Hello Cheryl, a short story.

Alright, so I posted earlier about wetting your appetite. I was fumbling around my archives and I have realized that I lost a lot of my old stories. Sad. I may stil have some of them in hard copy, but that means I have to type them up, which is as much or more work than actually writing more new stuff. I did find this one. It’s called “Hello Cheryl” and I wrote it way back in 2006. So without further ado:


Hello, Cheryl

Dustin Morris


“Hello Cheryl,” Allison said, as she opened the front door.  “How are you this evening.”

“Good,” she said. “How ’bout you?”

“I’m just fine, looking forward to a night out with Edward.”

He was Ally’s current boyfriend.  They had been together since her divorce six months ago.  Ally and Daniel’s divorce had come in summer.  It was a clean break and there hadn’t been any problems, except for the kids.  Emily and Andy.  She was 12 and he was 10.  The divorce had been hard on them.  It upset Ally to see them like that, but over time they came to accept that mommy and daddy didn’t love each other and didn’t want to live together anymore.

Edward came around just after the divorce.  Daniel always accused her of cheating, but she suspected that he was just trying to justify his own cheating throughout the marriage.  She hadn’t cheated, but she hadn’t felt bad either for getting involved with another man directly after the divorce.

Although Emily and Andy had had a rough time with the divorce, they knew where they wanted to be, with Ally.  She had been a stay at home mom before the divorce.  She liked spending time with the kids and thought it motherly to keep the house up.  Emily and Andy weren’t messy children.

She got a nice little house and a job as a housekeeper in town.  She got to keep the mini-van from the divorce and of course, she was allotted a child support of four hundred and fifty dollars a month.  It sounds like a lot, but for a high-class attorney like Daniel, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

He never paid much interest in what his children wanted or liked.  It was, take what you can get or get nothing at all.  He had planned once to take them all to Disneyland, but just like always he backed out at the last minute.  It seemed that Daniel was the king of making promises that he couldn’t keep.  He knew he couldn’t keep them, but he didn’t want them to think that he wasn’t a good father.  There wasn’t any way of getting around it.  He was failing.



Cheryl asked, “Where are you going tonight, Ms. Dawson?”

“Oh, just out for dinner and a movie.  We’re going to see the late show.  It’s that new film, just been released, about that boy who can change his appearance and make himself look like anything.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard about that flick.” She replied casually.  “I think me and Jason might go see it sometime this weekend.”

“Well, that’s nice.  I think you and Jason make a great couple.” Ally replied, and continued on with her instructions. “Just put the kids to bed around eleven or eleven thirty.  We’re gonna let them sleep in tomorrow.  The only things they’ll miss are the Saturday morning cartoons.” She said with a giggle.

They continued to say their goodbyes as Edward waited in the car.  Cheryl assured her that everything would be fine and that she’d take good care of Ally’s two little munchkins. “I got it Ms. Dawson.  Eleven or eleven thirty, bed.  Make sure they get a snack.  No scary movies.  Keep all the doors locked until you get back.  And no visitors.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”  Ally said, pulling Cheryl next to her for a hug.  “But there is just one more thing.  Andy has been having bad dreams about a monster in his closet, so just make sure you check on him every so often, or else he’ll stay up all night.”

“Okay,” Cheryl replied

Cheryl was the eighteen year old from down the street.  She baby-sited for all the neighbors with kids.  She had earned herself quite a reputation as a reliable babysitter and Ally felt like she was one of her own.

In small towns, like Rossdale, it seemed that everyone raised everyone else’s kids.  At least in the big neighborhoods like the one just off county road no. 3 that they lived on.




The night crept by as it always did, slowly.  It’s a good thing I get paid by the hour, she told herself.  She let them watch all their favorite shows on Disney and Nickelodeon.  After, The Spastic Life of Jake and Tyler or something, she decided that it was time to put the children to bed.

She clicked off the tube and told the children that it was time for bed.  They made a little sigh, but didn’t argue.  Mom had told them to be good.

She walked them to their rooms and put them in their beds.  “What about the monster in my closet?” Andy asked, wondering how she’d handle the situation.

“There’s no monster in there.” She replied.

“Yes, there is and as soon as I go to sleep he is going to come out of there and eat me.  Then he’s going to vomit me up and eat me again.  You know, like the flies.”

Andy was a big fan of the Discovery channel and had recently watched a special, The Life of the Fly.

“There’s no monster in there.  Even if there was, all you’d have to do to make him go away is to tell him Jesus protects you.”

