Monster Bash, Tier 2: Semi-Final #2

“Welcome back, once again, were we are at the last match before the final showdown,” I say, as I walk down the steps of the church, heading for the commentator’s desk. “We’ve seen a lot of fights here at the Horton-Meier Cemetery and Church, and it’s been brought to my attention that this is a concern for a lot of parents. So, I feel it is my duty to remind everyone watching that this is, first of all, not suitable for children. But more importantly, these are monsters. In the real world, fighting is wrong.”
I walk up to the commentators desk, where a gorgeous, young woman is waiting.
  “As is tradition now, here at Monster Bash, I am joined by Jayalaw to comment on the night’s proceedings. Jayalaw, last night, you expressed some concern at seeing a human fighting against a witch. Can I ask what prompted that?”
“Well, it’s that under ordinary circumstances something like this would appear in The Hunger Games, which was against violence performed for the sake of fun. I feel a bit queasy at the thought of two humans fighting to the death, since witches technically are human and the stigma against them is high.”
  “Yes, some stories make witches into inhuman creatures, but as is the case in history, and in tonight’s show, she’s just a regular person. Although most of those Salem witches were just spinsters or crazy cat ladies; and our witch is quite talented.”
  “On that note, if you have a black cat, keep them safe on Halloween because people are crazy and might kill them! This is a public service announcement for cat lovers out there.”
  “Indeed. I’ve seen some crazies that think they’re Satanic. But what do you think of tonight’s match?”
  “Reminds me of the American political debates going on, where a man tries to cut down an extraordinary woman. I may need a drink to watch this. Is there an open bar for the commentators?”
  “No, but I’ve got an Esky in the back of my car. Perhaps we’ll celebrate our finalists after tonight’s match-up . . . Oh, and speak of the devil, Here come our contestants now!”
Near the copse of trees, a concerned-looking black man with long daggy hair, wearing an open shirt with a singlet and a pair of jeans walks towards the field, with two stagehands holding each arm. They walk him inside the graveyard, stand him a few metres away from the fence, then they left and shut the gate behind them.
  “In this corner, Jerome Ratray. This mighty stud, shrugged off that life-sucking slug, but will this budding thug stand tall, or shed more blood? give it up for our Human!”
On the right side near the church, a short woman wearing a large hat was lead through the gate with a stagehands on each arm. She was wearing a black, draping dress and a wide-brimmed hat, and wasn't very muscular. She nodded grimly as the stagehands walked away, closing the gate behind them.
  "And in this corner, Melissa Maitland. This doll stole the gold from a fearsome troll, so, can she maintain control, or will her head roll? Give it up for the Witch!"
I jump up and scream. “Without further ado, it’s Man versus Mage, who will win? Let’s get ready to RUMBLE! Three . . . two . . . one, FIGHT!”

Immediately, Jerome ran off to the side and into the small thicket of trees.
  “Come get me!” he screamed, running into the dark of the trees.
Melissa sighed and arched her hands above her head, like a ballet dancer. She spoke quietly, her lips moving almost soundlessly as she closed her eyes, when a wind picked up around her and, her black dress and hat whipping around her wildly, she was lifted from the ground. She flew up over the trees then, in the air, began to turn. She spun one revolution, then another and another, faster and faster, As she did, the trees began to sway. Loose leaves  and twigs began twisting around in the swirling wind, then dust and dirt, then branches. The whirlwind was building and building into a small tornado.
Within the trees, Jerome was bracing himself against a tree as dirt and branches whipped around him. But when he gained a firm enough footing, he burst from the edge of the trees and ran towards the church. As she was still spinning, it took Melissa a while to notice that Jerome had fled, and when she finally did, he had run inside the church.
Melissa stopped spinning and the gust dissipated, shaking her head a little, she drifted down to the ground and landed deftly on the grass below. she knelt down and circled her arms around her in what looked like a yoga exercise. Then she thrust both hands towards the church. The whole house shuddered with a sudden concussive shockwave, and all of the windows shattered. Melissa then began walking towards the church, and as she did, she gestured her hands in the air, and simultaneously the shattered glass all lifted up off of the ground.
She chanted under her breath, and summoned the shards quickly towards her, they collected in a large, floating sphere above her open, left palm. With her right hand, she began to make a flicking gesture, and with each gesticulation, one shard of glass shot at the church, whistling through the air and either penetrating the wood like a knife, or shattering explosively on impact.
After a few moments, Jerome ran out of the church, but he stopped just outside the doorway. He grabbed the wooden door with both hands and pulled, ripping it off its hinges. Then, he ran down the steps and towards Melissa, holding up the door as a shield.
She was confused at first, but as he gained ground on her, she thrust both hands forward and sent every shard at him, pointiest edge first.
A few stray shards hit his hands, or the edges of his legs, making Jerome swear loudly, but he kept running towards her.  Melissa curled her fingers, and grabbed the door with her magic. She raised her hands, ripping the door up out of Jerome’s grasp, but then he just sprinted forward. Before she could react, he punched her in the face.
Melissa screamed as knuckles and glass crunched into her cheekbone. She was knocked onto her side, landing awkwardly on her forearm. She attempted to regain her bearings and stop her ears from ringing, but two powerful hands grasped her throat. And Jerome groaned loudly, his teeth clenched, muscles flexing and eyes wide with determination.
Melissa couldn’t breathe, she twisted but couldn’t move under his weight.
  “All your little tricks,” Jerome groaned through clenched teeth. “All your power . . . but when I get my hands on you, you’re just a little girl . . .”
Melissa’s eyes were turning red as she tried to breathe. She reached out a hand and grabbed one of his arms, then struggled to speak. She spat and frothed at the mouth as she spoke in an unknown language.
There was a sudden flash of light and lightning pierced the sky. It struck Jerome on the head, making him scream. He leapt off, his head steaming as sweat evaporated from his forehead. Melissa turned over, coughing and spluttering. She couldn’t stand, so she knelt back, wheezing. Jerome looked shaken, but still standing, and he looked furious. He yelled out and began to run towards her, but Melissa swept her arm.
The door suddenly swung up from the ground and collided with Jerome, glass-first, crashing into him like a speeding truck. He rolled and struck a headstone with his shoulder as he hit the dirt.
Before he could get up, Melissa held out a shaking hand, clenched her fist and quickly spun her hand around. There was an unsettling crack as Jerome’s head twisted around.

  “We have a winner!” I cry, running over. “That was amazing! Using a shield? I didn’t see that coming. But looks like manpower can’t quite overcome a witch’s willpower!”
As I got to Melissa I knelt down and held out the microphone to the crouching girl.
  “You did very well at the end, there. We were all on the edge of our seats, but you’re okay now, you’ve won! How does it feel?”
She was breathing heavily, and she looked up, sadly, and all she said, in a hoarse, croaky voice was.
  “. . . he tried to kill me.”
  “Well, you tried to kill each other, can’t blame him for that, I guess. Although my co-host admits that ‘little girl’ remark was uncalled for.” She nodded slowly, then stared off into space, catching her breath. “Uh . . . okay. Medic? Uh, I think we should get a medic to make sure she doesn’t have any brain damage. But either way, that was amazing. We have both of our semi-finalists! Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the Witch!”
The stagehands all looked on, with concerned expressions on their faces.
  “That was that, but it’s not over until the last man’s left standing. Although, in this case, seems we have two ladies vying for the final spot of Monster Supreme. We’ve had a good time so far, but we still have ONE! . . . FINAL! . . . FIGHT! Come back soon, where we will finally face off our last two contenders to discover which is the master monster. Until then, stay safe, everybody!”

Monster Bash, Tier 2: Semi-Final #1

Good evening, and welcome back to Monster Bash 2015! For those of you who missed out on the first four matches, well, we had an epic clash so far, we saw match-ups of:
Werewolf versus Ghost; Zombie versus Demon; Vampire versus Human & finally, Troll versus Witch.
They were a fascinating set of matches, some with more interesting results than others. But, right now, we will continue the fight, shaving down the numbers until we're left with just one champion. Who will it be? Let's head down the arena to see!

- - -

  "Thank you, Matt, and welcome back to Horton-Meier Churchyard, where we've done a little bit of reconstruction, renovation and lawn care, so that we could have a clean slate for our next round of fighting," I say, walking alongside the Church to head towards the commentator's desk, where there were those same two unimportant characters alongside a gorgeous, young woman. "Yet again, I am joined by the inimitable Jayalaw, to comment on tonight's match-up. You're looking radiant as ever, my dear."
“Thank you so much,” she responded. “The first tier was quite brutal, and some victories were unexpected. How will the second tier be organized?”
  “I’m glad you asked. Purely and simply, we’re matching up the winners of Round One and Two to fight in our first semi-final match, and tomorrow night, we match up the winners of Round Three and Four-”
“-Rounds Three and Four?” she repeated. “You mean the human will be facing the witch? That’s going to be a bit messy. They technically are both human and have suffered a few injuries already.”
  “Don’t worry, they know what they signed up for. But, it does mean that tonight we’ll be seeing our first champions face off, the Werewolf and the Demon. They too have their fair share of bruises, but they’re ready to go at it. Do you have any thoughts on tonight’s pairing?”
  “As for tonight’s pairing, my money’s on the demon Carver because she is crafty. She’ll also have more years of experience under her belt.”
  “Ah, true. y’know most of them - supernaturally or otherwise - look around the same age, it’s easy to forget that the vampire is . . . well, was over a hundred.”
“But undercut by arrogance.”
  “Indeed. But, now that you mention it, I think that too could be a point in Gareth’s favour tonight. More often than not, demons can be shown to possess that self-satisfied hubris. Even in her fight against the zombie, her self-confidence got her badly scarred. If she hasn’t learned from that mistake, then the Werewolf’s superior strength could be the upperhand that decides this match. But I have to admit, I’m with you on this one, demon all the way. What can I say, fire plus fur? Equals toast. Oh, and here come our contestants now!”
The gates on the left side, next to the trees, were opened by two stagehands just in time for a large truck to reverse into the yard. The stagehands opened up the doors and Gareth jumped out, his wrists tied up with heavy chains that lead back into the truck. He was wearing ripped jeans, shredded from his earlier fight, and a singlet.
  “Come on, let’s go!” he said, hopping up and down impatiently.
  “In this corner, Gareth Donahue. He’s proves his might against a ghastly wight, but will the wolf-man win the fight? Give it up for the Werewolf!”
The commentators all clapped as three stagehands walked into the arena with their ritual supplies. They drew the bloody symbol, lit the candles and recited the incantation, just as they had before. The chanter threw up his hands as the candles exploded in a firey tornado that filled the pentagram with flame, then extinguished to reveal Carver, the red-skinned, yellow-eyed demon. On her right arm, her hand was missing, but in its place she had been given a metal hook.
  “And facing up against him in this corner, the demon named ‘Carver’. She easily disposed of her decomposed woes, but suppose, will this devil overcome her latest foe? Give it up for the Demon!”
I stand up and announce. “It’s Fido versus Fiend, who will win? Let’s get ready to RUMBLE! Three . . . two . . . one, FIGHT!”

