Primal Hunger – Final Chapter

New arrivals came the following week and the team quotas returned to normal.

Dieter noticed some of the guards had begun to treat him differently, almost with deference.  Before they would take advantage of an opportunity to hit him if he wandered into proximity, but not now.  It seemed almost like it was them who avoided him.

Another thing that baffled Dieter was his feelings for Yulka.  Somehow standing there in front of the firing squad with her, and holding her hand had changed him.  He felt a closeness he had never felt before, not that he could remember, and he felt no ugly violent lusts.  There was a true friendship between them that was growing into intimacy.

They had not been sexual at all.  He had not even kissed her.  Though they both had felt it, he was sure, he also knew there was fear there … fear and memories that brought pictures to his mind whenever he thought of sex.  He couldn’t imagine thrusting without feeling Them thrusting inside of him.  At least he and Yulka could embrace what they did have together, and in this Hellish place, it was a lot.

He and Darkness had argued fiercely over her.

You are a fool to think it will not end like the others.

It won’t.  It’s not like those times at all.  Why do you care?

Because you are busying yourself with thoughts of it instead minding my huger.

Don’t call Yulka an ‘it’.

You presume to command me?

I’m telling you not to insult her, she’s not the problem.

So you say, as your once watchful eyes no longer seek the kill.  I have seen many slip past you, and you make excuses as to why.  I know the reason.

I don’t care, Darkness.  If you think it’s because I have put her before you, then you’re right.  She helped me after I was violated, not you.  She shares the load, not you.  She gives before she takes, not you.

You have become pathetic.  A few moons prior you were the King, ruthless and cunning.  Now you play the prison harlot to your enemies.

Fuck you, you motherfucker!  There were four of them!  Where were you?  Not fucking helping me, that’s where!

You cannot change the path.

Watch me!  You fucking watch me!  How long has it been since you fed?  Well, fuck you.  If I happen to kill someone, help yourself to them, but I’m not risking losing Yulka or leaving her unprotected for you.

You are refusing to honor our bargain?

Our bargain?  Ha!  Yes, you lying … whatever the fuck you really are!  I am refusing.  And bring on your fucking shrieking all you want, because I tell you this; after getting raped in my ass, your little brain razors aren’t going to matter all that much.

You are making a grave mistake.

So kill me and get nothing.  I’m not talking to you anymore.

So be it.

Weeks came and went with no word from Darkness … not a peep.  Dieter was relived.  He had been deathly afraid the demon might unleash the shrieks in his head.  He had vowed to endure them, but was terrified of the prospect nonetheless.

At Christmas, the Commandant announced there was special entertainment planned for New Years Eve.  He had never made such an declaration apparently, so there was as much apprehension as there was curiosity.

The entertainment, as it turned out, would be two bare-knuckled boxing matches.  The under-card would pit Dieter against Ivan.  The main event everyone knew before it was even uttered; The Death Collector would battle Arkady the Pig.

This was announced New Years Eve and was to commence immediately.

With rations for his team at full, and mostly healed, Dieter was in as good of health as he ever would be in Kolyma.  Ivan, on the other hand was on Pig’s rations, light duty, and had better winter gear, and he was a bigger man to begin with.  Odds were not in Dieter’s favor.

What the Russian didn’t have was the intense, expert training of the SS Corps, nor did he have the rage inside to avenge being raped.

It was a pitched fight, but Dieter’s skill wore the bigger man down.  When he saw his opening, Dieter took it, and struck Ivan in the throat as hard as he could.  He felt the wind pipe crush.  The Russian went down holding his throat, and gasping for air.

The prisoners and a few guards rushed up.  Someone was sent to wake the Doc.

I think he’s finished.

Well, don’t thank me, I only risked my life to do it.

There were several attempts to aid the suffocating Russian as he gradually turned an odd shade of blue, but they were all in vain.

Dieter just stood over him, not caring what was suspected of him, and watch Ivan—a man who had savagely beaten and raped him several times—convulse in his final attempts to suck life-giving air into his lungs.  His desperate, bulging eyes stayed fixed on Dieter’s, the terror of death unmistakable in them.

Oh, you’ve seen nothing yet.  Just wait, motherfucker, just wait.

Yulka came and stood at Dieter’s side.  She hooked her arm around his, and squeezed.

Finally, Ivan fell back limp and unconscious.  Presently, his body shimmered, heralding his soul’s departure.  Ivan rose up and looked at Dieter.

He’s all yours, Darkness.

Ivan pointed at him.  “You killed me.”

That’s right you fucking rapist, and that’s just the beginning.  Meet a friend of mind, or should I say, fiend of mine?  What do you think, Darkness?

There was no reply.