“He’s in there.” Andy continued.

“Fine.” She exclaimed.  “I’ll show you.”  She walked over to the closet door and opened it quickly.  “See,” She said mocking him.  “No monster.  No nothing.  Just your clothes and some toys.”

Andy was not persuaded.  “He’s in there, he is just hiding.”  Cheryl pulled the clothes back to reveal the open closet.  The closet was fully illuminated and almost every possible shadow had been removed.  “See, still nothing.” She repeated.  “I’ll leave your door open and turn on your night light, how about that?”

“Okay,” Andy said, feeling a little silly.

“Now, I’ve got to go tuck your sister into bed, so, I’ll be in the living room just down stairs if you need anything.  But I don’t want to hear any of this mess about closet monsters, or monsters under your bed or anything else because I’ve shown you that they aren’t hiding.  They just aren’t here.”

“Okay,”Andy replied quietly. Cheryl had made it almost out the door before Andy called out to her.  “Cheryl?”

“What?” She said as she turned in the doorway.

“I need to pee.”

“Well, I’ve got to get your sister into bed,” she said.  “So, if you can go by yourself, go ahead.”

Cheryl moved on down the hall to Emily’s room.  Andy followed close behind her, turning left on the door before Emily’s room.

“Closet monsters again, huh?” she asked as Cheryl entered the room.

“How’d you know?”

“He’s had them since my mom got the divorce.  Mom thinks that it’s because of the move.  He had to move into that new bedroom, so, he has to go through the whole closet monster thing again.”

“Maybe, he’s just afraid of the dark.”

“No, he really thinks that something is in there, and that it’s going to get him.”

“Well, either way I’ve still gotta get you tucked in.”

“That’s okay.  I can do it myself.”

“Alright, but if you need anything I’ll be just downstairs in the living room.”

She was gone, out of the room and on her way back downstairs.  Andy had already come out of the bathroom and since she saw no sign of him suspected that he was already back in bed.  He’ll be gone in no time, she told herself, off to sleep.




Andy came out of the bathroom in a stumble.  It was later than his usual bedtime and he felt special because he’d gotten to stay up as late as he had. Even though he was excited about getting to stay up late his eyes were heavy.  If only it weren’t for that tricky closet monster he’d be able to get some sleep.

The walk down the hall seemed long and treacherous, but he finally made it to his bedroom.  He felt a breeze as he stepped in and noticed his window was up.  He thought nothing of it.  It was the closet monster that was on his mind.  “Jesus protects me.” He said under his breath.  Then he said it again, this time louder.  “Jesus protects me.”

He turned and looked at the closed closet door. He had a spider-man poster draped across it.  The dwelling place of a monster, he thought to himself.  “Jesus protects me.”  He said again.

He opened the closet door to check one last time before getting into bed.  The closet stood empty, just as it had before.  This Jesus protects me stuff really works, he thought to himself.  He went back to the bed and climbed in.  He closed his eyes and lay there in the bed quiet for a moment.

There was a crackling noise from across the room.  Andy sat up in bed immediately.  Surely it was the closet monster out to get him.  He noticed the closet door was still standing open. Come on in closet monster, he thought, feeling foolish.

He put his feet on the floor, feeling the carpet tickle his bare feet and toes.  He walked slowly to closet door, careful to inspect the area, ready to run at any moment.  Upon reaching the door, he found the closet once again empty.  You’re tricky Mr. Closet Monster.  He closed the closet door and ran back to his bed in fear.  Knowing at any moment the closet monster would come out and get him.

He reached the bed and to his surprise, there was no monster after him.  He was alone in his room, “Jesus protects me.”  He repeated again and climbed into bed.  Lying there quiet and still wasn’t easy.  But it was a good trap.  He’d lie there till the monster thought he was asleep.  When the monster came out he’d get up and run out of his bedroom and down to Cheryl in the living room.

He closed his eyes and lay quiet and still.  The creak from across the room came again.  Echoes from an old house were transformed into the steps of an evil closet monster.  He didn’t falter.  He lay quiet and still.

More echoes…more footsteps, creeping across his floor.

Andy began to chant, as quietly as he could but loud enough so the monster might here.  “Jesus protects me.  Jesus protects me.  Jesus protects me.  Jesus protects me…” over and over.

The closet monster was standing over him.  He could feel the breath of it beating down on him in the dark.  He had waited too long.  It was too late to run away.  He opened his eyes to see the face of his closet monster, the face of his enemy.