Gareth and Carver together made towards the middle of the arena. Garth walked with a confident swagger, but the demon was more careful as she made her way towards her opponent. After a moment, Gareth stopped.
  "Wait a minute . . ." he said, and he scanned the ground before picking up a small rock. He aimed and pegged the rock. Carver easily deflected it by swiping at it with her hook hand, making a sharp, metallic ringing.
  "Have you already resorted to throwing stones?" asked Carver.
 "No, love," said Gareth, flexing his muscles and straining his veins. "I just wanted to know you were solid this time . . ."
Gareth's singlet ripped to expose his bandaged ribs underneath, then fur and muscles grew and tore through the gauze. Bones cracked and snapped into place as Gareth became the Werewolf, and growled, hungrily, as it stared down the demon. Then, the werewolf ran forward on its hind legs.
The werewolf stood tall to swipe its claw. As it did, Carver swiftly kicked him in the ribs. The werewolf winced, but was otherwise unaffected. He swiped his claw and sent the demon flying. She hit the front of the church, and collapsed onto the steps like a ragdoll. But, the demon was more durable than she looked. She climbed to her feet and crouched in an aggressive stance with claws held out in front of her, eyes glowing orange. The werewolf began to advance, but fire burst forth from the demon's hands, Catching the Werewolf's stomach with the flame, the creature yelped and jumped back, cradling the singed hair with a paw. The demon ran forward and leapt over the werewolf's head, twisting in the air. She landed by gouging her hook into the werewolf's shoulderblade. The werewolf twisted to try to grab at her, but couldn't reach its arms around its back. Instead, the werewolf tucked and rolled, slamming its back into the dirt. Then the werewolf quickly rolled and twisted to stand up, but as it did so Carver's hook-hand shredded through the muscle of his back, gouging an inch-deep cut down to his waist.
All of the werewolf's hair stood on end as it yelped in pain.
  "You stupid animal," said Carver, looking a little bruised as she got to her feet. "You did that to yourself!"
Mouth slavering and ears flat against its head, the werewolf snarled viciously.
Carver just gritted her teeth and threw another ball of fire at the werewolf. This time, the werewolf jumped high over her head. It landed on the roof of the church and hid from the fire.
  "Pathetic, snivelling little dog-man," said Carver, as she backed away from the church until she could see the werewolf. It was standing on the roof, holding the cross on top to steady itself as it patted at the still-sizzling embers of its fur. "Escape is not available to us, beast. Fight, or die."
The werewolf was breathing heavily, blood dripping down its arm. It pumped up its chest, arched its head back and howled at the sky. Then, looking more confident, it took a running jump and leapt off the roof towards the demon, fangs bared, headfirst.
As the werewolf hit the demon, sinking its teeth into her, Carver swung her right arm upwards and the two tumbled heavily along the ground. When they stopped, the werewolf was on top of the demon, but he had fallen limp. The furry beast lifted off the ground, but not under his own power. The demon was lifting him up by his head as she got to her feet. Standing up, it became clear that her right arm, with the prosthetic hook, had been shoved into the werewolf's mouth. And, judging by both the angle, and the werewolf's limp body, the hook had penetrated his brain. As the demon glared, disgusted, at the corpse attached to her hook, the werewolf began to shrink. Deflating, like a slowly shrinking balloon, or an uncontracting muscle, the werewolf shrank back down into the natural form of the human it truly was.
As the wolf once more became the man, Gareth, Carver grabbed his jaw with her left hand, dislodged her hook from his skull and dropped the body, lifelessly, to the ground.

A bell sounded and the commentators all cheered.
  "We have a winner!" I cry, running forward. "That was an outstanding clash, my dear. A real . . . oh, wow."  I stop, wiping my eyes for a second as I catch the scent of burning hair. "That is what I call a pungent pong, ugh . . . well, uh, Carver, how are you doing this evening?"
  "I think this new hook was quite useful."
  "Yeah, they're pretty handy, aren't they?" I asked.
The demon just glared at me for the pun.
  "Okay . . . well, congratulations! I think the werewolf made a fatal mistake there, by using just his size and muscles, he forgot that he had the mind of a beast. I think that what turned the tides of this match was relying on animal instinct rather than tactics."
  "Of course," said the demon.
  ". . . yeah. Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, give it up for our first Finalist, the Demon!" The stagehands clap as the demon nods, then walks away.
"But, that was just the first semi-final, tomorrow, come back for our penultimate match, where we will see which of our remaining champions will survive for the final round. Thank you, you've been watching Monster Bash, 2015!"

Santacide

Have you ever seen The Nightmare Before Christmas? I absolutely hate that movie. I know, it's a cult classic, it's beloved by millions and has it's own franchise and my own girlfriend adores it . . . but I hate it, passionately.
I admit that my disgust at the film comes from a sense of severe disappointment moreso than the degree of the badness. I am self-aware enough to admit that while the movie is bad, it is not irredeemably terrible. The reason I hate it is because, firstly, it was the first blu-ray I ever bought and I hated that experience immensely; but also, the cult status of the film lead me to believe that the film was astoundingly good. However, it was not. The music is bland and the lyrics are lame, and the story is insubstantial, a thin plot being thickened out by incessant singing.
The characters look interesting, and that makes for good merchandising, but the movie is unwatchable to me. It does have one good idea though, an interesting one, of adding horror elements to the otherwise cheery and bubbly season of Christmas.
That's what drew me to the movie in the first place, it's such a great juxtaposition. Comfort, warmth, joy and gifts with insecurity, cold, sadness and loss. But The Nightmare Before Christmas is not the only story to have made this thematic choice, of adding horror to Yuletide. So, I figured I could investigate this phenomenon of Evil Santas. The Word of the Day is: ‘HOLIDAY’

Holiday /holǝday/ n. 1. A day on which ordinary business is stopped, often in memory of some event, person, religious feast, etcetera. 2. (often pl. )A break from work often involving a trip away from home; vacation. ♦adj. 3. Relating to or suited to a holiday: A holiday frame of mind. ♦v.i. 4. To take a holiday: She will holiday on the Gold Coast.

What is unusual, to me, is that one of the first horror slasher movies ever made was Black Christmas, a horror movie with a killer dressed up as Santa Claus. Most confusing of all is that this wasn’t a Christmas movie . . . but it also wasn’t a Halloween movie. The film was first released in 1974 and it was in cinemas in October for Canadian audiences, but it was first shown to Americans in December. So, It wasn’t either of these holidays, but it was a little bit of both.
There were more Santa Slashers, in the form of Christmas Evil and Silent Night, Deadly Night, the latter of which garnered controversy by concerned parents and teachers who believed that lovable Santa should not be depicted as a serial killer; they forced the filmmakers to pull an ad campaign depicting Santa wielding an axe, and it was also widely protested and condemned.
In spite of, or perhaps because of, this controversy, Silent Night became a franchise with four sequels and a reboot.

But also, I know of a few even in my own experiences. Round the Twist, a show based on the books by Paul Jennings, featured an episode called “Santa Claws” based around a short story of the same name, wherein ‘Santa’ is actually a kind of genie creature with chimney-climbing claws which provides wishes with unfortunate consequences.
Then there’s my favourite, The Hogfather, a novel by Terry Pratchett where someone tries to assassinate the Discworld version of Father Christmas, and so Death takes his place, they also made a great miniseries based on it
Also there was an episode of the Tales from the Crypt called “And All Through the House” featuring an escaped mental patient wearing a Santa suit and wielding an axe (I think people like giving Santa an axe because the colour red makes people think of firemen).
And do I even need to mention the Robot Santa Claus from Futurama? It seems like people are really attracted to the idea of an evil Santa . . . but why?
Well, I could point out the Santa/Satan connection, with that anagram often the subject of comedy, but there are more relevant connections. In many traditions, Santa Claus is accompanied by a companion known as the Krampus. The Krampus was a devil-like creature with horns and cloven hooves that carried a sack. Santa makes his list, checks it twice, if you’re nice he gives you gifts; but, if you’re naughty, you would be visited by the Krampus, who would either give you coal, rocks or switches, or if you were truly bad, he would kidnap you and take you home to eat you for Christmas dinner. Then there's the Knut Goat, a creature in some parts of Europe said to go around and buck naughty kids. Then there's Black Pete, a racist caricature that would kidnap naughty kids, and force them to become future versions of Black Pete.

So, why are there all these horror elements sneaking into Christmas? Well, I’m not certain, but if you ask me, it’s evidence of the Pagan origins of Christmas. Despite what Kirk Cameron would like you to believe, Christmas has little, to nothing, to do with Christianity. It was an entirely Pagan celebration of the winter harvest. In fact, when you look at the History of both Christmas and Halloween,they are in fact very similar festivals.
Halloween takes its origins from Samhain, a Gaelic winter festival to celebrate a bountiful harvest. Meanwhile, Christmas takes its origins from Saturnalia, a Roman winter festival, which celebrated Saturn, a god of agriculture, and gift-giving to enjoy the plentiful yeild. And both festivals were held before the Winter Solstice, when farming would be more difficult, they were celebrated with animal sacrifices and prayed to gods of the agriculture.

