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.