Andy opened his eyes and there wasn’t a furry monster with horrid, pointy teeth just waiting for the right moment to smash his skull and drink his blood.  There was only a man.  His eyes were the only things visible through the black ski mask.  “Where’s your Jesus, now?” he asked.

His monster was absent, replaced by this man in black, but Andy found he was more scared by the man than he could ever have been of the monster.  He opened his mouth to scream, but only air came out.  Before Andy could find his voice, or even begin to fight the man with dark blue eyes, the man covered his mouth and scooped him out of the bed.




Cheryl made it down the stairs in little time at all.  She immediately flipped the TV over to MTV to watch her favorite show.  She had become a regular TV Guide since she started babysitting, memorizing all the channels and the shows they played.

It was fifteen after twelve when the phone rang.  She was deep into her show by this point and almost didn’t answer the phone.  It wasn’t her house, who would be calling for her?  The phone rang and rang.  It seemed endless.  To keep from waking up the children, she answered it.  “Hello,” she said as she picked up the phone.

“Hello, Cheryl” the voice on the other end of the phone replied.  It was strong but raspy, yet quiet and controlled.  The fellow sounded like he had a frog in his throat.

“How do you know my name?” she asked.

“I know a lot of things about you, Cheryl.  For example, I know you haven’t done your job very well tonight.”

“What are you talking about, mister?” she asked, a tremble coming over her voice.

“Well, I know other things, too.  You live at 115 Fable St. and your father has been dead for 5 years.”

“How do you know all this?”  Fear was ever present in her voice.

“Oh, I could go on for days.” He continued.  “But that isn’t why we’re here.  You’re being paid to do a job and if Ms. Dawson knew of the job you’ve done, she wouldn’t be very pleased.”

“You must be out of your head,” she said, but doubt was there.  “The children are upstairs in bed.”

“Can you be so sure?” His raspy voice taunted her, begging her to see for herself.  “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a look?  You’re on a cordless phone.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, making her way to the stairs.

“Because I’m watching you.” he said.

There was silence for a moment as she looked around.  There were four windows in the living room, two in the kitchen, one in the upstairs hall and one in each bedroom.  There was no way to tell if he was really watching her.  If he were, it would be near impossible to tell from where.

The mystery man on the other end of the phone waited quietly for her to inspect the perimeter.  She was unable to locate him and frozen in fear of what he’d said.  She sprinted up the stairs and into Sarah’s bedroom.  She flipped the light switch and saw Sarah roll over in bed and yell out “Turn off the light!”

Cheryl flipped the light back off and exited the bedroom, apologizing the whole way out.  As she closed the door, she was greeted with laughter at the end of the phone.  “See,” she said.  “Just like I said, in bed asleep.  Now, who the fuck are you?”

“Now, that’s no way to treat a guest in the house.  I come for a visit and that’s how you talk to me.  That’s terrible.  Ms. Dawson wouldn’t be very happy.”  More laughter.  Deep and hearty, but with that raspy twist, the laughter cut like a knife.  “What about dear old Andy?  You haven’t checked on him yet.”

“Listen asshole, I’m not getting paid enough for this kind of bullshit.  So, go prank call someone else and give them your bullshit story about watching them.  Cause I’m not putting up with it.”  And she hung up.

She started back down the stairs, but decided to checkup on Andy anyways.  That laugh, she thought.  Gives me the creeps.  She shivered as she walked.

Andy’s door was closed.  He must’ve closed it, she thought.  He did go to the bathroom.  She cracked open the door.  The night light had been turned off and the room was dark.  A breeze grazed her face as she flipped on the light.  Illumination revealed the pulled back sheets and the missing Andy.  The phone rang in her hand.

“Where’s Andy?”  She screamed, answering the phone.  “What have you done with him, you bastard?” She was staring out the window, but the voice on the other end of the phone wasn’t the mystery man.

“Cheryl,” Daniel said. “What are you talking about?  Are you babysitting again?  Is everything all right?”

“Mr. Dawson,” she said, now fear crept up her spine. “I need to tell you some-“

The mystery man revealed his position in the house by placing his 9mm at the base of her neck.  “Hello, Cheryl.” He said.  “Wouldn’t want to do anything hasty would we?”

Daniel continued, “Cheryl, what did you say? I’m not getting good reception on my cell phone.”

“I said, Andy’s having closet monster dreams again, Mr. Dawson.”

“Oh, yes, that’s normal.” He said.  “Tell you what, when my ex gets in tell her to call me ASAP, okay?”

