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Abaddon’s Apocrypha Chapter 2

Posted in Uncategorized on April 1, 2016 by mcjeffrey

Upon exiting the room at Miller’s Court, James Kelly made his way, via the shadows and dark alleyways, back to his own one-roomed domicile at 21 Cottage Lane, just off the City Road between Shoreditch and Islington, constantly alert for signs that his recent masterpiece had already been discovered by a patrolling copper or nosey local. Kelly’s desperation to get home and finish his ritual was overwhelming; sweat trickled down his back and, although the night was foggy and cool, he could feel the shirt sticking to his back. Images of the girl he had just mutilated on her own bed flashed through his mind, causing him to become increasingly aroused, and his need to be safe at home intensified.
Kelly arrived at his home unimpeded, checked around to see if he had been followed and entered his abode. He immediately went to the single oil lamp he possessed, took a match from inside his coat and lit it. The the lamp barely illuminated the room, but the extent of his pitiful existence became all too apparent. The room was small, not too dissimilar to the one he has just left at Miller’s Court, and was furnished sparsely; a stove in the corner provided only the most limited of heat to warm the room and to cook upon, a shabby worn table with a threadbare chair which had seen better days, and, in the right-hand corner of the room, a worn, uncomfortable cot-like bed. No pictures or ornaments decorated the room, except for a single wooden crucifix adorning the wall above the head of the bed.
As a man on the run, Kelly did not possess much in the way of belongings. He had escaped from Broadmoor only two years earlier, locked up for the murder of his wife Sarah, and was spared the gallows due to a diagnosis of defective mental capacity because of his insistence in court that he was doing God’s work. Work he believed he was doing in God’s name that very night.
The killer pulled the chair up to the table, sat down and began to remove his spoils. He unwrapped the blood-stained handkerchief, revealing the pieces of uterus, liver and clitoris from his recent victim, Mary Jane Kelly. As he touched and examined the trophies, he felt himself stiffen, euphoria washing over him and an intense sexual fervour racking through his body. He bit into the largest piece of the poor girl’s offal, causing him to ejaculate with such an intensity he felt as if he was with the angels. The juices trickled down his chin and the sensation of the blood and raw meat sliding down his throat caused him to, again, become hard. This was his favorite part of the whole ritual, the part he could savour on his own.
As Kelly ingested a second bite of the girl’s liver, the single door to his small room burst open. Standing in the doorway was a tall, well-dressed man wearing a black overcoat, top hat and holding a cane. The man’s voice reverberated around the room but did not actually appear to come directly from him.
“Mr. Kelly, we need to talk.” Kelly instinctively reached for the dagger in his coat pocket and sprang from the chair, knocking it sideways across the room. He lurched at the intruder, slashing him across the cheek. Kelly recoiled in horror; the wound he inflicted on his mystery intruder was deep and long, but not one drop of blood flowed from the cut, and before his very eyes it began to knit together and heal. Within seconds, no sign of his assault remained on the man’s face.
“Demon!” cursed Kelly, wildly flailing with his dagger, although deep down he knew that his actions were futile and pointless. Within seconds the man was upon him, his vice-like grip around Kelly’s throat. Kelly was lifted off the floor and thrown across the room.
“Demon to some, angel to others,” his assailant remarked glibly. The man was upon Kelly again, within seconds this time, lifting him from his slumped position on the floor and raising him up to eye level. As Kelly’s eyes met those of the unknown attacker, all strength seemed to dissipate from his body, and he realized that he was in the presence of real, unbridled, primal power, not knowing whether it was a force for evil or good.
“Relax, Mr. Kelly. I do not intend to harm you. I have need of one with talents such as yours.” Kelly struggled to form words but meekly whispered,
“Who- who are you, what do you want of me?”
“My name is Mathers and I have a role for you. You are to be my sword in the darkness, you are to be my wraith in the dead of night, my general.” Mather’s then kissed him full on the mouth and Kelly felt his soul drain from his body. He was reborn.

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Abaddon’s Apocrypha Chapter 1 by MC Jeffrey

Posted in Uncategorized on February 3, 2015 by mcjeffrey

Chapter 1  Abaddon’s Apocrypha
London East End 9 November 1888.

