and gentle-oafs! By now you’ve haphazardly realized that the real horror in this tale is that our fabled hero just can’t win! He’s always doomed to fail in slaying anyone. Sad to say, he’s his own pathetic victim of circumstances gone amok. He’s a demented mind run rampant, wreaking havoc on his own lost inner sick twisted child. So if you love tragic horrors where the good old bad guy wins in the end, GO FIND YOURSELF A DIFFERENT HORROR STORY!!!! In the meantime, here’s our own sick twisted perverted idiot gone stark raving bananas, stumbling around in the next episode of . . .
The Curse of the Mad Axeman!!!
Chapter Five The Deadly Demise Beneath the Black Moon
That hideous dark black moon haunted the horrid night once again, for it was a stalker’s moon, a moon where no light shone at all, the best night for stalking helpless prey. The Mad Axeman ritualistically sharpened the blade of his worthless axe with a whetstone, slowly, stealthily, sneakily, as if it were one of his victims. shshlleeeeeeek . . . .shshshllleeeeeeeeeeK . . . . shshleeeeeeeek--- Slice! “OUCH!” he squawked in horrid pain that only a week-stomached nutritionally depraved psychopathic idiot could blurt forth. He tried to stop the bleeding with a bundle of gauze wrapped with duct tape around his thumb, but the non-coagulating crimson rivers of ooze did not let up, so he sucked it caressingly like a vampire –and it tasted good.
Out under the gloomy doom of yet another dark night of another one of those morbid kill-fest sessions he had sinisterly planned, he waited in the bushes in some nameless park, until he spotted his next oblivious victim, a hapless teeny-bopper playing jump rope –and she was good at it too! Unfortunately her festive exercise took place beneath the seemingly safe light of a tall light-post, where he observed mindless moths flittering about, and once in a while, some got too close, and he spotted such a one that struck to close, right into the stark light bulb itself, and got mercilessly zapped, then it fell headlong toward the ground, a smoking, charred little lump of death –plop! Sizzle! He mused, what an intriguing diabolical demise! This inspired him! Motivated him! Sparked him! Invigorated him! Yes! This encouraged him to move on now, for it gave him hope and strength, to stealthily sneak onward and upward into long drooled for heinous success! Hence, he came out from behind the bushes, but still in the dark shadows of a moonless night. Fortunately, the rope-skipping girl faced away from him. He snuck up the sidewalk, closer, closer, closer, axe raised high, ready to plunge, and finally he was ready to pounce like a terrible mountain lion from a high rock – “Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!” The girl had turned and let out a lung full of noise that scared the holy crap out of our ominous hero, whereby the axe slipped from his ever so tight grip, clanging to the hard cement with a metallic CLANG! The resourceful girl, still a helpless victim lets not forget, took her long jump rope and swung it around above her head like a cowboy’s nifty lasso, round and round and round, making the Mad Axeman dizzy and nauseous, which was not good, for he had just had a celebratory stalker’s meal –now ready to let fly. So far he restrained himself. The frightened victim whooped the rope outward now in such a way that it flew forth and wrapped itself around the sinister fearsome killer like a deadly boa constrictor. It wrapped round his chest and waist, arms pinned down, and legs and ankles too. Then he wobbled and fell to the cement. Yes, he fell just like a smoking charred little lump of death. Except that he squirmed like a wiggling worm while the little girl laughed at him and kicked him repeatedly. Then her big brawny brother came along out of no where and with rampant rage proceeded to kick the living crap out of the dangerous, sinister ominous Mad Axeman that you just don’t want to mess with – unless he’s all tied up at the moment, of course. Our famed hero couldn’t afford any more payments to the emergency room, so he decided to simply lay there to hemorrhage and bleed to death, like the good little mad axeman that he was.
We dare not continue –but if you insist, stay tuned for next time – at your own risk!
BwoooooHaHaHaHaHaHaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!! * * *
Our poor wretched fool of an irreparably demented hero was running out of funds with his numerous trips to the Emergency Room. Yes, his wallet was getting very, very thin. Besides, he wasn’t getting anywhere in life, that is, his life of death-making, his career of grim reaping. Something had to be done, and no one could do it better – or worst, in his case – so let us continue with . . .