“I’ll tell her.” She said, trembling.

With a click Mr. Dawson was gone and so were her chances of using him as a savior.  The mystery man repeated.  “Hello, Cheryl.  How are we this evening?”

“What have you done with him?”

“Oh, he’s in a safe place.  With Jesus protecting him, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”  Then he chuckled.

“What do you want?” she asked, scared of what he might say.

“I’m here to make Daniel Dawson pay.” He said.  “Simple as that, I will kill his son, write his name on the wall and be on my way.  I’d hate to have to kill you, too.”  He said calmly.  “I just couldn’t risk the temptation of scaring the shit out of you.”  Then he spurted out a laugh.  “Worked too didn’t it.”

“I can’t let you do tha-” she started.

He hit her with the butt of his gun knocking her unconscious before she could finish her sentence.

“Well, that is that.”  He said as he stepped over her and opened the closet door.  Andy lay bound and gagged in the floor of the closet.  “Come here little man,” he said and sprayed a little substance in his face.




Ally returned home at ten to one.  The house was silent as she opened the door.  The TV was off.  Cheryl must’ve left, she thought, but didn’t mind because the kids were sleeping quietly.  Motherly instinct told her to check on the kids, at least to make sure everything was like it should be.

She opened the door to Emily’s room.  Emily lay in her bed sleeping.

On to Andy’s room.  She opened the door.  Paused a moment to let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room.  There was no night light on.

After a moment, her eyes adjusted and she saw Andy lying in his bed in a deep sleep.  Cheryl had done her job well.  Even Emily still slept with a light.  She had to know this secret, how she got him to sleep without it.

At ease from the night out being over and her children sleeping softly in bed, Ally went on to bed as well.

She turned on the lamp beside her bed, undressed, and climbed into bed.  She turned it off and went to sleep.




She woke up at 8:30.  There was no alarm.  No noises throughout the house.  Only silence.  The children were still in bed.  She would’ve bet her life that Cheryl had let them stay up later than she had told her too, but what was the harm in that?  They would only sleep longer this morning.  She wasn’t mad, but the silence of the house brought unrest in her.  She felt like she should make sure they were sleeping.

They were.  Andy was lying still in his bed, just as she had seen him the night before, and Emily was the same as well.  They appeared untouched, unmoved in every way.

Ally didn’t want to disturb them so she made her way back down the stairs and into the living room.  The phone rang.  The cordless was missing; apparently Cheryl had been doing some calling last night, too.  So, she ran into the kitchen and grabbed the mounted wall phone.  “Ally,” Daniel asked.

“Yeah?” she said, “What do you want?”

“I want you to get the hell out of town.  Get the kids, pack up and go to your mother’s for awhile.”

“Why should I go anywhere?” she said, anger boiling in her voice.

“I called last night.  Didn’t Cheryl tell you I called?”

“No, she was gone when I got here.”

“Yesterday, I had a case against a mob member, put him away for life.  He swore to me that my family and all the people I care about would suffer for it.”

“I thought you said you put him away for life?” she said.

“Aren’t you listening?  Ally,” A pause.  “I said, the mob.  I didn’t put the mob in prison.  Just one man.”

“So, you think something might happen to us?” she said, curiosity growing.

“Well, the kids.  Maybe you.  All I’m saying is that if you went to stay with your mother for a few days then you might be a little safer.”

“Well, I think we are plenty safe right here.  Cheryl was here last night and everything went fine.”

She was pacing.  He always did that to her.  He made her nervous.  That was part of the reason for the divorce, other than his affair.

“Please just do this for me.  Before they do anything.  Please.  When the kids get up, pack a bag, and go to your mother’s for three days.  Please.”

“Fine.” She said.  She had no intention of going.  Ally was the epitome of stubborn when it came to Daniel and his requests.  She had only agreed to get him off her back.

He was scared and it was obvious.  Maybe he cared for them after all.  What a fine time to show it.

“Thank you.” Daniel said and hung up.




She hung up the phone with a hard click.  He had ruined her morning.  Someone’s going to come to her house and kill her kids just because her ex husband and they’re terrible dad, put some criminal away for the rest of his days.  Maybe she should have cared, but for some reason she didn’t.  She thought it was just another of his tricks to get her to take him back.  It’s not happening Daniel.  You can forget it.

The coffee pot was whistling, signifying that the coffee was done.  “A little coffee, sugar, and some milk, that’s how you start the day off right.”  She said.  “Not by packing your things and going to your mother’s house.”  She opened the refrigerator after some milk.