So, in several ways, I guess you could say that Christmas and Halloween are basically the same holiday. In a matter of speaking at least . . . so, is it really such a stretch to suggest that Old Nick and St. Nick are the same person? If you do a little research, you’ll start to unravel this mystery yourself.

I’m the Absurd Word Nerd, and until next time, I hope you’re preparing for a Merry Halloween.

Grash

In my lounge chair I sat sinking,
With my mind a race of thinking,
And I stared at space unblinking,
Just as I had done before.

Deep inside the velvet lining,
Sitting thinking, so confining,
Almost felt that I was hiding,
From the shadows on the floor.

From the fireplace shadows leaping,
With each flicker light came creeping,
Through my mind it came in seeping,
And my thoughts became distracted.

And I sit there disbelieving,
At what both my eyes perceiving,
Together all the shadows weaving,
All within a womb compacted.

The shadows all together formed,
To make a black cocoon of thorns,
And from it, unknown devil’s born,
My heart was thumping faster.

From shadows it had been revealed,
And on the rug I watched him kneel,
I scarcely could believe it real,
Here stood an evil caster.

Unusual was the beast I saw,
From each black arm hung thrashing claw,
And jagged teeth poked from his jaw,
In whole he looked disgusting.

He stared at me with gleaming eyes,
And then he spoke, to my surprise,
With voice that sounded very wise,
And yet did not seem trusting.

“My name is Grash, so do not fear,
There is a reason I am here,
I am a soul misfortune seer,
And I’m here to tell bad news.

I’ve seen your death, seen with my sight,
I’ve seen it’s going to be tonight,
But only if things don’t go right,
You still have time to choose.

Because you know, your fate can change,
It is no longer prearranged,
I think to you it may seem strange,
But now I’ve let you know.

So watch your back, and watch your front,
I have more matters to confront,”
So with a most inhuman grunt,
He turned around to go.

Toward the fire with a crash,
He leapt amongst the wood and ash,
And that’s the last I saw of Grash,
It happened all so fast.

I think of all of what he said,
‘If I’m not careful I’ll be dead’,
So many thoughts go through my head,
‘This night could be my last.’

I lean, to stand up from my chair,
When something makes me stop right there,
I run my fingers through my hair,
“Could this cause what he said?”

I see the rug upon the floor,
It looks more slippery than before,
If I stand, and it slips some more,
I’d fall and bang my head.

I stand and jump the rug’s floor space,
To something else before my face,
I look up to the great bookcase,
It’s bigger than before.

If I’m not careful, it could fall,
It is so heavy, and I’m so small,
It’d hit me head to foot and all,
And squash me in the floor.

From the bookcase, I jump clear,
When above me I see more to fear,
Above me was the chandelier,
Right above my head.

It may have been stuck to the roof,
But say it isn’t falling-proof
If it swung hard and then broke loose,
It’d cut me down to shreds.

It’s an unlikely circumstance,
But I don’t dare to take a chance,
I do not take a second glance,
Away from there I leap.

But one thing I forget to do,
Is watch where I am jumping to
Toward the fire, before I knew,
I fell into the heap.

The flames come burning through my skin,
I scream and flail, I toss and spin,
Right then I knew I could not win,
I knew I would be killed.

Before I died, I swear I saw,
Those gleaming eyes I saw before,
He smiled with his tooth-filled jaw,
His prophecy fulfilled.

I see his truth, I see his lies,
I’m seeing right through his disguise,
He makes me think to realize,
He caused it all along.

He caused my fear and second-guessing,
He caused my worry, and my stressing,
And then what makes it so depressing,
Is in the end he won.

He laughs out loud, in evil glee,
And begins to fade in front of me,
Till the only thing left I could see,
Are the gleaming eyes of Grash.

Then after all the flames went cold,
And all was left was ash and coal,
Forever had been locked my soul,
Amongst the dirt and ash.

Are you Afraid of the Freaky Tales to Give you Goosebumps?

According to about twelve thousand Buzzfeed articles, I am a 90s kid. 1991, in fact, so I was born at the beginning of an era which a whole lot of people think 'sucked'. Now, it did suck in a few ways, but with the benefit of nostalgia we can look back on these crappy, crappy times with a sense of child-like wonder and joy at the plasticky commercialism, the over-enthusiastic children's programming and embarrassing pop music that is only listened to on mp3 players with headphones on and dialled down to the lowest volume.

One of the many things which I look back on with a mixture of ironic and unironic admiration is a series of books written under the name of R.L. Stine, the awesome Goosebumps series. An anthology horror series, these books were actually written by a wide variety of ghost writers (I mean writers that were paid but uncredited, not literally ghosts, as much as I wish it were otherwise). But I didn't know that at the time, and these were actually some of the first proper stories I ever read.
I mean, the first book I ever owned and read was "Ten on a Train", a cut-out book. But Goosebumps were the first novelas, and the first books that I ever consciously read, for fun, and helped to develop me into the reader and writer that I am today. My first one was #50, Calling All Creeps, and I remember reading it in the car while we drove from Queensland to New South Wales to visit family, late at night with just star-studded night and empty paddocks out the windows as I read with the car's interior cabin light.
When I grew older, I actually frequented market stalls and garage sales hunting down old books, and I actually managed to gather my own collection of all 62 of the original, classic Goosebumps books. This was partially because many people sold bundles of them for about $5, but also because I do enjoy the atmosphere of these stories. Some of them really are dreadfully written, but I like the creepy vibe of reading these spooky tales.

In fact, I remember that Goosebumps was really big, back in the day. I remember, even in Australia, there were promotional deals with Pizza Hut and other fast-food chains, because I remember getting served ice-cream with weird spoons that reacted to the cold, and when you put it in your ice-cream the bright neon green plastic turned into a dark, forest green.
I also remember watching some of the TV show during the month when we were given a free trial of Foxtel, as well as owning a Goosebumps board game. It was really crappy, because it had three "minigames", a ferris-wheel, a slide and a bridge with a monster, but they were made out of cardboard, and you had to physically spin the wheel and monster around or roll plastic skulls down the slide, and it took a long time to assemble, and although it was sturdy cardboard, after a few games with it, the cardboard began to peel and fall apart.

So, why am I talking about Goosebumps? Well, two reasons. Firstly, because it's Halloween and recently someone has decided to pay a lot of money to make a Goosebumps movie . . . it looks really stupid; maybe they're trying to market this to other Buzzfeed 90s Kids, but both my Beloved and I think this looks ridiculous.
But the second reason is, I think that Goosebumps is really influential. It was the Twilight of its day, many of these stories were poorly written even if they had an interesting story to tell, but nonetheless kids clung to them because it was a niche market, nobody was really exploiting the Horror for Kids audience.
In fact, according to Stine himself, the series was originally aimed towards young girls, with female protagonists and adding comedy elements so as not to scare the little ones, but after recieving fanmail from both boys and girls equally, the publisher broadened their marketing demographic

But what I find fascinating is how ever since that time, there have actually been an awful lot of TV shows and books in the genre of "Children's Horror Anthology". I was first introduced to the concept with Goosebumps, but even before that time, there were several scary compilations for kids.
I've mentioned Scary Tales to Tell in the Dark before now, a series by Alvin Schwartz, it was written in 1981 and was a collection of scary campfire stories; also, there was a book written in 1990 called Grizzly Tales for Gruesome Kids by Jamie Rix, which I never read but I saw the television show, a series of cautionary, morality tales for kiddies which included horror elements. And after Goosebumps, first written in 1992, there were a few copycats like the parody Gooflumps by "R.U. Slime"; in 1994 there was Graveyard School by "Tom B. Stone", a series which was like Goosebumps, except that every story utilized a single setting, like Bone Chillers by Betsy Haynes in 1997. Even R.L. Stine himself created his own spin-off an earlier teen franchise Fear Street, as Ghosts of Fear Street for younger readers.

But that's just the books . . . television is much more widespread, and even I encountered a few more of those Children's Horror Anthologies. I already mention that Grizzly Tales became a TV show, and I saw the Goosebumps show; but there was also Freaky Stories, a show based around urban legends, I remember being freaked out by the Mexican Dog story.
But other than that, I also know about some American/Canadian shows, because of my girlfriend, such as Are You Afraid of the Dark, and The Nightmare Room.

So, why am I talking about all these shows? Well, because I find it fascinating that one, single genre, even something as specific as that, can not only have so many iterations but also that it had a rise in popularity. And with this new movie coming out, I wonder whether the popularity of the children's horror anthology will once more peak. But more than any of that, what really intrigues me is why the genre became popular in the first place. After all, it was horror.
Horror always struggles in the adult market, because much of it is considered poorly written, and even when it is it is usually R-rated, and most such severe content ratings perform poorly at the box office.

So, why is horror such a blast with kids? Why do kids love dressing up as monsters on Halloween, besides the candy? Is it because it's a way to feel better about feeling scared? A safe way of feeling unsafe? Is it because we flaunt our safety, by using fear as enjoyment?

I think it relates back to what I said at the beginning of this countdown . . . I think it's about that anxiety and adrenaline. We find it exciting, because fear is a manipulator and a great motivator. It's enticing, even for kids, we crave that feeling, because while it can make us weak, it can also drive us to do great things.
I guess that's what people mean when they say the only thing to fear is fear itself. Because when we are afraid of our own fear, we put ourselves as a severe disadvantage.

I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and what scary nostalgic shows or books did you like as a kid? Leave a comment and let me know, and until tomorrow night, don't worry; you have nothing to be afraid of.