The Curse of the Mad Axeman!!!
Chapter Six The Psychotic Contemplations of a Demented Madman
The Mad Axeman decided that he had better start considering the possibility of thinking about arranging an appointment with a shrink. He confessed that he was a doomed failure at stalking and killing poor innocent unwitting people – for they all turned against him! No loyalty from helpless victims anymore like there was in the good old days when mad stalkers and mass murderers and serial killers had an easy time of it. But now people took Kung Fu lessons and fought back! Or they carried combative paraphernalia with them, as if preparing to attack any evildoers. It was a horrible world out there for his kind. His was a dying breed. But he pondered on his failures and wondered whether or not he was stealthy enough, or not cold-hearted and evil enough. Perhaps he had to slow down his sneakiness, be a tad quieter, or wear even darker clothes. Or maybe he wasn’t happy enough at slashing and thrashing his helpless targets. Perhaps he was developing a conscience, a horrible thing to have happen for a mad Axeman such as himself. He wasn’t exactly sure what the problem was, but now it was obvious to him that he was a total failure at his particular career. Oh yeah, sometimes it paid well when he pilfered a fat billfold, but most of the time it was empty wallets and purses and a knife in the gut, or even a swift kick in the ribs, or -- heaven forbid!-- right between the legs! No thanks from your clients these days! He finally realized that he was a hopeless loser at being a mad axeman. But there was nothing else that he knew how to do –but then he didn’t know how to do what he did very well either. He had become a hollow shell of a madman, a whimpering blubbering pool of sludge for some janitor to come along and mop up and put him out of his misery. Cupping his stockinged face in his gloved hands, he blubbered, "I'm wretchedly pathetic! I can't kill anyone. I've tried so hard! But I’ve failed -- miserably! Nay! Pathetically! Nay again! I've failed horribly! I realize what’s wrong with me now. I'M CURSED!!!" He finally admitted his problem, so now he realized that he had to change things. He had to gain strength. He had to acquire high self-esteem, inner confidence, ultra assertiveness, and other idiotic positive traits you read about in all those useless Self-Help books. He needed a lot of self reliance and inner fortitude so he could go out and confidently and successfully stalk , mug, slash, slice and dice his innocent victims once again. Yes, he knew what he had to do. It was time for The Mad Axeman to meet the Insidious Shrink!
BWOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!
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Sheesh! Forget the stupid introductory spiel and idiotically redundant main title for each bloody chapter, folks! Let’s just get on with this inane tale of madness and put it out of its nauseating misery!!! Alright??? Okay here’s the stupid lamebrained nutcase at it again, in . . .
The Curse of the Mad Axeman!!!
Chapter Seven The Mad Axeman Meets the Insidious Shrink
The moon was ominously black as usual, except for a slight hint of a silvery sliver along the left edge. That was a bad omen for The Mad Axeman that something could go wrong – again. But then this was not a night for stalking and slashing. It was a night for spilling his own guts. Yes, he had arranged to see the feared and ominous Insidious Shrink! As his appointment had finally come to fruition, as he sat there, nervously, sitting before the doctor of the mad mind, he felt indifferent, uncaring, and flat out miserable about life in general. Here’s the wretched spiel the doc and the madman spewed forth betwixt each other: Insidious Shrink: Good evening! Mad Axeman: Yeah, right . . . for you, maybe . . . Insidious Shrink: First tell me your name before we begin. Mad Axeman: I’m the Mad Axeman. That’s my name. Insidious Shrink: Hmm. Sure it is. Mad Axeman: It’s my legal birth name. My dad’s name was the Crazy Axeman. Insidious Shrink: I see, of course. Ahem! Would you please remove that wretched