“Watch him, Mute, this man is an artist in his field.” Mather’s voice seemed almost full of admiration. They watched from the shadows of Dean Street, unseen, as the man took the working girl by the hand, laughing and giggling, making their way towards Flower Street.
The Somnambulist and Mather, keeping their distance, trailed the couple hugging the shadows to remain out of view as they made their way through Spitalfields and into Dorsett Street. The man, approximately 5’5″ tall and well built, had a swarthy complexion and a thick, black moustache. He wore a dark deerstalker hat and a heavy grey overcoat, pulled up around him to protect him from the winter cold. His look was that of a man with means but shabby and not of society. The girl’s colouring was difficult to ascertain in the gas-lit streets, perhaps blonde or auburn. She was buxom and quite pretty, and seemed at ease with her companion as they walked along joking and laughing with each whispered conveyance.
When the couple reached Miller’s Court she fished a key from about her person and the two slipped inside the small bedsit, light illuminating the ground floor domicile seconds later. Mather and the Somnambulist quietly and carefully inched along to watch through the bedsit window, a small gap allowing them both to see inside yet remain hidden from view. The Somnambulist peered into the room, noting sparse décor; a queen sized bed, a cheaply-made cupboard, a dresser with mirror, a chair, and, in the corner, a wash basin with a jug of water at its side. The man pulled the chair into the far corner of the room, near the door and placed some money on the dresser. The girl inspected the amount, appeared agreeable, and then began to undress continuing to chatter as she went. The man, however seemed to withdraw into himself as he stripped, meticulously removing his clothing piece by piece, folding each item and laying it in an immaculate pile on the chair. The man’s actions spoke of someone, once intent upon fun and debauchery, now almost business-like.
The Somnambulist could not help feeling somewhat unnerved and unsettled by the man’s actions. Mather, sensing his companion’s unease, simply said, “Yes, I know, he is wonderful. I must have him.” seeming to read the tall mutes thoughts and sense his unease.
The girl, however, did not appear to notice the sudden change in her patron’s demeanour and continued to prattle on inanely about little, if anything, of note as she undid her undergarments. The man was now fully naked, his taut, muscular frame belying a hidden strength and power not noticeable when he was fully clothed.
The girl was now totally naked, her body, although a little flabby in places, was still relatively lithe, her breasts pert and her mound neatly trimmed. The girl was, in the mind of the Mute, a cut above the usual standard of prostitute in London’s East End. He began to pity the girl.
The man turned his back on the girl and demanded she lie on the bed. The girl agreed willingly, lay down opening her legs seductively, displaying her sex and began to pleasure herself. The man, taking little, if any, notice drew something long and metallic from his pile of clothing and, holding it behind his back, made his way to the bed and the ever-eager woman. The tall mute strained to see what it was but could not quite make out what the man was holding although, with sorrow in his heart, he had some idea.
As the man climbed onto the bed the girl lifted up to bring her mouth to his and raised her arms as if to embrace him but, as quick as a flash, the man whipped out a large curved knife and cutting the blade across her throat. Blood erupted from her carotid artery and sprayed over both their naked bodies. The Somnambulist was aghast as he saw that the blade the man was holding had sliced the girl’s throat through her windpipe and cut deep enough to expose the vertebrae of her neck. The mute also became aware of the man’s face. An emotionless caricature, expressionless and devoid of any feeling took the place of the jolly, friendly fellow they had first observed earlier in the night. Then the frenzy began. Mather, under his breath, simply stated “Beautiful”.
The man set about the girl’s features first, the blade hacking and slashing at her face, destroying her delicate visage, each bite of the blade ever more violent as he appeared intent upon obliterating her beyond recognition. Her nose, cheeks, eyebrows and ears were partly removed, her lips torn, shredded and cut away in deep welts leaving an almost sinister grin instead of the once full, deep red, sumptuous lips she had only seconds earlier.
He then turned to her breasts, gouging at them in a circular motion, removing them down through the underlying muscle to her ribs. There was no finesse, the intercostal muscles between the fourth, fifth and sixth ribs were cut through and the lung exposed, such was the wound. He slashed at her hands and arms, no inch left unblemished by his assault as he tore and mutilated the corpse.
He stopped, breathing heavily from his exertions and looked down at his work, smiling. He repositioned himself on the bed and looked at her, as yet, unspoilt stomach and sex, then, just as quickly as he stopped, he again set about his task. He opened up the girl’s abdomen, the cut from navel to pubis allowing him to access her kidneys and liver, which he cut away. He then concentrated on her uterus, removing it in slivers, the last of which he swallowed as he continued his work. He cut away the abdomen and pubis in three large flaps, gently placing them beside the breasts and other viscera. As he hacked at her buttocks, legs and knees the man began to shake and moan, and, reaching his euphoria with a loud cry of ecstasy, he collapsed, spent, on the mutilated body.
Lying there as if for an age, unmoving, his respirations rapid, he slowly began to compose himself and as gently as if he were handling a new-born babe, he began to reposition the girl’s body. He placed the head to her left, positioned the left arm across her abdomen and the right arm at an angle away from her body. He then moved the legs wide apart with the left thigh at a right angle to the trunk of her body.
The man then lifted up the head, placing one of the mutilated breasts under it, and gently lay it back down. The other breast he placed by the right foot, the kidneys he positioned between her feet. The uneaten parts of the uterus and intestines he put by the right side of the body and the spleen by the left.
He then alighted the bed, placed the three flaps cut from the pubis and abdomen on the dresser and went to the wash basin, filling it from the jug of water. He washed the girl’s blood from his person, methodically and slowly, ensuring that each inch of his body was free from her life-force, then walked to the other corner of the room to his clothes and dressed.
Turning one last time to admire his work, he took in the bed, awash with the girl’s blood, and the thickly congealing pool of blood, two feet in diameter, forming on the floor at the right of the bed. He smiled, removed the money he had earlier placed on the dresser, opened the door and exited into the cold night, closing the door behind him.
Mather’s slunk back into the shadows just as the killer exited the small home of his victim, and watched him wander off into the night stalking him from afar just out of sight, the murderer whistled a tune to himself obviously happy and pleased with his nights work, not knowing he was now the hunted.
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Abaddon’s Apocrypha Prologue by MC Jeffrey.