Inside the refrigerator, beside the milk was a small object about the size of a mini carrot, but it was a very pale white with a red tip.  At the end of the red tip was a small pool of red liquid.  Ally picked up the finger and dropped it in the floor just as soon as she saw the nail at the end of it.

“HOLY SHIT!” she screamed and almost passed out.  That had been in there all night.  Something had happened last night.  That was Cheryl’s finger.

Cheryl wasn’t a concern anymore.  If this had happened to her, then what about Emily and Andy.  She sprinted upstairs to Emily’s room.

She shook her, gently.  “Baby, wake up.  Momma’s here.”  No response.  She began to shake her more and more until she was thrashing her back and fourth.  “Emily, wake up!” she shouted.

She ran to Andy’s room to repeat the process.  Her efforts were fruitless.  Neither child responded to her in any way.  Ally shook them as hard as she could, but they were mannequins, dead to the world.  Dead.

Ally slid to the floor, weeping.  Daniel had been right.  The mob had come and taken her children in the night.  She pulled herself up from the floor and over to the closet where the monster sleeps. The door knob was crusted with a crimson substance.  It appeared quite similar to blood, but it was crusty and seemed thicker than any blood she had ever seen.  She opened it.

Cheryl was bound at her hands and feet.  A finger missing from her right hand and the cordless phone in her left.  She was pale, paler than normal and completely naked.  She was dead.  Ally didn’t have to look very hard to see that.  It was the markings and cuts on her that made her drag Cheryl out of the closet.

Ally stretched Cheryl out on the floor in Andy’s room.  She untied the knots around her wrists.  Her stiff, naked body was already starting to have an odor.

Across her arms, she had been cut, with probably a razor or a thin knife.  “JESUS PROTECTS ME” had been sketched over them.  On her stomach, had been carved “HELLO CHERYL”.

The sight of Cheryl’s stiff, twisted body made Ally sick.  She could no longer hold back the vomit that had been building up inside her.  She grabbed the small trashcan beside Andy’s desk and lurched.  She felt her stomach tighten up and release as it forced the orange and yellow liquid past her lips and into the can.  She couldn’t fight it anymore.  Her eyes rolled back and she passed out.




The cops arrived somewhere between nine thirty and quarter to ten.  Ally had called them when she made it back down stairs.  They came and took Cheryl, Andy, and Emily away.

Their autopsies revealed that it was poison that had killed them.  It was taken in through the lungs.  There seemed to have been a substance breathed in by the victims.  The poison affected the lungs first.  Then it entered the bloodstream making the blood more thick that it normally would’ve been. The gas had worked so quick that it took only seconds to kill them.

The cuts on Cheryl had been made after her death. She didn’t bleed much because of the poison, but it was her blood on the doorknob.

The police followed up on the murders. Although the mob was accused, no evidence was found that might link them to the murders.  No one was prosecuted for the murders, up to this point.


Dustin Morris

March 2006


Considering that this story is old and I didn’t do any editing before posting, I hope that it was at least mildly entertaining. I’m sure I could’ve polished it up a bit, but really I posted it for you guys. To show my appreciation for the love I have been receiving so far. If you liked this story feel free to let me know and if the general consensus is that you guys want more, then more you shall have. Thanks again.


Stream Of Consciousness Post

Before I get right to this, I want to do a little explaining of what is going on here an why. Otherwise, you may read this and end up confused at the end. I was reading The Daily Post‘s Writing 101: Daily Blog about SOC writing. The assignment was to write anything for twenty minutes. Simple enough. So, I opened word and started the timer. The result turned out to be a decent snapshot of my life at the moment. Maybe 2000 more words would’ve gotten a better look at it, but I was trying to write fast. I fixed most of the grammar and spelling mistakes afterward. Either way, I told myself I would post the results afterward. So, here goes. Then, I will return to working on my story. Be on the lookout for it pretty soon.


 SOC challenge:

Writing in a stream of conscious style has its advantages and disadvantages. A lot of the time this is the method I would use to tackle a story, except with that I have some form of idea toward which I am directing my writing. This is not the case here. I am just writing and I will let it take me wherever, for the next twenty minutes.