stocking off of your face? It’s rather annoying. Mad Axeman: No, I won’t. I’m an annoying kind of guy. It’s part of who I am. Insidious Shrink: Of course. Will you at least tell me what your problem is? You came here for a reason. Mad Axeman: I can’t do my job anymore. Insidious Shrink: Your job? And just where do you work? Mad Axeman: I work on the dark alleys at night, the back streets under a black moon, the dismal lonely parks, the despicable parts of town where unsuspecting passers-by walk the sidewalks, those helpless nobodies with “vulnerability” tattooed to their foreheads –or so I used to imagine. Insidious Shrink: Hmm. I see. An impressive career you have. Mad Axeman: Yes, it is. I followed in my father’s footsteps. Insidious Shrink: I see. Please tell me exactly what you do –uh, in your particular field of expertise. The gory details, the despicable specifics, you know. Mad Axeman: I stalk people, then sometimes I mug them and take their money, and then If I get lucky, I exterminate them. Or that’s my goal anyway. I like to slash and gash, hack and whack. Insidious Shrink: Obviously. So, tell me; exactly how many victims have you, uh, exterminated so far? Mad Axeman: You don’t want to know. Insidious Shrink: It’s that bad? I’m impressed! Mad Axeman: Worse. Insidious Shrink: I see. Please indulge me and tell me just how many. Mad Axeman: No seriously, doc, I can’t tell you without breaching confidence with my victims. Insidious Shrink: Well, as a professional, I have the same principle, so I won’t tell anyone else what you relay to me. In my business, we call it doctor-client confidentiality. Mad Axeman: Oh yeah. I got that too. Insidious Shrink: You don’t have to tell me their names –not just yet – but just how many. Mad Axeman: No names? Insidious Shrink: Yes . . . For now. Mad Axeman: Okay, okay. Insidious Shrink: Well? Mad Axeman: Uh Insidious Shrink: I’m waiting . . . Mad Axeman: Okay, doc. Uh . . . Zero. Insidious Shrink: What? Mad Axeman: Zero. Zilch. nada. Insidious Shrink: I don’t understand. Mad Axeman: What’s so hard to understand, doc? This is why I am here. I can’t do my freaking job. Okay? Get the freaking picture? I’m cursed! I’m a cursed man! Insidious Shrink: Oh, I see. You find it difficult to kill anyone, so you perceive that as a cursed. Interesting. Mad Axeman: Interesting? No, that's horrible! Insidious Shrink But you see, others would view that as a blessing. But if I understand you correctly, it seems to me that you can’t kill anyone because your conscience is getting the upper hand. Hence, a blessing in disguise. Mad Axeman: No! That’s not it! I have no conscience! I got the bloodlust, the will to kill! I just don’t have the smarts to pull it off. Insidious Shrink: Hmm. Interesting. Perhaps it’s time to change careers. Mad Axeman: Yeah, I thought about that. Maybe I could become a butcher, hacking at hogs and cows all day long – except they’re already dead. No fun in that. Insidious Shrink: Hmm. I see your point. Mad Axeman: Or maybe I could become a brain surgeon! Yeah! That way I am in control, and I’m tampering with victim’s helpless brains! That would be thrilling! Yeah! Insidious Shrink: Yes, that is indeed a remote possibility. Very remote. Mad Axeman: Hey! How about me becoming a shrink like you? Yeah! That’s the ticket! Insidious Shrink: No, I don’t think so. I doubt that you would be very good at it. Mad Axeman: Yeah! I could play head games with my clients! I could play psychological tricks on them! I’ll stalk their helpless minds until I drive them mad! That would be chillingly exiting! Yeah! Don’t you think, doc? I’d watch them squirm under the demented control of my puppeteer’s strings! I would be the master game player over their wiggling little pathetic minds, subject to my hideous tauntings and cudgeling and psychotic manipulations! Right, doc? Isn’t that what you do all day, doc? Huh, DOC? Insidious Shrink: Uh, well, not exactly, or not in so many words-- Mad Axeman: And YOU, doc, you can be my FIRST VICTIM! BWOOHAHAHAHAA! BWOOOOHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
. . . Dreadfully to be continued! . . .