Posted in Uncategorized on December 18, 2014 by mcjeffrey

Abaddon’s Apocrypha.

Prologue by MC Jeffrey

El Giza Egypt 1884.

The Somnambulist surveyed the sepulchre. Torches lit the four corners of the large tomb in which they were seated, the flames causing the shadows to dance on the walls ominously, un-nerving the tall mute. The room was decorated in gold, deep reds and blues, in front of them a large stone altar draped in black Egyptian cotton with a large ceremonial gold candle stick on the left and gold jewelled dagger in the centre.

Mathers was becoming impatient, the Somnambulist observed. He knew how this was going to play out, and he knew he had little control in stopping it. This was the seventh sitting; the last one was just like this one and the outcome had been the same in the previous six. It was futile to resist the inevitable, he mused.

A door at the rear of the altar opened and two large men entered followed by a thin old woman. The men (both) hairless, large and muscular were dressed in the way of the old Egyptian style oiled bare chests, white skirts with black belts, both with large crescent blades in secured in scabbards. The small thin woman dressed in a ceremonial black and gold silk, her face shrouded with a black veil.

The woman spoke first her voice seemed to fill the room, the power and tone of her voice palpable so that it was impossible to remove one’s eyes from her diminutive form.

“I am En Shalah el Sabur, the Shadow Priestess. I am told you Samuel Mathers wish to see into the shadows for the knowledge of what has come to pass, the now and what shall be. I warn you, you may not like what you see, but I am the vessel, it is not for me to question one such as yourself, on you own head be it.”

The woman removed a copper scroll from under her robes, unrolled it and began to chant in her mother tongue. The room instantly began to darken the shadows seemingly enveloping around them. Within seconds the Somnambulist could no longer see the woman or the two men at each side of her. Slowly his eyes grew more accustomed to the dark and the shadows morphed into something else. He was no longer in the sepulchre but in a large dark room, his heart beating heavy in his chest the same sound also filling the room, BADUM BADUM on and on deafening ever louder as the crescendo built.

The Somnambulist walked further into the room. He was alone. At the end of the room was a door. On entering the next room, he was greeted by the sight of a man bound to an x shaped cross, his skin shredded with lacerations. Beside him, a grotesque homunculus lashed him with a whip, the dwarf’s features twisted and contorted in a visage so unsettling the Somnambulist had to remove his gaze. The words formed in the mute’s mouth before he realised he spoke them, unsettled by hearing his own voice for what seemed like an eternity, the mute stared at the tortured man and asked “who-who are you?” The man on the cross looked at him with tears and pity in his eyes and although his lips did not move he answered “I am you, and you are me, we are legion.” The dwarfs whip cracked and struck the man in the face cutting a deep fissure across his face rupturing the mans left eye, gelatinous fluid oozing from the wound mixing with blood and seeped down onto floor in thick crimson globules, yet the man never flinched or uttered another sound.