My son is asleep in the other room. The house is quiet, for once. The dog is crashed out somewhere in the house, probably the living room. She sneaks up onto the couch when no one is in the room. I suppose she thinks she is getting away with something, because as soon as we step foot in there she is off the couch and at my feet saying how sorry she is with her eyes. Truthfully, I don’t mind it. The only time we don’t let her up is when she is shedding real bad (twice a year for about a month) and when she is having lady times. I keep telling myself to go get that taken care of. Then I get a bit of spare time and forget all about it. Before you know it, its rag time again.

Evee is great. She is the best dog I have ever had. She acts like a much older dog these days. She’s almost three and she acts like she is seven and on her last leg. I think it’s because we stopped being as active with her when Dexter was born and now she has gotten used to being lazy and fat. The most exercise she gets aside from out walks and park trips is running from Dexter around the house. I don’t blame her. He wants to pull her tail one minute and give her kisses the next. He is a wild card and you never know what to expect.

Haha, twenty minutes almost entirely spent talking about my dog. That’s a bit funny, but it makes sense. I have a soft spot in my heart for dogs. A lot of my fiction writing has had dog characters in it. My best attempt to date at a novel had a dog in it. It was my main character’s best friend.

Speaking of writing, I am really enjoying getting back into it again. You see, I go through phases, music, writing, music, writing. Only occasionally will I get a brief window in between phases where I am able to do both. Lately, I have been trying to write on topics for review, especially considering that I have not published a single review yet. I also have my fiction that I am working on. It is truly the joy of writing, but it is somehow intimidating. I am always reluctant to start. I tell myself that I should be reading instead. Sometimes I will read about writing instead of writing, hoping that it will make the writing I actually do better. That’s a silly idea. You get better at writing by writing.

I also am the creative force behind a band that will get stagnate if I don’t keep everyone’s fire lit. So I have to keep coming up with music. Don’t let me make that sound like a chore, I love guitar and I love writing music, but it has been a long time since I wrote any lyrics. This is why I am able to write now. I do however plan to post future lyrical journeys hear as poetry. Maybe I will even record a demo and post that. Who knows?

I have gotten a lot of good feedback from you guys about my fiction though. I plan to post some older stuff that I have on here just because you guys seem to enjoy it.

Lately, I have been reading Bentley Little’s short story works. I like to read short stories when I am writing short stories, makes me think about things differently. In fact, the story I am working on now was inspired by one of his stories. It doesn’t have the same plot or anything, but the idea of the Faulkner style, but with a terror twist seemed really appealing. I like to take the reader on a journey, make them think a little bit if I can. I can’t really say much more about all of this, because I am still working on it and I don’t want to give anything away.

I have four minutes left on my twenty minute challenge. What now? Should I go on about myself? I should be writing not thinking about what to write next… Only a short period of time left, hmm. Rather than worry about finishing on time, I have elected to finish with some sort of point or resolution, before returning to my story. You see, I have limited time each day to work on anything like this.

My morning is spent with Dexter, followed by lunch and an afternoon outside (learning the trike recently). Then, on to nap time. This is when I get to write, read, whatever. He will wake up and either I play with him while Addie makes dinner or vice versa. After dinner, we do calming things. We play with blocks, or do coloring, etc. As bedtime nears, we take a bath with lavender or chamomile if we have any. Then he drinks warm milk while I/Addie (we take turns) read him a story. Then into bed for a second story. Addie usually reads him a book of his choice. I read the same book. Right now, we are reading the golden compass. After which, I get free time again.

This is a bit confusing because it is free time in the sense that I can do what I want. That doesn’t really make it free time. This is because I have obligations. I am a student at an online college. This means I have numerous weekly assignments that must be done during this time. I am unemployed, which means I must be job searching during this time, there are other things happening during this time, like spending time with Addie, and trying out products like board games and video games for review. Watching movies, and other things would also fall into this time.

This type of things turns into a balancing act of activities and questioning myself to see what is most fun and important.

I just realized that I am over on time. I could really stop there. What is most important? Writing definitely falls in that category. But I like to tackle my music and writing in the same way. If I can get a little bit done every day, I can throw out the bad and keep the good. I will steadily make progress and before long. I have a plethora of material. This is how all of Dead Perspective’s music came about, a little at a time over a period of time.

Thanks for reading and taking time to care about a silly challenge. I would say this has definitely been a SOC piece.


Quick, I mean real fast.


So I have a lot of things going on right now. I have about 100 things to write about and make a post and not really sure which to actually do. I have a list of reviews to write, but I get the feeling that you guys could really care less. Some of this stuff I like and want to recommend that you buy, some of it I want to warn you about.

