Wednesday Whispers

Serena Mossgraves
Serena Mossgraves

Changes

by Serena Mossgraves

Can be found in

Killing Stroke: Killing Stroke: Buried Secrets

Inside the mind of the killer can be several things. These anthologies are a dive into what the artists and authors involved see it as.

https://books2read.com/killingstrokeburiedsecrets

       Let me tell you about how I changed. Sounds cliché I know. Still in the grand scheme of things, I think it is an interesting story. I was nothing special before. At least not in my own eyes. I kept my proclivities to a minimum to avoid being caught. The world frowns on those who kill for fun. Though I had so many kills under my belt, I was discreet. That was for safety’s sake you see. The idea of life in a small box did not appeal to me.  


    I was proud of the count I had amassed. I was bigger than Bundy. And no one knew my name. I was a ghost. The ones I had killed were yet unknown, and I meant to keep it that way. The thing I did not realize then was that there were monsters out there worse than I ever could be. All the blood on my hands had attracted the attention of such a creature. I was being hunted and did not have any clue about it. I went about my normal routine, unaware. I limited myself to no more than one kill a month. Though I hungered for more, I could not risk the possibility of getting caught.   
 

    It took willpower to limit myself. I told myself that was part of the process. If I allowed myself to give into the urges then I would be no more than an animal. That was not something I wanted to be. I wanted to be smarter than the police. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be cunning. If I gave into my baser urges then I could not be any of those things.   There is all sorts of monsters in this world, and so many of them wear human faces. I was always just one in the crowd. I knew I was a monster and I was proud of it. I just didn’t know that there was so much worse out there. I entertained myself with stories about werewolves and vampires, imagining that I was something akin to them. Hidden away from sight in plain view.

      I laughed at the shows where the killer was in the morgue or the crime scene unit. That made it too easy.  I had to plan everything down to the minute details to avoid being caught.    
When I was doing this I worked as a truck driver. Someone transient the world ignored. It was the perfect cover for me. Do you have any idea how many people hitchhike every day? People who disappeared and no one had any idea where…most were never even missed. I watched the missing person listings you see on the internet looking for the ones that I picked up. I never saw any of them. The first few were problematic for me to dispose of, but I was quick witted and solved the problem without any worry.    
 

    However, this is not the story of my kills. I am not here to brag. That is just to set the scene. I mentioned that I was being hunted? There are immortal things in the world, some of them protect children…some of them create the things that go bump in the night. I had attracted the latter. Or maybe it was a mixture of the two. I really don’t know which.  

    I suppose I had become somewhat cock sure. I was still careful with the ones that I targeted, but I didn’t pay attention to the other people I encountered. They were of no interest to me, realistically. I owned the truck so I rarely had to deal with any passengers, unless I chose to. The dispatcher calling me to ask if I could handle a trainee driver was a true surprise. He offered me double pay for the two weeks the trainee would be in my truck. Greed was my downfall here, I am certain. I jumped at the increase in pay. I figured it was only two weeks and I could deal with the delay in my normal activities for that long.  

      My nerves were already jumping by the time I picked up the trainee. Though I didn’t have any reason for it,  The other driver was tall and lean, will long black hair pulled back in a tight braid. His eyes were a soft blue surrounded by lashes enough to effeminate any lesser man. I put my people face on and greeted him like an old friend. He said his name was Azriel. I introduced myself to him with a name that I no longer remember.  

       I did not notice that smile then, but in memory he smiled an almost demonic grin. Or maybe I am embellishing the whole thing with what I know now. Training a new driver is nerve wracking for any intelligent person. You are letting someone else control your truck. Driving an 80 ton death machine takes skill and awareness. Trainees are not always given more than enough information than they need to get everyone killed. I wish I could say that I was strong enough to refuse the money. I ended up doing it as often as they asked me, though thankfully it wasn’t often.   
 