The Somnambulist, shaken, hurriedly left the room entering another to the right away from the tortured man, BADUM BADUM…….. BADUM BADUM, the pulsating heart beat faster. The next room exited into a dark corridor leading to another door at the end. As he walked through the corridor, it felt as if it was closing in on him.he found it more and more difficult to breath the feelings of claustraphobia threatening to overwhelm him. Hands appeared to come out of the ether at each side of him, hundreds of bony hands grabbing at him ripping into his flesh as if to take hold a face him back into the wall and become as them. Using all his strength the Somnambulist forced himself through the door at the end into another room. BADUM BADUM……. BADUM BADUM.

Bursting through the door the mute almost fell to the floor, stopping for a few seconds to regain his breath, he did not at first take in his surroundings, but as he looked up he observed that In the centre of the room was a table, upon it lay a woman in the throes of childbirth, her contractions hastening and intensifying as the seconds passed the woman thrashed to and fro.. Her cries of pain barely audible over the BADUM BADUM of the heart beat. As he approached the table he realised the woman was not clothed, she  was naked but her skin was flayed leaving, her sinew and muscles visible to him, blood glistening and her insides moving together with each contraction, his gaze fixated on the beating of her heart visable through her rib cage . A head appeared as she strained to release the life inside of her and then with one last almighty push, the child came away from her. Horrified, the Somnambulist looked at the birth, the mewing cries of a baby coming from the jaws of the jackal pup head on a child’s body which was still attached to the umbilical cord.

He turned his head away from the horror before him and retched vomiting onto the floor of the room. As he looked back at the table, the woman was on her feet making her way towards him, bloody footprints marking her path, her after birth soiling the floor as she came leaving a trail of blood and filth. She dragged the jackal baby hybrid behind her as she proceeded to stand in front of him, her arms immediately embracing him in a strong grip, forcing his mouth to hers as she kissed him with that lipless mouth, her tongue darting into his own mouth causing bile to rise again in his throat, the child yapping and crying alternately at her feet.

The Somnambulist struggled to free himself from her embrace, his heart racing with panic BADUM BADUM BADUM BADUM. As he pulled away from the woman, her black malevolent eyes stared deep into his seeming to look deep inside him searching for his soul, fear and dread instantly took root inside him spreading through his body and his heart grew ever tighter and tighter as if it would burst right there inside of him, BAAAAAADUM BAAAAAAADUM BAAADUM………Then nothing. The sound stopped as the pain seared through him.

The sound of a gun shot snapped the Somnambulist back to reality although dazed and disturbed by the visions, it took a few seconds for him to comprehend what was happening. The bare-chested Egyptian to the right of the priestess crumpled to the ground a hole in his temple where bullet had moments before slammed into his forehead. The one to the left immediately pulled out his large ornate scimitar but instinctively the Somnambulist was on him, snapping his neck in his strong arms. Mather dropped the gun screaming at the mute to finish things. The tall servant quickly grabbed the ceremonial dagger from the altar and set upon the priestess who stood frozen in shock behind the altar. Holding her in a vice-like grip, he brought the blade across her throat, opening it up as the spray of blood from her carotid artery covered the walls as she fell. The Somnambulist quickly gathered up the remaining artifacts, the copper scroll, candlestick and the bloody dagger he had only just used to slice open the priestess, and placed them in a bag before exiting the sepulchre. As he left he could have sworn he heard that voice in his head, “we are legion.”

And so it had begun and ended as so many times before on their journey, Mather’s got what he came for leaving a trail of death behind him.

Follow us on here and Facebook’s The horror page for what happen next.

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Abaddon’s Apocrypha Chapter 1

Posted in Uncategorized on November 10, 2014 by mcjeffrey

Coming soon 1, by MC Jeffrey, set in 18th century London, the evil spreads.

Abaddons Appocrypha Book 2 MJ Stanton Preview.

Posted in Uncategorized on October 9, 2014 by mcjeffrey

Chapter 1

Now.