Monster Bash, Tier 1: Troll vs. Witch

  “Goooood evening, faithful fans, and welcome back to Monster Bash! Last night we saw another exciting fight, but there’s one more Round for Tier One of this competition, before we move onto Semi-Finals next week,” I say, and I quickly start heading over to the commentator’s table. The two unimportant characters are still adjusting papers uselessly, but I walk up to a beautiful young woman waiting with her own microphone.
  “Thank you for joining me again, Jayalaw. We’ve had an exciting few fights, but now we’re at the last fight of Round One, and I think this one is going to be a little unusual. Troll versus Witch, what are your thoughts?”
“My bets are on the witch,” Jaya said. “Because one thing about magic is that it is variable; you can do so many things with it. A troll can rely on his or her brute force and durability, but those can only carry you so far. A witch has more options at her disposal; the only thing that might stop her is a conscience, or an oath to do no harm. In some traditions like Wicca, the actions a Wiccan takes comes back to them threefold.”
  “Luckily for tonight’s contender, this witch is no mere pagan. A sorceress and student in sorcery and witchcraft, she will give out troll a run for his money. However, trolls are not without their own brand of magic, and they are known for being tricky. So, while I think the witch is more powerful, I think our troll may have a trick or two up his sleeve. And witchcraft isn’t compatible with trolleri, so I can’t even offer an opinion either way. There are too many variables for me to decide. Crafty witch plus devious troll equals I have no idea what will happen tonight.”
“As long as he isn’t an Internet troll, I think she’ll be fine,” Jaya snarks.
  “Haha, yes,” I say, chuckling. “Those internet fiends can spit acid, and since they’re spineless and gutless they’re pretty flexible. They can shapeshift into the ugliest thing they can imagine, and don’t even get me started on the flame wars. Luckily for us, this troll is a nature guardian with botanical magic, and not a loner with an inferiority complex. Oh, and speak of the devil, here are our competitors!”
On the left side, near the trees, a flat-panel truck backed towards the gate as two stagehands opened the gate, the suspension straining with the weight of its cargo. Standing on the back of the truck was a two-storey tall, forest-green monster. Its legs were brown and covered with bark, and it wore a loin cloth fashioned from some unidentifiable animal skin. Its back was covered in twigs, leaves and moss. The trolls face and hands were oversized, and he had a large, beak-like nose, an underbite filled with sharp, little teeth and small, yellow, beady eyes. He stepped off the back of the truck, making the ground shake as he did. Then the truck drove off and they shut the gate.
  "In this corner, from the Taynish National Nature Reserve, a young troll guardian known only as Gremby. Standing seven-point-sixteen metres tall, and a skilled master of trolleri, he is our heaviest competitor, weighing in at over two tonnes!"
On the right side near the church, a short woman wearing handcuffes was lead through the gate by two stage hands, one holding each arm.
She was wearing a black, draping dress and a wide-brimmed hat, and wasn't very muscular. One of the stagehands unlocked the cuffs and the two of them left and locked the gate behind them.
  "And in this corner, Melissa Maitland, at just nineteen years old, she is our youngest competitor. By day, an art student with an interest in history; by night, a self-trained sorceress and mistress of the dark arts. Now, let's get started!"
I jump up and scream. “It’s Beauty versus Beast, who will win? Let’s get ready to RUMBLE! Three . . . two . . . one, FIGHT!”

The troll makes his way down the path, but immediately, Melissa holds out both hands, chanting quickly under her breath and lifts her hands. The closest six headstones lift from the ground and come to float around her. The organizes them to float beside her like an enormous, morbid, stone deck of cards.
She starts throwing them at the troll's head as she moves forward, advancing. Gremby raises an arm and the headstones crack, against him. He grimaces from the pain, but keeps heading forward. When Melissa throws her sixth headstone, Gremby lowers his arm, weeping some kind of sap.
  "You're nae the only one that can use magic, witch," says the troll in a deep, crackling voice with a slight Scottish accent. He holds out his injured arm, and branches burst out of and from his skin, they grow at amazing speed, closing the four-metre distance between them and wrapping around her. The crooked limb bends and twists to bring the girl in front of his face, then the branch tightens and Melissa groans with pain. Clenching her teeth she looks up at the sky and speaks in a strange tongue. There's a rumble of thunder, then a flash of light as lightning strikes. It connects with the troll's shoulder, boils the sap in an instant and the whole limb explodes. Melissa falls safely to the ground as twigs fell around her.
With a roar, the troll smacks at the ground with his remaining arm, slamming his fist to crush the witch. But Melissa rolls to the side, then deftly runs up his arm and onto his shoulder. She grabs both sides of his head and pulls.
  "Oi!" growls the troll. he swipes around his head, and the witch goes flying. She lands awkwardly on the grass, and cries out in pain. "Tryin' to rip mah head off?! You despicable sack of meat . . ."
The troll places his hand on the ground, sending a pulse of energy into the ground. The grass surrounding Melissa flutters, then grows from blades of grass into fern-like fronds which curl around her arms and legs, then knot together. The troll makes his way towards her, menacingly. Melissa was quite rattled, but shaking herself off, she uses her magic to pull herself out of the ground, the monster blades of grass falling limp the instant they are separated from their roots. She takes three steps back, a deep breath, then thrusts both hands in the direction of the advancing troll. The troll stumbles back a fraction, then presses onwards, gritting his teeth. Melissa closes her eyes to concentrate, trying to push and lift, but the troll was too heavy. She dropped her arms and opened her eyes, glancing around desperately. Then, she turned and ran towards the gate.
  "Where are yeh goin'?" asked Gremby, and as he spoke, green vines began to grow from his left shoulder to replace his missing arm. "I'm not done with yer yet . . ."
The witch grabbed the fence, and began fiddling with the padlock on the chain that held the gate shut.
  "You can't run, lass. I'm comin' fer you."
She muttered something which unclasped the padlock, but she didn't open the gate, instead, she grabbed the loose chain, turned around and threw it at the troll. It landed on his arm, but gesturing with her hands, she manipulated the metre-and-a-half long chain to snake along his shoulder and wrap around his neck. The troll grabbed at the chain, but as soon as Melissa clapped her hands together, the chain pulled tight. Then, she twisted both clasped hands, and the two ends twisted, and there was a creaking, cracking sound as the loop of the chain knotted tighter. Breathing heavily, Melissa gestured three more times, as though miming tightening a socket wrench. Each time the chain twisted again, tightening the loop even further, cracking and cracking. The troll collapsed to its knees, his beady eyes bulging, he couldn't speak.
Then, with a cheeky grin, Melissa spun a pirouette like a ballerina. As she did, the trolls neck twisted, and she dislocated his head with a wet crunch.
The head fell to the ground with a thud, and the body slumped backwards.

  "Oh my GOD! We have a winner!" I screamed, running up to the gate. "That was absolutely excellent. A real twist at the end, I thought you were really fleeing for your life . . . but you were really just getting your hands on that chain, there. How does it feel to have won?"
  ". . . good," says Melissa, nodding, still catching her breath.
  "You're a girl of very few words. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"
  "Couldn't talk . . . I was concentrating," she says, nodding.
  "Well, folks, there you have it. When I saw the size of that troll, I thought he had it. But lo and behold, the little girl did it. Ladies and Gentleman, put your hands together for tonight's winner, the Witch!"
A few people applauded as a few stagehands approached the troll's corpse, trying to figure out how to move the two-tonne mass.
  "Well, there you have it. That is the end of Tier One of Monster Bash, out of Eight we have four champions. We'll return after a short break to clean up this mess, but don't go away. We will not be done until we find our Monster Supreme. Our remaining winners will face off, one by one, until only one is left standing Who will survive this morbid clash, who will survive this creature clash? Come back next time to find out. Until then, goodnight everybody."

Monster Bash, Tier 1: Vampire vs. Human

  "Wow, that looks atrocious . . . no really, I can't draw humans for shit, can't we get a professional artist or something to do these match cards?" I ask, frowning as I talk into my headset and glance up at the illustration. "Too late? I mean, can't we . . . wait now? We're live right now . . . ? HELLO! and good evening, monster fans!"
I quickly compose myself and smile.
"Welcome back to Tier one of Monster Bash. Last night, we saw a quick and dirty match, but there’s more to come. Who will win tonight’s fight? Stick around to find out,” I say, adjusting my suit as I lean against the fence. “Now, it has come to my attention that some viewers are a little upset that we are being disrespectful to these grounds, but let me assure you, first of all, that Horton-Meier was made fully aware of the content and extent of what Monster Bash entails, and willingly offered the grounds, fully informed. Second of all, know that we here at Monster Bash Conglomerated are not heartless, and part of our contract included a restoration of these grounds, not only of any damage we inflict, but also a renovation of the pre-existing site. When we leave here, it will be as peaceful and pristine as the day they first opened their gates”
I stand up and adjust my headphones as I once more approach the commentator’s desk.
 “Yet again, I am joined by the lovely Miss Jayalaw, to help us comment on this evening’s proceedings. Now, Jaya, with media these days portraying vampires as sparkling juggernauts, it may seem like vampire is the obvious choice. But I am going against type this evening, and I think I’m backing mankind. What do you think of tonight’s competition?”
 “Human beings can be quite nasty,” Jaya replied. “Though I do hope that he knows what he’s getting into. Vampires can be killed in numerous ways, but the favored choice is a wooden stake through the heart. Wood does happen to be everywhere, even in the pencils we use. So theoretically, the human would just have to get close enough to the vampire to destroy them, unless he’s allowed to use a bow and arrow.”
 “Well, none of the contestants are allowed to bring a weapon onto the field, but there’s a reason we picked a graveyard instead of a boxing ring,” I say, looking out upon the churchyard. “If it’s a case of a one, two, punch, then it’s not much of a fair fight, because it’s not a realistic setting for any of these creatures to occupy. And vampires, although fast, they’re really fragile, so I think that if our human plays smart until he can fashion himself a club or a stake, then it’s game over. Of course, that’s a really big ‘if’.”
“It’s a shame that people weren’t buried with sharp sticks, although a human digging for one would be desecrating remains. Would garlic be considered a weapon? In theory, could the human bide his time until dawn hits? If so, then the vampire would either have to forfeit or burst into flames.”
 “I sense a little trepidation on your part. I don’t think it will be that hard for our man. With trees, crumbling gravestones, the vestments in the church, I think there’s plenty he could use to defend himself. Vampire’s greatest defense is that we can’t tell them apart from humans. But walking into this arena, our guy is ready to fight. And hey, Hitler, Napalm, Clowns. . . I think mankind really is the greatest monster in this fight. Oh, and here come our contestants!”
Over at the fence by the tree line, was a tall, pale-skinned man in a straight jacket and a muzzle, but he walked calmly, and casually, glancing around and standing tall, his slicked, black hair shining greasily in the moonlight. He was being lead from behind, a stagehand holding the buckles on the spine of the jacket. After entering the field, the stagehand unbuckled the straight jacket and the muzzle and the two of them ran back and closed the gate behind them.
In one swift motion, the vampire threw his arms back, and the straight jacket slipped off of his body onto the ground in front of him to reveal a white shirt and matching pinstripe vest and trousers. He casually removed the muzzle the way a rockstar would remove their sunglasses.
 “In this corner, we have Samuel Bergstein, originally a bank teller, he was bitten by a vampire at the age of twenty-nine, and is our oldest and wisest competitor having walked this earth for one hundred and fourteen years.”
On the other side near the church, a black man with long daggy hair, wearing an open shirt with a singlet and a pair of jeans walks towards the field, with two stagehands holding each arm. They walk him inside the graveyard, stand him a few metres away from the fence and shut the gate behind them. The man looked a little anxious, but hopped on the spot and flexed his muscles, which were well-toned and athletic.
 “And against him, we have Jerome Ratray, he is thirty-six years old and standing at six feet - or one-point-eight metres - and weighing in at one hundred and ninety pounds - or ninety kilos - he is an electrician and in his spare time an amateur kick-boxer. Alrighty then!”
I stand up and scream “It’s Predator versus Prey, who will win? Let’s get ready to RUMBLE! Three . . . two . . . one, FIGHT!”