        I should regret meeting Azriel. The first day was relatively easy and we seemed to get along fine. Dispatch treats training pairs like a team. Which means we were expected to trade who would be driving and the other one asleep. I took the first shift at the wheel leaving the day driving for the newbie. Not everyone is suited for night shift. I loved it, the roads were more barren and it made picking up hitchhiking pretties easier.  
 

    I remember when I went to bed, I was surprised how well this was going. Sleep came easy. The few times I had taken a trainee before I had struggled to sleep with someone else driving my truck. I remember my dream, so vividly. I was standing in front of three people, and I was terrified. I knew that they were simply not someone that would be good for me to be in front of at any point. It was two men and a woman but not a single one of them looked human. The one in the center was the closest to human looking, over six feet with grey skin and blue fire where his eyes should be. His long white hair nearly brushed the ground. The other man was huge with wings, tail and horns. When I say huge…I swear he was a twenty feet in height and built of shear muscle. The female was gorgeous enough, with a body that made a person think of sin first, except for the textured area on the right side of her face and the horn that sprouted from it. She was the one who spoke to me. Her voice was husky and soft as crushed velvet.  
 

      “The blood covers you like a second skin. What do you think you deserve for your choices?”    

      In the dream I stuttered. “What blood?” Then I looked down, and all I saw was the blood covering me. It was dripping from me like molasses and forming a large puddle at my feet. I  woke up screaming.   

       Azriel was calm sounding as he asked if I was okay. I looked about in a panic. The curtains between the driver and sleeper compartment were still pulled tightly, blocking the light and line of sight to where we were. I don’t think I have ever had a dream like that before. I grabbed a water from the fridge, opened the curtains and jumped in the passenger seat. I was not feeling like sleeping right then. “How long was I down ?”    He raised his eyebrow as he shifted lanes. “Nearly eight. we are about 20 minutes away from the truck stop I was supposed to wake you at.”   

       That only left me more tired and confused than I had been moments ago. I could have sworn I had just fallen asleep. For once I was honestly looking forward to the rot gut truck stop coffee. maybe it would help me shake off the dream and be ready to function. The load had enough leeway for us to grab showers and food, something that was not always possible. We spent a good hour at the truck stop before moving on.  

     This same thing happened for the next few days. I would go to sleep, only to find myself in front of the same three. The female is the one who always spoke. And always asked me the same question. I did not panic about the blood after the first time, but it was disturbing. I couldn’t understand why I was so covered in it. I had no wounds. I had no reason to be drenched in blood. I usually can control my dreams, but these were beyond my control. 

     I always awoke just moments before my shift. I always felt like I had not slept at all, even though I had been sleeping for nearly eight hours every time. I will admit that I was starting to feel like I was losing my mind. I couldn’t even blame Azriel, we were making the mileage while I was asleep…and how could he have affected my dreams like that? The lack of rest was starting to cause me to be paranoid.

   I was starting to hallucinate, seeing parts of the people I had killed in the truck when I was awake. The first time I truly panicked. I saw a delicate hand that I recognized as having belonging to the teenage girl I had last enjoyed killing. I must have looked so strange reaching for something on the floor that was not there. If Azriel noticed he didn’t say anything. I started hearing the voice of the woman in my dream while I was awake. I was slowly going insane and I knew it. Azriel was merely doing the job and ignoring my shenanigans. I am not sure if he was even aware of the crazy things that I was going through. I was beginning to think that this was my penance for the lives I had taken…and I wanted to accept it…mostly because I was exhausted. It felt like I was not sleeping. and after a full week of it…I was beyond tired.