Shamir Aram was sitting alone in the canteen of the Green Haven care home. It was a dark October night, very mild for the time of year. She arose and walked towards the large window and peered thru the brilliant white window frame, it dawned on her that the darkness was overpoweringly endless. The care worker glanced around the small homely communal kitchen, noticing that the stainless steel sink had paint flecks still inside the bowl. To be fair she thought if that is the only mess the decorators had made then she would be happy. I will get that clean before the dayshift comes in she thought to herself.

The walls of the kitchen canteen were freshly painted; the white goods were porcelain like. The new gas cooker gleamed. A new table had recently been purchased and was the centrepiece of the room. Everything in the area was reflective and mirrored back the twin strip lights in the ceiling. All the light began to hurt her eyes after watching the night outside. Everything was so white and clean. The only deviation in the reflective landscape was the scarlet red kettle on top of the small refrigerator.

Shamir blinked a few times and removing her hand from the green trousers she had been issued and proceeded to rub her tired eyes. The round plate shaped clock hung on the wall behind her head reflected back off the gleaming window, it was 2.20 AM. The twenty-year-old girl decided she would finish her tea and then do the 3 o’clock check between the two wards and four private rooms.

There were three staff in the building this morning as well as herself. John the security man at reception, Jane the supervisor who would be in her office doing as little as possible and Terry the caretaker. Terry she knew would be sleeping as he lived in a small flat annexed to the main building. The 60-year-old handy man was always on call during the night in case of any mishaps. Shamir liked Terry. He had been very kind and helpful since her appointment 2 years past.

Green Haven had been built about 10 years ago, and was undergoing the buildings first big renovations. The care home was architecturally laid out in a one-storey horseshoe shape, with a garden in the middle. A few bird tables and seats had been placed around the little nature idyll. It was the garden that Shamir was trying to perceive from the canteen window. The building catered for low risk elderly psychiatric patients. Only eight were in care that week. Not as many as usual. Due to the fact the home was having new glazing installed and was being fully decorated throughout. A few of the patients had gone to their families or were farmed out to other homes in the area during the upheaval.

Lord how quiet she thought. The only noise audible was that of a washing machine in the next room violently spinning the soiled sheets of the previous day. She stared down at the clear glass cup in her other hand, the tea still warm. Shamir’s torso suddenly shuddered as a cold shiver ran down her spine. The shiver was so intense that a small bit of the liquid splashed out on to the glossy table. Shamir immediately eased herself up and went to the sink to fetch a dishcloth. There were none at hand, so she opened the draw to the left of the drainer. She found nothing amongst the miscellaneous cutlery. She turned around to go to the cupboard on the wall her eyes spotted a small object out of place atop the single white unit.

Shamir had not noticed it before but then why should she was only 5 2” at best. The cupboard well above her eye line. The small carer pulled a quizzical face and moved her left hand through her black shoulder length hair. The chair opposite her under the table was on hand. Shamir stepped onto it giving her the necessary extra height to reach for the dark item, which she reached easily. Stepping down from the chair, she put out one hand on the table to aide her dismount. She sat down immediately slipping the chair into a more appropriate position. This allowed Shamir to slide her brown soft shoed feet along the black white and black tiled floor, neatly resting them together in symmetry under the table.

She gazed down at what looked like an old purple glass vase. Shamir had not noticed how colourful the ornament was when first discovering it. The glass mystery looked ancient. She rolled it around between her fingers; there were lots of intricate patterns and what appeared to be some form of Arabic writing on the neck of the glass object. Shamir changed her opinion and assumed it was more like a bottle; yes, it was definitely a bottle of some sort! She thought it looked familiar and had seen it before. But where she pondered? The glass appeared almost blue now. A small stopper cap at the head of the bottle came to a sharp point and without hesitation, she pulled the cap out of the mystery.

Shamir blinked, why was she lying on the cold black and white floor? A sting in the right side of her face intensified as she peeled her face from the tile and propped herself upright pushing up arms outstretched almost in a press up motion. She arose to her feet shakily. The petit girl flopped down in the grey plastic chair slapping her arms out onto the shiny table. Shamir was confused, what just happened? A globule of blood dripped out her nostril splashing on the table. Shamir was terrified. Feeling her slightly swollen cheek she wondered about the bottle? Instantly she remembered where she had seen the strange object before. The bottle had been in Freddie Bell’s room.

Dr Frederick Bell had been in and out of green Haven at least 3 times since the she had started working there. As far as she had gleaned, Dr Freddie was not a medical doctor but a professor of some sort. He could be utterly charming one day and a nightmare the next. The doc had been declining of late and his mood swings were becoming more erratic.