Jerome starts jogging down the centre path, and the vampire, Samuel, chuckles as he begins to swagger towards his opponent.
 “How old are you?” asked Samuel. Jerome doesn’t answer, instead he stops in the middle of the path and puts up his fists, waiting for the vampire to meet him half way.
“That’s right, thirty-six . . . so young. I hope you’ve lived a good life, because it’s going to end, tonight.”
Jerome didn’t respond, he was focussed, breathing steadily, fists clenched.
 “Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed in my lifetime?” asked Samuel, but again, Jerome doesn’t answer. “I’m talking to you, son. Do you know how to speak?”
 “I ain’t here to talk,” said Jerome coldly.
 “So he does have a tongue,” says Samuel with a chuckle. “Why so stoic? I want to enjoy this, savour the moment, because it won’t last too long otherwise.”
 “You tryin’ to scare me, sucker?” asked Jerome. “I didn’t come here for compellin’ conversation, I came here to kick yer ass. Vampires are only dangerous because they look like us, we don’t see ‘em comin’. Well, I see you sucker . . . you ready to dance?”
Jerome took two steps forward and threw his fist. The vampire dodged left with amazing speed, but it was a fake-out, Jerome swung a right hook and got him in the neck. Samuel stumbled back, but Jerome advanced quickly, almost hopping forward, since he was so light on his feet. He swung three more powerful punches, left-left-right, twice in the kidney, once in the forehead. Samuel fell onto his back, and scrambled backwards.
 “No, come on, keep on talkin’!” taunted Jerome. “Weren’t you sayin’ somethin’ about how very old you are?”
Samuel clambered to his feet, then leapt through the air. Jerome stepped aside and watched as he flew overhead, landing in front of the church.
 “You want to play rough, do you?” asked the vampire.
 “I ain’t playin’, sucker,” said Jerome. “I’m gonna kill you.”
Samuel lept up and grabbed onto the edge of the roof, placing his feet flat on the wall as he hung from the church, then using all the force in his legs, he dove at his prey. He tackled him around the waist, and the force sent them both sprawling back. The vampire quickly got to his feet and kicked Jerome in the head. Jerome grabbed his ankle to stop him doing it again, but he jumped away, with a speed that whipped his foot out of Jerome’s grip. Samuel landed on top of the church, and sat on his haunches, looking down at Jerome as he got back up.
 “There, isn’t that better? Doesn’t it feel more natural, to have you at my feet, and me standing above you.”
 “Sounds to me like you’re hiding, because you know if you were standin’ down here, I’d rip yer head off.”
 “Such a savage beast . . . how do you manage to even tie your shoes?”
 “Seriously, how are you plannin’ on winnin’ from all the way up there?” asked Jerome, sounding frustrated. “What are you waitin’ for, old age? Stop hidin’ like a scared, little mouse and fight me!”
Samuel sighed, then leapt off the roof. He landed a metre in front of Jerome, but immediately tucked into a somersault, rolled forward and kicked with both feet into his chest.
He jumped up as Jerome stumbled back, and ran forward with inhuman speed. He crouched low and jabbed with a suckerpunch at full speed, that knocked the air out of Jerome, causing him to lose more ground, stumbling back. Then Samuel jumped to his feet with an uppercut, he was moving fast, to keep ahead of his opponent. Jerome managed to batter it away, with both hands, and tried to regain his composure; so instead Samuel changed the uppercut into a powerful slap that echoed like a thunderclap. He swung his other hand to try to slap him again, trying to knock him silly, but Jerome grabbed his fingers, squeezing the spindly fingers tight, and through clenched, bloody teeth he growled and gave Samuel a headbutt. The vampire was knocked back, but Jerome had a tight grip on his hand, he pulled him back and repaid the favour with a suckerpunch of his own, straight to the stomach. Samuel doubled over, and Jerome kneed him in the face, then swung a punch at his face, then another. Samuel let out a pained cry, as blood started dripping from his nose and mouth. But Jerome kept advancing. He swung an uppercut at his opponent’s chin that made a heavy sound, and knocked him onto his back.
Jerome stood there for a moment, sweating and breathing heavily. He was exhausted and he stopped to catch his breath, but then he looked over at the church and walked past Samuel. The vampire was a bloody mess, and he tried to look around, he groaned as he sat up. he cradled his face with a shaking hand and he rolled onto his feet.
Behind him, the human grabbed the wooden railing of the steps leading into the church and yelled out as he ripped it off, and brandished the makeshift club in his hand.
One end had two nails sticking out, which he elected as the business end, and he walked back towards his opponent to finish him off. Taking a running swing at the hunched figure, he knocked Samuel over again, the nails ripping two wounds into his side.
 “No, stop!” yelled out the vampire, but Jerome swung downwards, and Samuel wailed in pain. As he lifted the bludgeon to swing again, Samuel got to his feet. Mid-arch, Samuel swiped at the piece of wood at astounding speed, and snapped it in half. Then he grabbed Jerome’s fist and dove forward, sinking his fangs into Jerome’s shoulder, to drink the blood.
 “Argh! Get off me!” screamed Jerome. He used his free hand to punch the vampire in the head, throwing him off and in the process gouging deep cuts where the teeth ripped through. Seeing the snapped splinter in his hand, he angrily shoved it into the vampire’s chest. Immediately Samuel went limp. He fell onto his knees and looked up at Jerome, then at the makeshift stake in his chest. He was bleeding heavily, cold blood pooling on the ground around him.
 “You got me,” he said, looking back up, “I think . . . I think I’m finally dying.”
 “Mate . . .” said Jerome, shaking his head. “You talk too much.”
After a few seconds, the vampire slumped to the side, then finally Jerome sat on the ground, breathing heavily.

 “Ladies and gentlemen, that was amazing, I think we have a winner!” I yell, running forward. “I knew it! Mankind, all the way! I think . . . what?”
I stop and put a hand to my headphones as the operators talk to me.
“Okay, I’ll check. Jerome? How are you feelin’, man?” I say walking closer. “Can we get a medic, here?!”
 “That sucked,” said Jerome, wiping the sweat from his brow.
 “We’re not done yet, man. There may be a technical knock-out here.”
 “What?” said Jerome, he looked a little woozy as he looked up.
 “You’ve been bitten. If you turn, that’s T.K.O., Vampire wins.”
 “Vam . . . what? Vampire’s dead,” said Jerome. Once more, an ambulance comes flying through the gate and stops short, and two nurses come out of the back.
 “Yes, the vampire’s dead. You will come back next tier. But if you turn, then you come back to fight as a Vampire,” I say. “Can we get some help here, please?”
A nurse straps his arm with a blood pressure bracelet and the other other checks his temperature, then puts a stethoscope to his chest. After a tense few seconds, the nurse shakes her head.
 “No, he’s gonna be fine,” she says. “Don’t worry, you’re still human.”
 “All-RIGHTY then!” I yell out. “That was touch and go for a second there, scary stuff, but it’s official! We have tonight’s champion! Please everyone, congratulate, the Human!”
The nurses both clap as I walk back towards the desk.
 “That was pretty exciting, but there’s one more round for tier one. Come back tomorrow night, for some more, amazing action!”