    That night I went to sleep with a single thought in mind. I was going to accept my fate… whatever that meant. I doubted it would wash the blood away but I would finally rest. That was what I wanted. Again I stood in front of the three. Details seemed sharper this time…I could smell the copper tang of all of the blood mixed with a sulfur stench. I swear I could smell my own fear under it all. The voice of the woman was soft and musky, with a hint of disdain underlying everything she was saying. I felt like she was looking down on me. I was less than an ant in her gaze. Her hazel eye, the one human looking eye, seemed to be judging me. The other one was black and hard as she stared at me waiting for an answer to her demand. I had yet to speak in any of the dreams past the very first one. I swallowed and spoke quickly, “I deserve to pay my penance and then finally be able to rest. Though I have killed quite a few souls I don’t deserve to be tormented for eternity. “The woman stepped back a single fluid step, as though I had given her the response she was looking for. I remember thinking at the time that she moved like an assassin. The large creature on the other side spoke then. The voice was something that sounded like it was carved from Hell itself. Something both dark and deep that one could lose themselves in. “What penance would you pay?” I knew it was a question that I was expected to answer but I was not sure how to do it. I didn’t know what they were looking for from me here. The debate felt like it took me an eternity. 

         Finally, with a sigh, I settled for the truth. “I don’t know. I cannot say that I have remorse for my deeds. I enjoyed the lives I took. Still, I do not believe that I should be eternally tormented. Asking me to choose what penance I deserve is basically letting me get away with a lighter one. And whilst I am so fine with that…I doubt you would be. “The middle one let out a belly laugh that rattled my soul. This was the first sound I had ever heard him make, and it scared me. Somehow he was the most human of the three, and yet he was also the one who scared me the most. His presence was more potent than the other two. This time I could see the blue flames not only coming from his eye sockets but from his mouth and hands as well. It gave an eerie feeling to him as he spoke. “If I give you the ability to continue to do what you have been doing, with a minor change…would you take it?” He asked so casually. I was too quick to accept that choice, I should have thought more about it. I imagined that I would be still killing as I had been before but supervised by these three somehow. He laughed again, this time it sounded mean more than anything.

        Suddenly, I was knocked off my feet by the most intense pain I had ever felt. I didn’t wake up as I had every other time. Instead I began to change. Physical changes came first, exquisitely painful. I grew taller by another six inches. I had already been over six feet, this put me closer to seven. I sprouted two horns and an immense pair of leathery wings. I grew a three foot prehensile tail. My skin changed to a ruby red coloration with brown hair growing everywhere. Next came the mental changes. I soon forgot the majority of the life I had lived…it was no longer mine. My senses began to sharpen, causing the surroundings to feel overwhelming nearly immediately. The sulphuric smell of cavern and the copper tang of the blood that had formed a pool at my feet. The cool dampness of the pool I was standing in. The faint screams that seemed to be coming from everywhere around us…and echoing softly across the cavern we were in.

       The new sensations were nearly maddening on their own. Azriel joined us soon after my change was done. He looked no different than he had in the truck. At least not in a physical way, but now he seemed to have an eerie pale blue aura surrounding him.

             I found myself grasping at the image of the Mack I had driven for the last few years. It was fading fast from my mind. He looked me over and smiled at the middle guy. “So, decided to give Bub a new trainee huh?” I was still confused, and in immense pain so I didn’t see what was going on yet. I was looking around trying to piece the puzzle together. We were in a cavernous room that looked like it was carved out of blood and lava. I still at that point believed that we were standing on earth somewhere. I was not bright back then enough to piece my location together. I have grown wisdom in age.

       The middle one nodded and then looked directly at me. “The big one here is Beelzebub. He is now your boss. He will lead you to pit and teach you how play. If you fail to listen to him…Well demons don’t enjoy the pit either. “Is that what I was, I thought, a demon? I looked again at the others surrounding me. The middle one still scared me though my perception of him had not changed. The woman seemed to have a reddish aura, of pain and death surrounding her. Don’t ask me how I know what her aura meant…I still don’t understand why her aura was more clear to me than Azriel’s.

     The big one, Beelzebub, was more gentle in appearance than before. He reminded me of a gruff old grandfather who was only stern to keep his child safe. He led me here. I was given easy instructions on everything I was both allowed to do and what was expected of me. I have been playing in the pit for a thousand years now. And you are the first guest I have told my story to. I now know who each of the three are and what I have become.

       What I was before was boring, serial killers are a dime a dozen…But pit fiends are a lot more fun. The names of the other two, well names have power…and you don’t deserve power.