Shamir recalled how one day shift, another carer had went to move the antiquity while clearing up his room. The professor went crazy, rude, aggressive and incontrollable until the carer had placed it back. Since that day, Dr Freddie had his medication increased.

The noise of the washer in the next room abated and it was then that Shamir heard a slight scratching coming from the direction of the window. She turned her head and to her horror, a huge locust about the size of a brick was perched on the outside windowsill staring towards her. The locust held the girl in its stare. Unbelievably it spoke.

“Woman come closer, come to me I won’t hurt you.”

Without thinking, the terrified girl replied in a broken voice her throat dry and croaky.

“Why do you want me to come, go away. Please go away.”

“Just to tell you something. Do not be afraid child.”

The words bore into Shamir’s mind she felt terrified, yet unable to leave the room and take flight from the surreal situation that was unfolding. The petrified woman knew the creature was trying to control her mind she was unable to detach herself from the gloat of the giant insect.

The tiny girl arose from her seat almost childlike and stepped forward towards the beast. She could not feel her feet touch the floor of the kitchen, Shamir could not feel anything. All she knew was that she must obey. On reaching the window, the locust spoke again.

“Open the window girl, open it now.”

Without hesitation, the girl opened the top of the window and locked it in place. Shamir held aloft her hand and placed it to the bottom of the now open window. The huge insect began to crawl toward the opening; the now distressed girl wanted to be anywhere but here but could not leave the events now playing out. The first feeling of the insect’s legs grasping her hand were cold and wretched. The locust crawled its way down her arm. The small girl was repelled. An unpleasant smell reached her nostrils. Shamir could feel the nausea welling up in the pit of her stomach.

She was petrified but knew what to do next and raised the thing up to her eye line.

“We have waited a long time for this moment, always hiding in the shadows waiting and waiting.” Hissed the abomination.

Shamir’s bladder expelled, she felt urine scalding her legs. Blood ran from her eyes, ears and nose. She lost more control of her body to the beast. Both she and the locust stared at each other. Shamir could feel the creature staring deep inside her, deep into her soul. The thing new her, It wanted her. She felt her bowels release.

“Have you lain with a man girl?” snarled the beast.

“No I am a pure girl” she replied even though no words came from her lips.

Shamir felt the beast grow heavy she could not hold the thing anymore. It fell to the floor writhing, growing bigger and changing form by the second. The startled girl stepped back never taking her eyes from the creature that increased in front of her. A washing machine from the next room came to life humming and vibrating breaking her concentration, the lights went out.

An ungodly roar nearly split her head in two so loud was the inhuman howl.

The lights flickered the atmosphere became heavy, reality changed.

A tremendous force threw her upwards to the ceiling and back down to the table. Light still flickering the girl’s stomach smashed against the hard table, knocking all the wind from her. She felt her arms pulled and stretched out in front of her head. Shamir’s legs were forced apart. A scream started in her brain but no sound came forth. Looking forward, squinting between her sobs of desperation she caught the reflection from the window. In that split second a monstrosity of insect and man stood behind her. Violently the predator tore at her clothes, trousers and underwear were ripped down. The helpless girl felt agony as the locust drove its inhuman phallus into her vagina.

The thing brutalised Shamir. After it was spent, the man beast disappeared to dust amidst the blinking light.

An overwhelming pain in her loins triggered Shamir to lose consciousness, she fell lifelessly to the ground. Her head smashed against the hard tiled floor, she died instantly from the trauma.

The dead body stirred, the demon that possessed the carcass of Shamir Aram glanced around its surroundings. It arose, excrement and urine dripped from the corpse to the floor.

The entity inside the woman remembered its name.

“I am Zaphan! I live.” The beast crowed aloud.

The demon Zaphan had a mission, and there was not much time. The monster’s master had commanded loyalty. The creature dare not fail; the human’s hide would not last long.

Time was of the essence!

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Abaddon’s Apocrypha by MC Jeffrey.

Posted in Uncategorized on September 28, 2014 by mcjeffrey

Abaddon’s Apocrypha.

Prologue by MC Jeffrey

El Giza Egypt 1884.