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Chapter Eight The Revenge of the Insidious Shrink
Exactly as you had imagined in our last hideous episode, or so we imagine, you envisioned what happened next! Right? You know you did! We got your number -- and your address! We can look you up! We know where you live! Ahem! Anyway . . . Just as you suspected, our hero attacked the Insidious Shrink! But let us not get ahead of yourselves, let the story speak for herself!
When The Mad Axeman lurched up from his seat, splayed fingers like bear claws reaching out, he launched at the Insidious Shrink, who quickly maced him with two loaded cans of the nasty stuff! Pepper spray in fact! Yes, the mad doctor was ready all along. He was prepared like all the other victims. They got his number! – but not his address. Can’t have everything. Now our hero clawed at his own eyes, screaming bloodcurdling murder like a crazy demented madman, “MY EYES! MY EYES! MY EYES! AAAAAAAAAHHH!” “Serves you right, you perverted idiot!” laughed the Insidious Shrink in all his psychiatric glory. Our hero whined on and on, “My eyes! My eyes! I can’t see! They’re turning into jelly! Kinda like strawberry jelly, ya know doc? Ahem . . . . Anyway, like I was blathering -- My eyes! My eyes! My eyes! Waaaaaaaaaaa!!!” “Shut up, you wretched fool!” “Uh . . . just trying to get a little attention here . . . that’s all . . .” “I’ll give you a little attention all right!” The Insidious Shrink called for the men in white coats (just waiting around the corner) who came to take him away-ha-ha, they came to take him away-hee-hee hoo-hoo ha-ha . . . The horridly awful shrink hollered as they left with their newest nutcase patient, “You’ll get all the attention you need now! Ha-ha! Hoo-hoo! Hee-hee!”
* * *
Chapter Nine There’s a Madman in the Asylum!
He could not see his ominous black moon, his old friend and constant companion of dreaded doom. But he knew it was out there somewhere, out in the dismal night, wondering where he was; for it waited for him. It waited for him to come out and play. To play another mad game of cat and mouse. But alas, our demented beloved hero, the Mad Axeman, was preoccupied with less unimportant things to do, like spending his vacation at some nameless sinister insane asylum, and at present he was extremely busy struggling within the restrictive shrink-wrap confines of a horrible straitjacket, while he lay in a nice safe rubber room, safe from himself. But don't worry, he would find a way to hurt himself if he had to, just to spite them. He grumbled, he moaned, he blubbered, he whined, he babbled mindlessly, and wriggled around, rolling all over the floor, sticking his tongue out, licking up dead bug carcasses for breakfast, lunch and dinner, which gave him a decent amount of nutrition each day, other then the horrid slop they shoved on him through a tiny slot at the bottom of the door. At first he couldn't stand the slop because it was teaming with dead cockroaches. He was too proud to let them force that crap on him. But the bugs off the floor were his choice, so that wasn't so bad. Yes, it was terrible indeed, this way of life, especially because they removed the black stocking off his head, and this mortified and humiliated him beyond any recognizable tangible semblance of his psychotic former self. If he was crazy before, imagine extreme psychotic raging deranged insane craziness to the 100th power, multiply that by a billion, and add infinity to that. ! Yes, you've got a stark raving mad sicko nut-job beyond description on your hands! Not to mention his hands were not free to slash and gash victims with his axe, or even to scratch his itching nose or other unmentionable places, which only added to his hideous frustration. Suddenly! Something downright crazy happened! Or something much crazier then usual, that is. Our hero didn’t hear the door open, or close for that matter. But he did hear a noise, that of ruffling clothes and someone taking a few steps. He turned –and saw him standing there, across the padded room! He stood there, snickering at him mockingly! It was impossible! How could it be him? And how on earth did he even enter the room without using the door?
You will NEVER EVER know!!!!!!!!!!
Unless you read on . . . . and on . . . . and on . . . .
BwoooooHahahahahahaaaaaaaa!