Monster Bash, Tier 1: Zombie vs. Demon

“Good evening, sports fans, and welcome back to tier one of Monster Bash. Last night’s round saw some incredible action, but who will win tonight’s conflict? Stick around to find out,” I say, as I walk towards the commentator’s desk. “We have a beautiful arena here at Horton-Meier Churchyard, which has been graciously offered to us for these fights. They have a magnificently maintained churchyard, and an Anzac Memorial for those who died during their service, I have to say, my heart goes out to those poor souls . . . ‘lest we forget’.”
I approach the desk where two unimportant characters are looking busy alongside a gorgeous, young woman.
“Once more, I’m joined by Jayalaw at the sidelines to comment on tonight’s fight. Jaya, tonight we see a zombie facing off against a demon . . . I’ve got to say, this one seems like a Curb Stomp battle, does the walking dead stand a chance against this hellspawn?”
“Depends on the type of walking dead,” she responded. “As well as the malevolence and strength of the demon. Most people characterize zombies as walking carnivores or brainwashed slaves for Caribbean magicians, but some in pop culture know how to think. Not all demons are necessarily evil, per se, and quite a few can be benevolent. It’s a real toss up because the interpretations vary widely.”
 “Well, that seems as good a time as any to check our profiles. Let me see here . . .” I reach down and snatch a few papers from one of the two-dimensional side-characters. The nameless cutout doesn’t even speak. “Hmm . . . well, there’s good news and bad news for our zombie contender. Apparently he’s classed as a ‘Romero’, which is to say, he’s a bit of a shambler. Aggressive, nonetheless, but speed will not be in his favour. However, our demon is looking like she’s on a lesser rung of demon hierarchy. A bit of a lesser, barely above an imp, with only a few lashings of dark magic. Ooh, wait . . . hellfire. I dunno, I’m still leaning towards the demon.”
 “Shamblers seem to be resistant to pain, and can only be killed with beheading or a direct shot to the skull. So our demon can’t play with her opponent based on that sort of immunity.”
 “Y’know, you have a fair point. Perhaps I’m being unfair. But y’know, I think the real decider here is whether or not the zombie bite is going to work in his favour. This demon is flesh and blood, So, if she can get turned by the zombie, that’s a T.K.O., that’s out. I guess we’ll just have to find out. Oh, and here come our competitors now!”
On the left side, near the trees, two stage hands were walking a zombie towards the gate. He had green saggy skin and a metal bucket on his head, as well as a wire lasso, much like a dog-catcher would use, tied his neck which they were using to lead him into the churchyard. As they closed the gate behind them, one of the stagehands approached and quickly removed the bucket. The zombie immediately snarled and dove for him, but the stagehand sprinted and the one holding the lasso pole held firm.
 “Ooh, he’s a vicious one! In this corner, we have Donald Vanderbilt, says he used to be a shop assistant, but was bitten and infected over ten years ago. Died at the age of thirty-three, and since then has managed to infect seventeen more people. So watch out, we’ve got a biter.”
On the other side of the field, three stagehands entered with a book, and a small tray. One used a medical bag filled with donated blood to draw a symbol, while another chanted from a book. The third arranged and lit candles as well as several bones, herbs and other small items. The chanting stagehand cried out and the candles seemed to explode with flame and became a firewhirl. In the centre, a red-skinned woman with horns and a spear-tipped tail appeared, with yellow eyes, black hair and nails, and cloaked in what looked like a black and charred bikini.
 “And, showing that she knows how to make an entrance, in this corner, we have . . . uh, Rkk’lugh O’ash’sh kss-Ra? But, she also goes by the name ‘Carver’. Hellspawn of the Fifth Circle for eighty-six years, Sla’ankin underling and a practitioner of infernal arts. I don’t think I understood half of that, and I wrote it. But okay . . .” I stand up and scream “It’s Creep versus Corpse, who will win? Let’s get ready to RUMBLE! Three . . . two . . . one, FIGHT!”

The zombie began shuffling forwards, and Carver chuckled.
 “What folly is this?” she said, looking at the commentators. Then, shaking her head, she strolled along the path towards the zombie. “Alright, let’s bring this to an end . . .”
Carver moved within five metres of the zombie, then stopped. The zombie kept shuffling forwards, and after three seconds it was one metre closer.
 “This is a farce,” said Carver, she took one step back and raised a clawed hand. Her eyes flashed orange as fire ignited from her nails and spread into her palm. Then she punched forward, and a stream of fire burst forth from her hand, and hit the zombie’s feet. She motioned her hand up and down, covering the zombie with flames and smoke. It screamed hoarsely as the flames hit its face. Then Carver dropped her hand and shrugged, looking away from the black smoke.
 “Does this make me champion?” she asked.
Suddenly, a burning zombie leapt out of the smoke and, still smouldering, grabbed her right wrist with both hands, and dug its teeth into her fingers. The demon screamed in pain, her inhuman voice shredding eardrums, a sound like angry nails on a chalkboard.
Swiftly, she punched the zombie in the face and threw him off her, sending him flying into the fence.
 “You festering MAGGOT!” she shrieked, looking at her hand. Rich, red and black blood spilled from her knuckles, “What have you done to me?! Corrupted blood . . .”
Her hand seemed to twitch and rot as she looked at it. Carver frowned angrily as she held her infected hand in front of her face and grabbed her own wrist with her other hand. She took three deep breaths, then clenching her teeth she twisted sharply, crack! The bone snapped. Then, digging her claws into the flesh, the demon ripped the loose, rotten hand off of her arm and dropped it in the dirt beside her. Tears of blood fell from her eyes as she looked at the bleeding, rendered stump of her wrist, then looked through the smoke at the smoking zombie, staggering to its feet. She leapt over the fire and marched towards the shambling corpse.
“Come on, try it one more time!” she roared. “Show me those teeth, I want to see your HUNGER!”
As she came within three metres, the zombie lashed again, but this time, she was ready, she stepped back, and kicked high at the side of his head. A bone cracked, and the zombie fell onto the ground once more. Then, seething with rage, the demon took two steps towards its face, raised a leg high, and slammed it into the zombies head. The decayed head split like a meat watermelon, the zombie’s body  twitched a few times before falling still.

A bell sounded, and I came running forward.
  "Ladies and gentlemen, we have tonight's champion," I cry as I step around the rotting hand and over to the dead zombie. "That was a lot closer than I was expecting. My stomach dropped when he bit your hand there, Carver, but you pulled through in the end. I mean . . . ripping off your own hand? Wow. How does it feel to have won tonight?"
  "That was revolting," said Carver. "But I am proven victorious. What can you offer me for my hand?"
  "If you need medical help, there's an ambulance on standby. And before your next fight, I'm sure the stagehands can patch you up, and we'll need to check the rulebook about finding you a prosthetic or something so you're not handicapped next fight."
Carver started to look a little woozy as more blood spilled from her wrist.
  "Okay, let's double-time that ambulance, guys!" I say, stepping away. "She's been a real trooper this evening, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the Demon!"
Everyone applauds, but the clapping is drowned out by the sound of the ambulance as it crashes through the gate.
  "Come back tomorrow for Round Three! It's going to be a good one, trust me!"

Monster Bash, Tier 1: Werewolf vs. Ghost

Good evening, sports fans, and welcome to the inaugural Monster Bash!
For the longest time, for Halloween, Mankind has celebrated those twisted creatures of sinister might and dark magic for the fear they can incite. But, I don’t think it’s enough to include an entire barrage of beasts every single time we want to celebrate one day. After all, how can we decide which of these nightmarish freaks is truly Monster Supreme?
Well, pure and simple, why not drop them in an arena and see who is left alive? Well, standing at least . . . or floating. Whatever, we want to know which one can outlast the others in a standoff.
So, for this Halloween Countdown, we’re doing to throw down in the ring, and see which of eight classic monsters will defeat the rest, and be 2015’s Monster Supreme. I’ve selected eight monsters to play within an elimination contest bracket, paired them up randomly and we’ll see who wins.
So, without further ado, let’s go to the arena!

- - -

  “Thank you, Matt,” I say to myself, as I am somehow now standing in the middle of a twilit graveyard and wearing a tuxedo and heavy set of headphones while holding a microphone. “I’m standing here, in the Horton-Meier Churchyard, a scene which has been graciously provided to us for this year’s Monster Bash. Just a small property, but it has a lot of character and useful sites for these fights.”
I start walking to the far side, where there is a table set up with two secondary characters and a pretty young woman wearing a glitzy formal dress. Her skin was brown, and her curly hair draped around her shoulders.
 “This year, I’m joined by Jayalaw, who will be helping us to comment on tonight’s entertainment. How do you feel about tonight’s fight?”
“I think that there’s more to the contestants than meets the eye,” the woman said. “For some reason people don’t like werewolves, but most of the time they are normal human beings. We’ll have to see if the were-part of the wolf will be able to apply human smarts.”
 “Indeed, especially up against a ghost. You can give a geist a good whack, but if you want to take them down, you’ve got to find that haunt, or exorcise them somehow. So, the werewolf will have staying power, but that won’t count for anything if he doesn’t fight smart this evening.”
“The ghost also shouldn’t take things for granted. They may be dead with an immortal soul, but souls are only human, and humans make mistakes. Both contestants need to be on their toes his evening.”
 “So you think the human factor will be the deciding factor in this fight?”
“Oh definitely. There aren’t many monster stories where the monster uses his brains to get out of a bad situation. But to be honest I don’t watch many reality shows, so I don’t know how to predict winners. I merely plan to observe, to see who avoids wiping out.”
 “Well, someone will have to wipe out tonight, I’m afraid. Oh, and they’re bringing in the contestants now . . .” I say. Off to the left side of the churchyard, near a copse of trees, the gates were opened by two stagehands and a large truck backed into the yard and the helpers opened the doors. A man wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, with salt-pepper hair and a five-o’clock shadow jumped down out of the truck. On both of his wrists, heavy chains were tied.
 “In this corner, tonight we’ll be seeing Gareth Donahue, a thirty-four-year old car mechanic from Darwin, who also happens to be a ravenous werewolf,” I say. On the other side of the field the gates are opened and two stage hands step in carrying what looks like a jar with a candle inside.
They place it on the ground and open the lid, and instantly the glass shatters, and a small girl flickers into existence, a woman wearing a business suit that looked rumpled and wet, and her dark hair was hanging around her face. Her whole body seemed to flicker slightly and glow a sickly shade of blue.
 “And in this corner, he’ll be facing off against Sasaki Tsukiyami, a Brisbane girl migrant from Japan who was murdered by a jilted lover at the age of just twenty, and returned as a vengeful spirit . . . whose possessions have been donated to us by the Tsukiyami family for the sake of this evening’s entertainment.” I stand up and scream. “It’s Hound versus Haunt, who will win?  Let’s get ready to RUMBLE! Three . . . two . . . one, FIGHT!”