The Somnambulist surveyed the sepulchre. Torches lit the  four corners of the large tomb in which they were seated, the flames causing the shadows to dance on the walls ominously, un-nerving the tall mute. The room was decorated in gold, deep reds and blues, in front of them a large stone altar draped in black Egyptian cotton with a ominous ceremonial  gold candle stick on the left and gold jewelled dagger in the centre.

Mathers was becoming impatient, the Somnambulist observed. He knew how this was going to play out, and he knew he had little control in stopping it. This was the seventh sitting;  the last one was just like this one and the outcome had been the same in the previous six. It was futile to resist the inevitable he mused.

A door at the rear of the altar opened and two large men entered followed by a thin old woman. The men (both) hairless, large and muscular were dressed in the style of the old Egyptian style oiled bare chests, white skirts with black belts, both with large crescent blades in scabards. The small thin woman dressed in a ceremonial black and gold silk, her face shrouded with a black veil.

The woman spoke first her voice seemed to fill the room, the power and tone of her voice palpable so that it was impossible to remove one’s eyes from her diminutive form.

“I am En Shalah el Sabur, the Shadow Priestess. I am told you Samuel Mathers wish to see into the shadows for the knowledge of what has come to pass, the now and what shall be. I warn you, you may not like what you see, but so be it.”

The woman removed a copper scroll from under her robes, unrolled it and began to chant in her mother tongue. The room seemed to darken the shadows seemingly enveloping around them. Within seconds the Somnambulist could no longer see the woman or the two men at each side of her. Slowly his eyes grew more accustomed to the dark and the shadows morphed into something else. He was no longer in the sepulchre but in a large dark room, his heart beating heavy in his chest the sound also filling the room, BADUM BADUM on and on deafening ever louder as the crescendo built.

The Somnambulist walked further into the room. He was alone.  At the end of the room was a door. On entering the next room, he was greeted by the sight of a man bound to an x shaped cross, his skin shredded with lacerations.  Beside him, a grotesque homunculus lashed him with a whip, the dwarf’s features twisted and contorted in a visage so unsettling the Somnambulist had to remove his gaze. The words formed in the mute’s mouth before he realised he spoke them.  Unsettled by hearing his own voice for what seemed like an eternity, the mute stared at the tortured man and asked “who-who are you?” The man on the cross looked at him with tears and pity in his eyes and although his lips did not move he answered “I am you, and you are me, we are legion.”

The Somnambulist hurriedly left the room entering another to the right away from the tortured man, BADUM BADUM…….. BADUM BADUM, the pulsating heart beat faster.   The next room exited into a dark corridor leading to another door at the end.  As he walked through the corridor, it felt as if it was closing in on him. Hands appeared to come out of the ether at each side of him, hundreds of bony hands grabbing at him. The Somnambulist forced himself through the door at the end into another room. BADUM BADUM……. BADUM BADUM.

In the centre of the room was a table, in which upon it lay a woman in the throes of childbirth, her contractions hastening and intensifying as the seconds passed. Her cries of pain barely audible over the BADUM BADUM of the heart beat. As he approached the table he realised the woman was not clothed and was naked but was flayed, her sinew and muscles visible to him, blood glistening and her insides moving together with each contraction.  A head appeared as she pushed and then with one last almighty push, the child came away from her.  Horrified, the Somnambulist looked at the birth, the mewling cries of a baby coming from the jaws of the  jackal pup head on a child’s body which was still attached to the umbilical cord.

He turned his head away from the horror before him and retched vomiting onto the floor of the room. As he looked back at the table, the woman was on her feet making her way towards him, bloody footprints marking her path her after birth soiling the floor as she came. She pulled the jackal baby hybrid behind her as she proceeded to stand in front of him, her arms immediately embracing him in a strong grip, forcing his mouth to hers as she kissed him with that lipless mouth, the child yapping and crying alternately at her feet.

The Somnambulist struggled to free himself from her embrace, his heart racing with panic BADUM BADUM BADUM BADUM.  As he pulled away from the woman, her black malevolent eyes stared deep into his,  the fear seeming to take root inside him spreading through his body and seemed to encase his heart, BAAAAAADUM BAAAAAAADUM BAAADUM………Then nothing.  The sound stopped as the pain seared through him.