      Nothing I have told you will help you escape…but it was fun for me to remember.

Book Birthday

Though it is not completely mine, I am a part of this one. It is a project that I supported with their first edition and submitted to for second book. These are true stories. True lives lived. Do you have a copy yet?

Call For Submissions

We are looking for the mind of the killer. Something that shows the dark inside, the broken and twisted. This one is meant to be a little bit scary…(note we are not actually looking for crime scenes unless they have the killer’s view point) Any Poetry, Art, and photography must suit the topic. Requirements: […]

Call For Submissions

Thursday Thoughts

Thursday Thoughts
Meme - Overthinking

So I posted about an anthology that Serena is in. It really is such a lovely book. The other authors are amazing…and I can’t help feeling like I don’t belong there. The story I wrote was decent…I am not going to claim it was awful or any crap like that. But there is an Introduction in the front of the book that lists that authors as the top horror and dark romance authors…And my brain goes ok now I am guilty of lying to these amazing people.

Imposter syndrome is such a tough thing to grapple with. Most of the best authors I know fight with it. It can seriously cripple even the best writer to a mess and make writing a defeated blank on an overthinking mind…

So, I am struggling with my own brain. I don’t want to accept the idea that I am unable to tell the stories locked inside the squishy lump calling itself my brain.

Links and teaser

Links and teaser

https://books2read.com/themonsterilove

Discover the allure of the darkness.

Join Fractured Mind Publishing and some of the hottest dark romance authors as they bring you a new side of Lovecraft’s horrors.

Fall in lust with the Cthulhu mythos.

Heat and Ice is but one of the stories in this anthology – but it is the one that I wrote,

When an attack changes her wife, Grace has to adapt the environment to try to save her. The question is can she succeed or will she lose Elizabeth?

Announcing From Fractured Mind Publishing

Announcing From Fractured Mind Publishing

Discover the allure of the darkness.

Join Fractured Mind Publishing and some of the hottest dark romance authors as they bring you a new side of Lovecraft’s horrors.

Fall in lust with the Cthulhu mythos.

Featuring Heat and Ice by Serena Mossgraves

Currently I only have the link for Kobo I will share more as I have them.

A Whisper…

The Reaper’s Child

By Serena Mossgraves

The world seems to be a place where myths are taken for granted. Everyone knows the Myth of the pilot of the River Styx. The Ferryman who ferries souls over to the afterlife for a cost. They all have it wrong though. The Reaper doesn’t want coin. They are an immortal being. Such creatures have no need for money. The ferry driver instead takes the best story each soul has to tell. Sometimes just the telling of the story is too much for a soul to bear. Words carry weight. They are the most painful things in existence. They can also be the most gratifying things that life has to offer.
The ferryman has so many names, and most of them are just the myths coming to signify the way the mortal beings see them. For me, they are my creator. I guess you could call me the reaper’s child. It is not exactly correct, but it is the closest term for what I am. I am a story that became too much for even an immortal mind to bear. So, I grew sentience. Now I search the world for the others like myself, dark stories and memories that weigh heavy on mortality. Stories of killers, and crime, heartache, and such twisted thoughts that they are relegated to impossible fiction. That is the sort of thing that I collect. Like the ferryman I take these weights from the ones who cannot bear them any longer. I think of it as saving those souls who would break under such terrible weights.
I save each story in a notebook, lovingly hand written. My creator kept the stories told to them in perfect memory…I am not quite that blessed. Instead I will keep my notebooks…Stacked full of nightmares. The only story I have been able to remember without writing it down is the one that caused my creation. Perhaps someday I will meet the snowman…I would love to collect all of Frosty’s stories. I can only imagine what notebooks I could fill with that.
I have collected the tale of a vampire that would use it’s victims for the creation of art.
And the tale of the ghost who used to be a mercenary in a rainforest expedition that went badly. He was a wealth of stories. He gave me my own nightmares for weeks after taking his stories.
I collected the story of the nun who was cursed with immortality. It drove her mad. She spoke of becoming a killer, and how it was a kindness to save the women from the hands of the priests.
Each tale has it’s own power to describe a different aspect of life, a different aspect of death.
The story of the woman who went back after she died to steal away the child that her husband loved more than he loved her…She sang it sweet lullabies as she took it to the edge of the River Styx.
I could easily entertain so many with my tales. Which story should I share? Perhaps about the creature named Harvey? The flesh-eater that enjoyed driving it’s meals mad first?
I have considered passing myself off as a horror writer. Telling my tales as if they were fiction to see if anyone would recognize. It is not as if I do not have thousands of dark and dismal tales.
There is the one about the three ghosts who tried to get a rich man to change his ways before it was too late.
or the one about the Witch who gave five teens their wish…but at what cost?
My notebooks are a treasure. I do not write the story whilst the teller yet lives. I make sure to leave them a tale to pay the ferry with. I can at least be that kind. Though I have considered what would happen in this world if there where not enough stories left to pay the ferry. Would all of the storytellers end up stuck here? And if they did would that just create more interesting tales?
I don’t dare allow myself to consider it too closely. I might just decide that I want all of the stories.