Gareth begins by jogging across the graveyard towards the ghost. She watched, creepily, tilting her head awkwardly, her black hair hung over her face so that only one of her eyes could be seen. As he came within three metres, she suddenly shrieked.
 “Don’t you dare . . .” Sasaki hissed.
 “What, are you scared?!” said Gareth with a smirk. “Or are you just trying to scare me?”
He swung a right hook at her head, but his fist passed right through. He just sighed.
“I should have figured as much . . . so does this mea-”
The ghost shoved him with both hands, and Gareth went flying backwards. Head over heels, he landed awkwardly on his shoulder and rolled backwards, landing on his front.
 “You can’t hurt me . . .” Sasaki hissed, as she lifted off the ground and floated towards him. He didn’t move at first, and it seemed like maybe he’d been knocked out, but after four seconds, he suddenly pushed himself up and shook himself off.
 “I’m starting to really hate you,” said Gareth, his voice deep, almost hoarse, “I’m gonna have to lose it . . . faster than I expected.”
There was a sickly cracking sound as his bones began shifting and growing. There was a swift ripping as his muscles expanded through his shirt and became covered with wiry, brown fur. His face became elongated, his teeth grew. As he transformed, he got to his feet in time for claws to shred through his shoes. The werewolf snarled and as the clothing fell from him and the last of his form snapped into place, he took a step forward and roared.
The force of the sound made the ghost’s clothing and hair move as though in a sudden, strong gust of wind. The werewolf snarled and leapt, face-first with jaws open wide. He dove straight through the ghost, but as his enormous form flew through hers, her body dissipated like smoke.
The werewolf looked confused, as it sniffed around, pawing at the ground. Sasaki reappeared, looking a little dazed as it stumbled to its feet, but before the ghost could regain her composure, the werewolf ran forward and slammed a great claw through her, and into the ground. Breathing heavily, the wolf sniffed left and right. After another ten seconds, Sasaki reappeared, this time behind him. Before he could turn around she floated off the ground and grabbed him by the hair on his back. The werewolf barked sharply, as she drifted upwards, and pulled him off the ground. The werewolf twisted and swiped, grunting and snarling but couldn’t reach the fur on its back. The ghost drifted a good five storeys above the ground, and sideways so they were floating above the gravestones. Then, she dropped him. A headstone crumbled as he landed on top of it with his chest, and the werewolf made a high-pitched yelp.
It crawled away from the headstone, limping, and looked up at the ghost in the air, frothing at the mouth with rage. After a few deep breaths, the werewolf stood on its hind legs and pounced up. It leapt almost twice his height, claws outstretched, but it wasn’t high enough. It tried again, but couldn’t get any higher, and the ghost floated overhead, looking down at the wolf from above.
The werewolf let out a mournful howl, then seemed to tense and flex its muscles. The beast started to shrink, muscles shivering and bones snapping as he returned to a man-like form. But the transformation did not complete, rather than Gareth’s human form, he reduced to a wolf-man, with muscular arms and a wiry mane, but smaller and with more exposed skin.
 “Gotta fight smart . . .” growled Gareth, holding his bruised side as he wandered towards the path in front of the church. Gareth saw the shattered remains of the glass jar near the fence, he sniffed at the pieces before scraping it into a pile, scooping it with the dirt so he wouldn’t cut himself, then he looked up at the sky. “You’ll never win if you fly around up there!”
Sasaki flickered for a moment, then held out her arms, as though on an invisible crucifix and screamed as she began to plummet down towards the ground. Gareth scooped up the dirt and glass quickly into both hands, and as Sasaki landed on the ground, he threw it.
She shrieked in pain as her ghostly form dissipated again, like smoke.
 “Salt and iron,” said Gareth, smiling. “You can’t just slip through salt and iron, can you, bitch!”
Sniffing around, Gareth caught a scent and ran towards the church. It was only a small, wooden thing, barely twenty-five square metres. Inside, the lights were lit, and Gareth was looking around until something caught his eye. Sitting atop the lectern, and very much out of place, was a little, china doll. He approached it, but as he got half-way, Sasaki appeared behind him.
 “You can’t hide from me . . .” she warned. Not wasting a second, Gareth leapt towards the lectern, and grabbed the doll, landing awkwardly and rolling into the wall. But he managed to get to his feet.
 “Does this look familiar?” he said, breathing heavily.
 “No . . . wait, don’t!” shrieked Sasaki, as she recognized the doll.
With a cruel grin, Gareth held the doll above his head.
 “NOOO!” screamed Sasaki, but the doll’s head collided with the corner of the lectern, and shattered. Sasaki screamed an otherworldly scream and her form was encompassed by blinding light, then exploded into particles of smoke.

A bell sounded, and I stepped out from behind the commentators desk.
 “We have a winner!” I yelled, running towards the church. “That was way more exciting than I imagined . . . ghostly apparition has its benefits, but being linked to an inanimate object seems to be one killer weakness. Gareth, come out here!”
Gareth stumbled out the door, still holding his side, but smiling.
 “Gareth, you’ve survived round one. How do you feel?”
 “I feel like crap,” he said, breathing heavily. “But I’m glad I got rid of that shrieking banshee . . . that was fun, but it hurt like hell when she dropped me.”
 “Yeah, I think you’ve got a broken rib. We’re gonna get you patched up before your next match. But, ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the Werewolf!”
The other three commentators clap, and Gareth stumbles off towards the churchyard gate.
 “Alright, but that was just round one. To find out the Monster Supreme, you’ll need to stick around. Come back tomorrow for Round Two, where two more monsters will face off in our Monster Bash!”

Short of Breath, Long of Thought

Good evening, my faithful followers . . . don't worry, I'm not dead. Not yet, anyway.
I've disappeared for a while, for a hiatus, a holiday, a healing reprieve. Call it what you will, but I'm back.
And not without pomp or ceremony, because I always act a little pompous and ceremonious on a day like today. After all, today is my birthday.

Hip . . . hip . . . hurrah.

Y'know, that reminds me. During this month, in 1819 (and several months preceding), there was a series of riots in Germany by a collection of anti-Semitic Germans, who killed many Jewish citizens, and destroyed their property.
they were known as the Hep-Hep Riots, for the way the rioters called out "hep hep" to the German Jews they were rounding up and beating, the same way that a shepherd would call to round up sheep. Just something to think about.

Yes, we've come around once more to my birthday, and that means that we have to resurrect that old, dusty tradition. The Halloween Countdown:

A count of the days, counting down from thirteen,
From today, thirteen nights till we see Halloween.

Now, I must admit, it's been a while since I've written anything for the blog. I do sincerely apologize, I didn't want to see you all suffer . . . not like that, anyway. But, don't think I've forgiven and forgotten you all! Rather, I was working on something special for the blog, for this very countdown. No, please, don't go getting your hopes up.
See, the reason I haven't written a blog post is because I was working up until this very second on it . . . and I'm still not done.

See, I came up with a twisted, little idea for the Countdown. Because it's Thirteen blog posts, I thought I could write a little story with 13 chapters. Sounds fun, right?
Well, yes . . . but, I bit off more than I could chew. So in the interests of completing in time, I've decided to spit out the gory, bloody chunk of meat I've been chewing on in the hopes of nibbling on some lighter Halloween Candy.
Don't fear! I still plan on writing that story, and I think I'll even give it to you all next year. I've written chapter one, and it is delectably morbid fare. I won't give you any spoilers, since I will share it with you next year, all I will say is this:
"the scariest moment is when you come to terms with reality."

But, this year, we'll try to make this a little easier. After all, I haven't been feeling well lately . . . so please, pity, the poor, simpering madman.
For that reason, the Word of the Day is: 'ANXIETY'

Anxiety /ang'zuyǝtee/ n. 1. Tension or unease of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune. 2. Concerned desire; eagerness. 3. Psychology A state of fear and tension found in some disorders of the mind.

See, I have been feeling a little nervous, lately. A little anxious. It's hard to shake that oppressive cycle of self-destructive worry. But, I've been learning. It's weird, though. See, anxiety is a bad thing, definitely, for me it is one of the most unsettling and disruptive forces in my waking life (and my Beloved has forewarned me that sufferers can even have 'anxiety dreams').
But, anxiety is not really a "bad" thing. Just like fire, blood and knives, it's not the thing itself which is evil, but the things that we do with it.

For starters, anxiety is meant to protect us. You're walking through the forest, you hear a twig snap, a strange noise or see a shadow flicker past your vision, then your body reacts. You tense up, adrenaline floods your body, your breathing quickens and shortens, your eyes narrow, your brain goes into overdrive analyzing your senses and thoughts to try to quantify the danger.
Anxiety is meant to be your friend, your bodyguard and your protector.

By that same token, anxiety can also have a positive influence. I want to share something with you fine readers from two earlier blog posts. These are two different blog posts I wrote in 2013, but I will copy my own words here, because I want you to stay focussed here, not off reading those elsewhere. Here's what I said:

  "The thing is, relaxing isn't fun. I don't like to relax. Sleep is boring, sitting around is just stupid and not thinking is a slow torture. I don't like holidays and I don't like to relax."

- The Absurd Word Nerd, Pause for Thought, Sunday, 21 April 2013

  "See, I like a challenge, I like to make my mind-gears whir overtime, and overclock my cortex to a point where I feel like it doesn't fit in my skull. I like thinking BIG, so even when I tackle something potentially 'simple' I like to see if I can complicate it."

- The Absurd Word Nerd, The Writing on the Wall, Thursday, 30 May 2013

In retrospect, both of these are fuelled by a sense of anxiety. I don't like sleeping and relaxing, and I don't like being bored or boring. Now, this kind of anxiety is one of excitement, but that is, nonetheless, anxiety. Just as the definition says, some anxiety is concerned desire, or eagerness.
It's the same reason why people enjoy horror films. Adrenaline, fear and horror are not bad things. So, even though I am still working on my feelings of anxiety, I am confident that a little Halloween fun will do me good.

And, of course, since it's one of the scariest things I'm dealing with, it might just inspire a little fear in my readers. For now, I'm going to go eat some birthday cake. But until tomorrow, I'm the Absurd Word Nerd and I hope you enjoy this Countdown, and that you're all excited about Halloween!