Also, I quit my job at Liberty National. Legally, I can’t say anything negative about them or I could be fined $1000. The truth is that most of them that I got to know are good people, but I couldn’t do what was asked of me. It was against my “ethical code”. That story in itself is another blog post.

Now I am on the job market and who knows what that will mean. What it probably means is that I will end up working for CCA at the prison in Clifton, TN. It also means moving. That I am not excited about. I hate Mississippi, but I like our house. We really made a home here. With Addie having got a job at BAM, it means we won’t be moving back to Savannah, so even though we will probably be moving, I won’t get to be any closer to my family. Boo.

Hmm… there is more…

Oh yeah, so I got some recording software, and I have been doing some demos. I figure that you guys are in on my personal life, I might as well post some here too. What do you think of that? Hungry for some metal? Haha, if you want to call my music metal.

I am also starting two new classes at CTU. There’s a review, or more of a warning. I don’t know about the competition, but I have been sorely disappointed. Each term I start looking at other schools, but being to afraid of losing the FA I have now, I just keep going.


Read fiction? What do you think of this?


So, I have always wanted to be a fiction writer. Horror, suspense, whatever. I don’t have what it takes to do it for a living. I was sitting there in the chair trying to determine how my night should go, and I logged on to steam. I looked through my games library and clicked path of exile (review coming soon) to load it up, the decided not to play and instead to write. “I have been working all day”, I said to myself. You need some expression. So, I did the old Stephen King method. I just started writing. After reading what is my rough draft story introduction, you will know as much about the story as I do. It is basically just me winging it. And since I am the kind of guy I am, there have been no edits to it at all. It is as rough as it gets. I don’t plan to edit it until I get further along. That is assuming that I go any further with it anyway. So tell me what you think, it isn’t very long, but I felt like it would draw you in, although I have had some alcohol. I was never told not to drink and write. So here it is:

As quiet as the night, even the sound of a pin could be heard if it hit the tile floor in the hall corridor. The lights were dark. It was the kind of bleak night you might see on a new moon, almost no light at all and everything bathed in darkness. From seemingly nowhere, footsteps. Click, click, one after another at an uneasy pace. It is not a run, but they are moving exponentially. Darin sits up in his bed. “Oh no,” he thinks. “Another one down. “ He assumes that one of the other inmates there have fallen ill and either an orderly found him or was called by the emergency button. The little window on the door reveals nothing.  The lights are still off out in the hall, but he thinks nothing of it. Darin only sits and speculates which one it could be.

His bladder weighs heavy on him and lets him know that he won’t be going back to sleep until he releases the weight. Darin was sitting up already so, what the hell, he says and gets out of bed. He knows he isn’t supposed to be out of bed after lights out, but doesn’t care. What’ll they do to me? Lock me up? And he laughs a little chort. He slides his feet into his favorite slippers and makes his way to the bathroom across the room. In the darkness he can barely see, but he knows his way around. His eyes are fully adjusted to the light and he can see a few feet easy.

As he passed by the door, he takes a glimpse out the tiny window in hopes of seeing which occupant has slit his writs, or had a heart attack, or whatever. In the darkness, he can make out a single figure dragging a body down the hall by the arms. The legs follow along on the floor behind. He can’t see faces, but he knew he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to see. What the fuck? He said to himself. Darin realized that he was in a vulnerable spot, and somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be and twisted out of sight of the little window. He was curious as to what he had seen, but scared to. He didn’t want to be pulled from his room. Solitary was no fun, especially with the crazies nearby.

In his facility, there was a hall of solitary cells. Twelve of them in total. Six on each side. On any given day, four or better were filled with the “crazies”. These were fucked up individuals that decided to spit in the guards face or do some other dumb shit for no good reason and ended up getting locked in solitary to spend time to think about what they had done. Often times, their solitary time was spent screaming out about how they were innocent or just mindless jabber. They gave Darin the creeps. He had no intentions of spending any time with the crazies.

Darin crept into the bathroom around the corner and urinated above the waterline in the oversized commode. Instead of a heavy, pouring out sound, it was more like a drizzle. The porcelain masked his presence well enough, he thought and a moment after he finished he closed the lid. He would flush in the morning. He crept back to bed and turned over under his sheets. His dreams were not pleasant.

In his dream, Marcy, the lady who killed her husband after she caught him cheating on her, was being tortured in the next room. He lie in bed listening to her screams, and somehow knew he was next. They were coming for him and there was nothing he could do. There was no escape. He lay still, so perfectly still as to vanish in thin air. Then the screaming stopped. Finally, they had put her out of her misery. He lay quiet and still, listening. Hoping they had forgotten him.