* * * Chapter Ten The Darker Side of the Black Moon
The tables had turned. The world revolved upside down on him. The cat became the mouse and the mouse became the cat. For now he was the whimpering victim, not the dreaded stealthy stalker. For he stood across the room, a tall, dark figure in a long black coat, dark silk stocking concealing his face, and a glistening sharpened axe in his hand. “This is impossible!” our pathetic hero lamented. “You can’t be standing there like that! I’m the Mad Axeman! I am! Me! Not you! Who ’re you trying to fool! Get outa my cell!” The mysterious man replied calmly, “Do you know what they say?” “What? No I don’t.” “The difficult we can accomplish . . .” “Uh-huh . . .and . . .?” “The impossible just takes a little longer.” “What ’re you talking about?” he snarled. The man pointed at him with the axe, “Once you succumbed to your pathetic passive groveling self, then I had a chance to arrive – exactly the way it should have been.” “Your not making sense!” cried our limply laying hero as he lay on the floor, red-faced and getting mad. Not that he wasn’t mad before. It’s a given that he’s always been stark raving mad. “You see, once they captured you, locked you up, wrapped you up tight like a pig-in-a-blanket, and plopped you into this mental incubator here, whereby you have become lower then slime –well, I was liberated at last!” “You’re insane!” "Well, I know that. . . . But don’t you get it?” He raised the axe up, holding it up like a question mark hovering there. “Get what?” he whimpered. “That I am you! You created me!” he laughed in horrible blood-gushing triumph. “You’re crazy!” “Really? You seriously think so? I’d have never guessed! Wow!” the dark man mock-slapped his stockinged cheek. “You’re an imposter! Yeah! That’s what you are!” “Now you’re insulting me! I may be respectably crazy. But an imposter I am not!” “You’re probably some old victim of mine playing mind games with me . . . right?” “You’re starting to make me mad now. So shut up! Let me explain, you mental midget! You see, I am your darker self, dying to be free – free from your idiotic inept self! You could never make a genuine murderous mad axeman like dear old Dad was. Only I could, your evil, darker, more sinister side!” “No! No! No! This is madness!” “Yes it is! I agree!” “This can’t be! It’s impossible!” “But it is! And I have to put you out of your misery!” The darker self approached closer and raised the axe higher over his head. “And now, you pathetic squirming little worm . . . IT’S TIME TO DIE!!!” The axe dashed downward –
* * *
Chapter Eleven A Dreaded Dream of Doom
He woke up suddenly with a freaking raging splitting headache. It was the kind of splitting headache that felt like a very sharp axe was repeatedly plunging into his skull and brains, over and over and over and over again! It throbbed and throbbed and throbbed and throbbed! On and on and on and on and on!!!!! Okay, you got the idea??? Do you have that kind of headache now? . . . . . Good!!! Nevertheless, he had gotten this wretched headache because of that horrible dream. Or was it just a demented nightmare? He wasn’t sure, but he felt extremely drained, as if something had left him, like he was missing something, similar to if you had all your arms and legs amputated and they tossed the useless limbs into the mashing trash compactor as it squealed mechanically before your eyes. But you got the next best thing to that, a nifty straitjacket so you can’t move your legs and arms one iota. Well, that was his situation, not yours. Sorry we used you as an example. But we had to get you right into the gruesome bloody picture! Was it true? Had his darker self left him – in a lurch? Was this the dark and dreaded dweller on the threshold that legends lambasted about, that fabled myths indicated, that renowned metaphysicians pontificated? Was this some kind of weird doppelgänger effect that you read about in science fiction stories? Or was it a mad delusion he had concocted in his shattered mind which remained irreparably damaged beyond repair. No shrinks could cure this lamebrained loser! None wanted too! They wouldn’t touch his fractured cranium with a ten-thousand foot pole! They might whack it repeatedly, but they wouldn’t simply touch it. What a pathetic dismal, heart-wrenching pitiful sight he was. He grumbled. He mumbled. He wept. He whined. He whimpered. He was a mess. He was a pool of blubbering jelly, jiggling like red strawberry gelatin desert, the kind that looked red as blood, and just as icky and gooey. He imagined him out there, beneath the ominous black moon, stalking some helpless victim, axe raised high – and DOING IT WITHOUT HIM!