First Things First

Sorry for the long gaps between posts. I'm just having trouble sleeping lately, but I don't want to talk about my anxiety all the time, that can get a bit heavy and depressing if that's all I'm talking about. So, what do I want to talk about instead? Well, a while ago I was doing research for stories, and I came across a trope regarding early incarnations of modern characters, and that idea struck a chord with me.
For example, there are a lot of vampires in the modern day fiction, but there are all kinds of variations, from Nosferatu to Edward Cullen, even to the Count of Sesame Street. So, what inspired all of these? You may think Dracula, but you'd be wrong. No, he wasn't the first. Vampires did exist in folklore, such as the Greek vrykolakas and the Romanian strigoi, as well as some German poetry about vampires. But the very first vampire character in fiction was actually Lord Ruthven, of the 1819 short story The Vampyre by John William Polidori; you can even read it online at Project Gutenberg if you want.
But isn't that fascinating? I think it's fascinating, these progenitors of fiction, predecessors that inspired modern characters; even though they are not as famous as their later incarnations these firsts iterations are both fascinating and inspiring.
The Word of the Day is: 'FIRST'

First /ferst/ adj. 1. Being before all others in time, order, rank, importance, etc. (used as the ordinal number of one); 1st. 2. Motor Vehicles Of or relating to the lowest gear ratio. 3. First hand, From the first or original source. ♦adv. 4. Before all others or anything else in time, order, rank, etc. 6. For the first time: She first met him at a party. 7. Rather than something else; sooner. 8. At the beginning. 9. First up, at the first attempt. ♦n. 10. Anyone or anything which is first in time, order, rank, quality, etc. 11. (pl.) The best quality of certain goods.

So, the following list is a list of firsts. However, I have to say, it can't be a comprehensive list. One of the things I discovered while doing my research is that stock characters are a nebulous concept.
For instance, what was the first vehicle? Some might say the "car", but is a vehicle a vehicle if it is man-powered? If so, does a bike count? What about a rickshaw? A pair of shoes? If not, what about a horse? Is a horse a vehicle? It's an animal, but if animals can't count, could a horse-drawn carriage count? If that counts, what about a sled? What about a rickshaw, or are we not counting human-drawn vehicles?
There will be different definitions based on each person's understanding of what defines a certain thing (in this instance "fictional character"), so I will try to list a few examples of "other firsts", and my reasoning for why they don't count, as well as my definition for that stock character.
So, with that disclaimer out of the way, this is . . .

The A.W.N.'s List of Stock Character Firsts

The First Mary Sue
What is a Mary Sue?
A fictional character whose accomplishments are unreasonably positive and successful, with very few flaws and is written as an author surrogate to live a more successful life vicariously through the character, but is not an author insert.

Honourable Mentions
First, I considered Dante Aligheri, from The Divine Comedy, since that's an early author surrogate, but the story is about Dante going to Hell, so I don't think that is unreasonably positive and successful. Also, since Dante is his real name, and the character doesn't do anything unrealistic, I think this is merely an author insert. So, after then, I considered Marco Polo. Although Marco is his real name, I figured that the character's exploits of travelling to outlandish places and surviving was wild enough that the character wasn't really him. But I felt uneasy about him having the same name, and the semi-fictional accounts of his exploits didn't feel like they painted the main character in a great light, so I also dismissed MP. However, in researching him, I found my true Mary Sue.

FIRST!
"Sir Jehan de Mandeville". Sir Jehan is a fictional English knight who travelled all over Africa. He served the Sultan of Egypt, fought the bedouins, was offered marriage into royalty (but denied, for he could not forsake his religion); he also travelled through Europe, including Russia and Ukraine, drank from the Well of Youth, served the Emperor of China & his story is totally true, you can trust me, because it was confirmed by the Pope as a true story.
However, this is a total lie. In truth, this is a French story, called The Travels of Sir John Mandeville, a fictional travelogue that was written before 1357 and the British Sir John Mandeville does not exist. The story is most likely written by a Frenchman, some suggest Jehan a la Barbe, others say Jean le Long, but either way, this character did not really exist, so he was not self-insert. While some facts are accurate, it is believed that these are accomplished by careful research of the writer (Jean de Long, one of the writers, was a monk who collected genuine travelogues, which would explain why he would need to live vicariously through his Mary Sue character), and the fact that the character meets royalty and serves them greatly, yet does not appear in history, exposes this story for the fiction that it is.
It just seems like some preening French fanboy idolized English knights, and wanted to go on an amazing adventure.

The First Murder Mystery Detective
What is a Murder Mystery Detective?
A fictional character who solves crimes for a living, often murders. They are suited to the job because of an extraordinary skill set that they possess, and for this reason they often find themselves encountering cases which are more difficult than the commonplace. They, along with the reader, investigate the clues and their job is finished when they uncover the answer to the mystery.

Honourable Mentions
Around the 1300s, China had its own version of the Mystery Genre, called Gong'an, which centred around fictionalized versions of historical judges and magistrates who deliberated over local crimes. Despite having some interesting characters, such as Judge Bao & Judge Di, these crimes are not mysteries, as the plot of the story is the telling of how the crime was committed, and ends with the judge using some manner of making the guilty party confess. Also, many involve supernatural elements, using magic to solve the crime and all of them contain very little investigating or detective skills, so they are dismissed outright. Next, I considered the works of Conan Doyle, and while quintessential, he was not progenitorial, as more came before him.
The first murder mystery in English history was The Notting Hill Tale by Charles Felix, which involved a complex mystery of poisoning, only discovered by the lawyer managing the deceased's estate, but the lawyer himself was not a detective and only solved the case after the fact by looking through his papers. So, for a long, long time, I thought the very first was "Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin", the main character from The Murders in the Rue Morgue by Edgar Allen Poe. But then, in doing some last-minute research, just now in fact, I discovered that there was a detective that came before him.

FIRST!
"Zadig". An ancient Babylonian philosopher, Zadig travels from Babylonia to Egypt and then back again, encountering woes, helping others and getting into trouble thanks to his trysts with women (femme fatale, anyone?). What is most odd about Zadig is that he comes from Zadig ou la Destinée by Voltaire in 1747, and it is written as a satire of the philosophical and political issues of his day. Yet, Zadig himself is like Genre Refugee, because although he partakes in drama, romance and tragedy, he has an uncanny ability to use his powers of "discernment", to determine truths based on keenly observed evidences. He dedicates himself to justice, firstly as a philosopher dedicated to uncovering truth and reality, then as a Babylonian minister (basically an arbiter of law) and then as a wayward traveller who seeks to help those which have suffered injustice.
Admittedly, he only uncovers one murderer within the novel (unless he arbitrates over a few as a minister), but only by using his skill to discover the lead witness - the queen - and not through direct analysis of clues. But by the nature of his discerning skills; his solving of several mysteries, riddles and troubles in the land including crime and murder & finally evidence that Zadig was the character that inspired Edgar Allen Poe to write Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin (as Poe himself admitted), leaves no doubt in my mind that Zadig is, in fact, the first murder mystery detective in fiction.
If you're curious, you can read it online if you want (Zadig begins on Page 47),

The First Slasher Killer
What is a Slasher Killer?
A fictional antagonist within a story with a monstrous look, either through costume, disfigurement or genetic anomaly. They kill three or more people and often cause fear either because they stalk their victims effortlessly, they terrorise their victims mercilessly or they kill their victims gruesomely. They tend to have an iconic weapon, yet most murder using a variety of methods.

Honourable Mentions
For a long time, I believed the first slasher was the killer from Black Christmas, a 1974 slasher film. However, despite the film being a horror with abundant murder, the killer in those films was not iconic, and while he was a serial killer, he was not a slasher. Also, just like with the Murder Mystery Detective, I thought I had found my man in The Terror, a hooded serial killer from a 1927 play (and 1928 movie, the first ever horror with recorded dialogue), but that wasn’t the first.
So, I looked earlier - much earlier - to find an iconic murderer, disfigured and in costume, and I actually came across Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus. Titus, the titular character of the play goes mad after his daughter is raped. He even cuts off his own hand, disfiguring himself, and he is a renowned Roman General and often portrayed wearing his Roman Helmet and decorations, so he is quite iconic and he kills six people through the course of the play (as well as condemning his two sons to execution. However, fourteen people die throughout the course of the play, and although he kills over 50%, most Shakespearean tragedies are bloody and Titus, despite his insanity and horrendous murder, he is not portrayed as fearsome, as he is not really a villain and not all portrayals include the iconic Roman General costume (and the disfigurement is just his hand), so fear is not a part of his character. So, while this kind of play inspired Grand Guignol theatre, which was the progenitor of Gorn which is a subtrope of the Slasher genre, the character himself is not the kind of scary monstrous killer I’m looking for.

FIRST!
"The Bat", I uncovered this character when I was researching superheroes. The character inspired Batman, but he is by no means a superhero as he is the villain, so I put him aside. However the Bat is a masked criminal who dresses up as a bat, commits crime and also terrorizes his victims and commits murder.
In this play from 1920, several people are staying in an old, mysterious mansion so they can look for a treasure stashed within. But as they do they are terrorized by The Bat, a legendary criminal who has committed robbery and murder in the past. At first he scares them with flickering lights, threatening notes, mysterious phone calls and glimpses of him through the windows, but when the occupants refuse to leave, and instead bring in more people to investigate, the Bat starts killing them off one by one. The play was a mystery and melodrama moreso than a wholehearted horror, but the villain’s use of fear, a frightening masked killer and several murders at the hand of the caped criminal makes The Bat the first Slasher Killer.
You can read or download the original play online in digitized pdf format [link may cause a download], or if you prefer a more visual medium, you can find the silent film on YouTube.


So, I was going to make a list of ten, but the research was taking too long (and I could only come up with 7 Stock Character definitions anyway), and it's been so long since you've heard from me. So, I'll continue this list in a later blog post (or two). For now I just hope that this inspires something creative in you, as it has in me.
Also, if you disagree with my definition, or you think you know of an earlier incarnation of one of these characters (or, just an early incarnation of any fictional character or trope), feel free to leave a comment.
Until Next Time, I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and you read it here first.