With a big thud, Marcy’s body hit the floor. He was certain it was her body because of the wet sound it produced as it hit. Then the door to her room opened and again, he saw out of his little window, a body dragged down the hall. His heart beat fast, and he heard it beating in his temples. Bom, bom, bom. The figure was outside his door now. He was next. He knew it.

When the door opened, white light entered the room. So bright, he could hardly keep his eyes open. He could not make anything out. He wasn’t sure what was happening. Instinct told him he was in danger and that he had better get out of there, but the light was paralyzing. The figure moved closer. The light consumed him.


I suppose I will pick up after his dream. I was going to pick it back up, but my SO, Addie, wants to play Munchkin. Off I go. What do you  think of my fiction writing? Was it compelling? Are you dying to know what happens to Darin?

Probably not right? He heard and saw something on a creepy night and as a result had a bad dream. He is in the crazy house so he might have hallucinated. Hmm, we shall see, if I am able to keep this going.

Windows Up or Windows Down?

The weather here is getting hotter everyday. It is around this time every year when it begins to get to a point that it is hard to breathe outside, especially when you are in a suit and tie (like now) or when you are wearing a chef’s coat (last year). Today’s high was around 90, and with humidity it’s just like sitting in an oven if you are in a car all day long. That leads me to the mother of all questions for you guys. Is it better to run the AC or roll down the windows?


I submit that this is a great question and it poses a great debating point. Everyone has got an opinion on this. “AC wastes gas!”, “Rolling the windows down causes drag!”, are just some of the normal responses. Others will submit that it doesn’t really matter so long as the driver is comfortable. I read that mythbusters did an episode on this very issue and that it was determined that it didn’t matter, basically the only way to save gas was to ride with the AC off and the windows up.



Either way, that doesn’t make for interesting conversation. So, what do you guys do? Windows up or windows down?

Who is Dead Perspective?

So, I am new to this whole blogging thing. I wanna generate some content and not feel so much like a noob, but what do I have to say? I am interested in lots of things so I will start there. Be prepared, because the next few posts will most likely be totally random and off the wall. So, enough chit-chat, tell me something…

The first thing you see once you reach my page is the title, “thedeadsparticus”. That is an odd title, you might say. I’ll being by explaining it. Sparticus is/was my stage name. I know it is silly, but it represents my love of music and my desire at a young age to pursue music. Ever heard of the movie “That Thing You Do”? Well, it is about a band called the Wonders who are a one hit wonder, much in the style of early beatles, etc. That is not the important part. I highly recommend watching it if you haven’t seen it (totally family friendly BTW). In the movie, the main character (drummer) refers to himself as the leader “Spartacus”. This movie didn’t spark my interest in music, but it did say to me that I should give an instrument a try, and shortly after I got my first drum kit.

I am not a drummer. I thought I was for a time when I was twelve, but very quickly realized that I was not. My grandfather was a pillar of strength in my life and was also a bluegrass guitar player (from Tennessee). This helped in my transition from drums to guitar. Around my thirteenth birthday, I had made the switch. I have been playing ever since. I still toy with drums when I get the opportunity and I have a healthy respect for how important they are in music as well as in a live mix, but it is just not my forte.

Shameless self promotion follows…

So about five or six years ago, I was just about to go back to college and instead decided to join a band. It was called “Memoir”. We were sort of a Creed type band, but the music was all original. I wrote most of the music and the Drummer (Snowman) wrote almost all of the lyrics. We were a writing duo. The others did their parts and wrote music too, but most of it was the two of us. Over the period of a year or so, Snow and I began to have difference of opinons on a number of subjects. Our creative ideas started to go in different directions. I didn’t have the same respect for him as a friend, either. So, the rest of the band followed me when I left and we formed what is now known as “Dead Perspective”.

Check it out here:




Now, we’ve been together nearly 5 years. I feel confident that we would’ve had more success if we hadn’t all just had kids and gotten married. We aren’t the party boys we used to be. Now, we are all just doing what we are passionate about. I still write and hopefully we can get out and actually play some shows this summer.

I may have gotten a bit off track here, but I did do the things I set out to do. I explained thedeadsparticus. I breifly told the story of Dead Perspective. And I let you guys in a bit on the story of my life and the way my brain works. So lets talk about it. Listen to the music and tell me what you think. Ask me questions.