* * *
Chapter Twelve A Mad Mad Mad Mad Day in Hell
He was jealous. Extremely jealous. And vengeful too! He was extremely vengeful. He was extremely jealous and vengeful. He was mad too. Well, that was a given. Okay, we’ll say he was angry then. He was really angry. Really, really angry! Hence, he was extremely jealous and vengeful and really really angry! And let’s not forget, mad! Yes, he was MAD! Not just angry mad, but crazy mad! He was stark raving certifiably institutionally mad! He couldn’t take it any longer! Not just because the meals sucked, in spite of the fact those little nutritional morsels called cockroaches filled the broth he ate, giving him the added sustenance he needed. Not just because he was locked in a rubber room – AND PAINTED PINK YET! And not because he was paralyzed within the suffocating confines of a straitjacket, which was starting to get rather comfortable now, he thought. But because he was being deprived of his career. He was being denied his sick twisted art, his sinister craft, his perverted trade! Even though he still wasn’t any good at it. It’s what he always wanted to do ever since he was a kid, when that big fat bully in grade school pushed him down and jumped up and down on him, then took his sack lunch and jumped up and down on that -- which made our hero really mad! Both angry and crazy mad at once! All morning he had longed for lunch time when he could chow down on that wonderful peanut butter and baloney sandwich on sour dough bread. Now it was a squished mess of yuck! But he never got his chance to seek revenge. The big bully oaf had been suspended from school, then his whole danged family moved away. So revenge festered for many, many years in the twisted heart of this miserable pitiful fellow. So, this hideous asylum for the really truly seriously insanely mad as hell folks was no place for him! Or so he estimated. And he was having a mad, mad, mad, mad day in Hell! He had to get free from this awful, horrible confining straitjacket. He had to brake out of this terrible rubber room -- it was making him so crazy he was bouncing off the walls. And he had to escape from this psychotic loony bin. Then he had to gather his wits about him, become cool, calm, collected, and get his act together, as if he was a sane man. Imagine that! A perfectly demented madman pretending to be sane. HA! Nevertheless, he had to prepare himself, so that he could go out on the dark hunt once again, to seek out and find his prey, his awaiting victim . . . himself! For it was time to stalk the stalker!
* * *
Chapter Thirteen The Escape of a Madman
Suddenly he became a contortionist. Not by career, but by necessity. In spite of the tightly confining straitjacket, he managed to double himself over and stretch his neck out enough so that he could chew a hole to where his hands could stick out. His legs were wrapped tight too, but he managed to stand up and hop over to the door. He wiggled it and wiggled it and wiggled it. Hmmm. Nothing. Then he screamed bloody murder, “Help! There’s a giant cockroach in here and its eating me alive!” Nothing. Then he glanced in the corner where an orderly had placed a tray of food earlier. “Hey! There’s a worm in my soup!” Nothing. “Hey! The giant cockroach is eating the soup now!” Nothing. “Hey, can I have some salt with my worm?” The door opened immediately and the Mad Axeman tripped the orderly as he entered. Our clever hero shuffled down the empty hall, his feet inching along slowly but surely. He slammed through a door, then tumbled haplessly down a flight of hard cement stairs. He crashed out the door, into another hall, shuffled into a rec. room where he saw a big picture window. He had an idea, but before he could initiate it –like toss a big thick dictionary through it –he tripped over such a book some idiot left lying around, and fell headlong into that picture window – CRRRAAAASH! – and down into the bushes, which broke his fall, and a few ribs too. Some of the glass shards cut through the straitjacket material so that he was able to tear through it the rest of the way – and the slashing sensation gave him a rush! – so he could rip the whole thing off finally. Then he climbed over the stone wall and ran away. When someone walking down a sidewalk laughed at him profusely, pointing exaggeratedly at him, he stopped, looked down, and noticed he was stark raving nude! He hunched down, using his hands to conceal the unmentionable. Then he turned and ran into a shadowy grove of trees, disappearing out of sight. It was the night of an ominous black moon, for it was the dreaded night of the Mad Axeman!