The sound of a gun shot snapped the Somnambulist back to reality. The bare chested Egyptian to the right of the priestess crumpled to the ground as the bullet slammed into his forehead.  The one to the left immediately pulled out his large ornate scimitar but the Somnambulist was on him, snapping his neck in his strong arms. Mather dropped the gun screaming at the mute to finish things. The tall servant quickly grabbed the ceremonial dagger from the altar and set upon the priestess who stood frozen in shock behind the altar. Holding her in a vice-like grip, he brought the blade across her throat, opening it up as the spray of blood from her carotid artery covered the walls as she fell. The Somnambulist quickly gathered up the remaining artifacts- the copper scroll, candlestick and the bloody dagger he had only just used to slice open the priestess, and placed them in a bag before exiting the sepulchre.  As he left he could sworn he heard that voice in his head, “we are legion.”

And so it had begun and ended as so many times before on their journey, Mathers got what he came for leaving a trail of death behind him.

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Satanic_Church (1)

Damned-Nation Prologue Part 2

Posted in Uncategorized on November 20, 2013 by mcjeffrey

Aftermath

Day 1
Everything kind of went to shit after what we now call the Roslyn Incident, a cell of terrorist, satanic cult followers calling themselves ‘The Children of the Morning Star’ had somehow managed to obtain an ancient document containing an incantation and rite that could open the gates of hell and the mad bastards did just that, killing themselves in the process.
Within hours, hell spewed forth every unimaginable, grotesque and rank entity it housed in its bowels onto the poor unsuspecting citizens of Scotland.
The demons feasted that day, their insatiable hunger driving them on through the towns and cities of Britain’s northern most country, leaving a trail of blood in their steed.
The Scottish woke up that morning to carnage and death on a grand scale, most never woke up again.

Week 1.
Within a week, literally all hell broke loose. The government promptly sent in the troops to control the wave of demonic entities flooding from the portal. Scotland became a war zone, a killing field.
30% of the Scottish citizens managed to escape the carnage, refugee camps being set up over the border near Rothbury. Sadly those that were left were either killed by the demon horde or by the armed forces trying desperately to regain order. Some small pockets of people managed to survive, living like rats, scavenging for food where they could, increasingly being forced from the inner cities which quickly become no go areas as the hell spawn tore them asunder.

Month 1
Scotland itself was plunged into an eternal darkness. Foul noxious clouds flooded out of the portal settling above the entire country, planes cut out when flying overhead and all machinery stopped no longer able to work. No plant life grew, livestock began to starve, and the rain that did fall was acidic and burned the ground where it fell.
That once ancient fertile land of the Scots quickly turned into a desert wasteland, the young and elderly of those still living especially vulnerable, died of disease and starvation.
The forces soon realising their expensive hi-tech weaponry was proving ineffective against the spawn of Satan, were driven back beyond the border to Berwick. Reinforcements were called in to back up the ravaged ever depleting soldiers, and emergency electric fencing was erected coast to coast behind the battlefield to keep the scourge out. Breaches were so frequent that the brave British forces fighting the hell spawn to a standstill, three quarters of those brave men and women of the British armed forces died preventing the spread of the demonic into England.
The Houses of parliament called a state of emergency, and the UN were called in to police the border.

Year 1
The government erected New Hadrian’s Wall in place of the electric fencing, a permanent 50 foot high, and half mile wide monstrosity designed specifically to keep England safe and the Demons horde out. Scotland was forgotten the remaining peoples left to fend for them as best they could, nobody entered and none were ever allowed to leave, the UN soldiers that were posted on the wall had orders to kill anyone attempting to breach the defences, demon, beast or human.
Gunships patrolled the seas around the north to ensure no demons crossed to other countries infecting them as they did Scotland.
The cult group ‘The Children of the Morning Star’ numbers swelled and they made repeated suicide attacks on the wall from England’s side whilst the horde continued to batter the northern side, casualties were high.

Year 2
Experimental weaponry was tested, his Holiness Pope John Paul III personally blessing all weapons and ammunition, and an elite cadre of Swiss Guard was established to take control of the wall. This proved a small turning point in the defence of the wall, these blessed weapons proving effective for the first time against the demons, the Swiss Guard fought back maintaining a stronghold, on the wall, while small pockets of survivors north of the wall, fought hard themselves, clinging desperately to life as best they could.

Year 3 Now.
England is under Vatican rule, most European countries are voting in referendum to follow suit, all faiths uniting as one under the Roman umbrella for fear that they too will suffer the same fate as Scotland.
Scotland itself, a barren wasteland; at most 250000 humans remain alive fighting for survival
This is our story.