Okay….1. That is the first flash Fiction in Stacked Nightmares. 2. How many of Serena’s Stories can you see a nod to in that? I will say that one of the stories she refers to is not Serena’s to tell. It belongs to Malachi Nocturm. However, He is very uncertain about how good his writing is…so I don’t know if I can talk him into finishing it and then allowing me to publish it. So I used a small nod because I love the idea. This is the first thing I have been able to write (Other than Poetry) in 2 weeks. It has a word count of 680. So I had to share it.

Also Serena’s Story Heat & Ice was Accepted by Fractured Mind Publishing for their A Monster I Love Anthology. I will post more as I have details.

Did you miss me?

FAQ

I am aware that I have missed the majority of the last week. November is always a hard time for me. I end up sick more often than not. Chronic Bronchitis doesn’t seem to let me do everything that I want to do. Between that and the stress of moving my youngest child into their own house… and then the election…I just went out of commission. I am behind on my work, have not written anything in a week and am barely back to being alive. I am trying to get my work caught up – because I have authors depending on me. I’m sorry for the delay in my own writing.  I plan on going back and trying to do the poetry for the missed days, whether I end up getting them up here or not. I am going to try to start posting again. This will be a little bit of effort on my part as my desk is still covered by things that I have been neglecting.

Thursday Thoughts

Meme - Overthinking

I think I am misunderstood. Several times lately I have had to explain my desires for Fae Corps.

We don’t generally take erotica…but it is mostly because we do a lot of children’s books and marketing both of them for a small publishing firm is nearly impossible.

The whole reason for Fae corps is because I love books and it is so hard to get your foot in the door as an indie author. The only thing that I limit is the erotica and gore for the sake of gore. I really just try to publish good stories by good people.

I like the idea of seeing unique representation of marginalized or obscure groups. I love publishing poetry that makes people feel or think. I am a sucker for a good kids book, and I would love to publish litrpg stories and or guides. I have a weakness for horror and mystery, sci fi and romance…pretty much anything that is an enjoyable read.

I can’t say that I have some kind of specific thing Fae Corps Publishing is specifically known for. I don’t know if I would want it to be. I feel like there is a lot of Indie firms that are particular. I just want to see good books out im the world.

Ideas for future projects

        Okay I have been trying to figure out what to do with my stuff that gets accepted to anthologies and the like. Serena has a volume she was putting things in… but I was not sure if it was even a thing I needed.

      You see I rarely send my stuff out. If I do submit, it is usually to my own publishing company. Not as a guarantee of publishing but instead as a decorative element for the Anthologies I am putting together. I don’t think that I have the energy to send my work to be judged.

    I may feel inclined to send in to one or two projects… but I don’t see it being a big deal. So I think that I want to keep a open volume… much like Anthology Alumni and then release it when I feel like it is ready.

The next volume like that is going to be Jotted Memories.