* * * Chapter Fourteen In Search of the Madman’s Evil Twin
This was the night! The dreaded night of that nocturnal ominous black moon, where stars alone glimmer dimly upon a tapestry of midnight occult darkness, where horrid mysteries are concealed, where deep dark secrets are buried beneath shameless layers upon layers of something sinister, underneath the remote surface –but we know not what! Nor can we tell you if we even knew! Not just yet anyway. . . Not even him, not even the Mad Axeman suspects, not yet, for he lives in two worlds, little did he know, but those two worlds never met face to face, void of stockinged face that is. But this very night, this dark obsidian night, those two worlds would collide! Just like two hurling planets crashing into each other at hyper-light-speed in some action packed science fiction adventure! But this is not such a story. This is a deeply demented, psychotically twisted psychological convoluted chiller thriller extravaganza gone hideously stark raving mad! And now we find our triumphant hero running stark raving nude through the back allies of a nameless city, scaring cats and dogs, kids past curfew, or voyeuristic old ladies peeking out their windows, until he stumbled upon his quaint yet filthy apartment. Just as he thought, his adversary was not there. He entered his walk-in closet, within which hung countless black outfits for his particular career, black pants and shirt, long black coat, and black nylon stockings – yes, his traditional stalking garb! He grabbed one set and hurriedly suited up, like some super hero ready to pursue his villain –but who was really the villain this time? At the very back wall of the closet hung a row of sharpened axes, all ready to go on the dark hunt, the mad stalking, the ominous reaping! He snatched one, and dashed out of his abode like a quiet whirlwind out into the obscenely dark night. He arrived at his usual stalking grounds, one of many that is, but this time it was that nameless park he frequented often, where he had stalked many prey before, in spite of the fact they had conveniently turned against him, not even giving him a chance to explain his necessary compulsion, or allow him to defend himself. Ha! As if a can of mace or a swift kick could outdo a hideously sharp axe! Well, in fact, they did! Nevertheless, he skulked along the sidewalk, looking this way and that, for him. Then he saw that evil fiend! His dark nemesis, that sinister doppelganger, yes, his very psycho clone! He slowly, careful walked up to meet him, both held their axes across their chests diagonally, in pre-combat mode. He snarled, “I was waiting for you.” “I knew you were.” “But –you’re late!” “Like I care! I figured you could sweat for a while –your own blood too!” “This is the hour of your fateful doom!” “No . . . this is the mad moment of your morbid death!” “Ah. Trying to outdo me with scary vivacious verbosity, eh? Now that’s amusing.” “Well, it was worth a shot.” “A lousy attempt! Try this one on for size!” And he raised his axe high overhead, “You’re dead!” Both starlight-glistening axes raised high and both swung, crashing down…
* * * Chapter Fifteen The Dreaded Day of the End
The warm sun arose the next morning, but the town was in an uproar. Something horrible had happened, and yet something wonderful. The madness that haunted the town had ended, but in a most grisly way. The media was all over it like flies on fresh dung, like vultures on a dead rabbit, like desperate reporters on a gruesome first page story. The Insidious Shrink had read the paper, and was amused by the graphic photo displayed on the front page, that of a black garbed man, stocking faced, down on his knees, gripping the handle of an axe whose sharp blade stick nastily into his own skull. He was fascinated how the front page explained some bizarre ritual suicide of the ominous Mad Axeman. But no one knew what really happened last night, out in the nameless park, that insidious night of a black moon gone mad. But the Insidious Shrink knew. For he knew all along. He looked out the window of his office, looking over at that nearby park where insane people swarmed like ants, the media, reporters, spectators, TV vans, cameras and all, a mad, mad rush for bloodlust. They were all alike, just like him. There was no difference. He watched and snickered, “I finally got rid of him, my darker half!”
The mad axe's last fall!!!
Bwoooooohaahaahaahaahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Copyright 2004 and 2007 by R. R. Stark Bamblebrush Press |