Ivan looked around at the people gathering over him.  The Doc was ushered through the crowd.  He saw Ivan’s body, waved a hand as if shooing an irritating fly away, then left the way he’d entered.

Arkady kicked Ivan’s corpse in the ribs.  “Useless!”  Then he glared at Dieter.

“I’m sorry we did that to you.” Ivan offered Dieter.

Darkness, where are you?

“Who are you talking to?”

Shut up.  You’ll see soon enough.

“I mean it, Müller, I really am sorry.”

I said, shut up!  Darkness!

“It was Arkady.  He made us do it.  Me and Peter, we both hated him, but we had to survive … we had to do what he said.”

Shut up, Goddamnit!

“Please forgive me…”

”Shut up!” he shouts aloud.

Nearly seven hundred sets of eyes lock on to Dieter.  The barracks is suddenly deathly quiet.

Yulka shakes his arm.  “Dieter?  You okay?”

Ivan’s spirit begins to fade.

You won’t feed on him?  You deny me the satisfaction?  Fuck you, demon.  Fuck you!

“Please forgive me … pleeeeease…”

Ivan the Pig crosses over unmolested by Dieter’s unholy hitchhiker.

Dieter wipes the blood off his face with his shirt.

I hate you.  I fucking hate you!

Deiter pulls his arm away from Yulka, and storms off.

The Commandant orders Ivan’s body removed, and for the main event to commence forthwith.

Both men strip their shirts off.  The poor diet has thinned Kolektoru but he is still formidable.  Arkady, however, is, like Ivan, far better fed and appears in a much better state of health.  This does not appear to bother the Death Collector at all.

The signal is given, and the fight begins.

Arkady swings his massive right fist, looking to bring down a mountain if he hits one.

Kolektoru, ducks under, stepping left, and kicks the side of Arkady’s leg.

Arkady cries out and drops to a knee.

The Death Collector chops down with his own right fist, clubbing Arkady on the back of his neck.  The big Russian drops face-first to the floor, out cold.

Kolektoru shoots a look at the Commandant, then he too leaves the scene.

That evening Arkady was replaced by Kolektoru as head of the P.I.G.  Kolektoru brought Dieter, and two of his toughest remaining Czechs to into the group.  He was fair in his rule as new head of the P.I.G., and the overall violence in the camp subsided.

There was, however, the ever constant threat of Arkady and his close core-group of Russians.  His eyes were more murderous than ever.

Sleeping with only two to a bunk was a luxury given to the Pigs that Dieter relished.  The lighter duty and larger rations were also a blessing.  Dieter shared both with Yulka when he could.

They made love that week.  It was tender and passionate.  Dieter felt no bloodlust rise within him during their coupling, and was completely in the moment with a woman for the first time in his life.  The following weeks were paradise compared to what they had endured before.

It did not last.

Dieter was working down in his assigned shaft.  The string of bare, pale bulbs offered the only light the earth this deep had seen since primordial days long past, every crack and crease in the rock was a shadows haunt, the earth coveting whatever dark it still kept.

Dieter hears something between the rhythmical clash of steel on rock.  He turns to see seven Russians grinning as they corner him in his shaft.

He recognizes the tattooed one as Andrey, the leader of a sub-group of Arkady’s mob.

“You’re making a big mistake, Andrey.”

Andrey smiles.  “I don’t think there’ll be much complaining from anybody when they find you, ‘cept from your lot; all four of them.”  The gang laughs.

Dieter takes advantage of the moment, and drops one Russian with shot from his pick-axe, and tries to flees past the others.

He’s tackled, and then blows rain down mercilessly.

Forever it seems they kick and punch him.  As Dieter protects his head, his body is assaulted, and when he can take no more, he defends his abdomen, then his head is kicked.  He loses command of his limbs, yet they still send their boots into him until finally Andrey calls off his dogs.

“Hold up!  Hold up, damn you!  I want to finish him off.  Gennady, see if Vasily’s alright; fucker got him good with his pick.”

Gennady checks the fallen Russian, and helps him to his feet.  “Fucker did get me good,” Vasily offers, a large wound in his side bleeds.  “but I’ll live.”

“Well you don’t want to miss this.”  Andrey hefts Dieter’s pick-axe.  “I’m gonna smash this German’s skull in with his own pick.  You hear that, you German fuck?  I’m gonna put this through your head!”  He displays the weapon in front Dieter’s face.

Dieter lies on the edge of death, hardly conscious at all.  His vision blurred almost beyond use.  He can barely see the vague shape of the weapon with the one eye not swollen shut.  We waves at it weakly.

Andrey laughs and pulls the pick back, then sticks it in Dieter’s face again.  Once more Dieter tries to wave it away.  Andrey does it over and over, like a cruel boy with yarn tormenting an old, feeble cat.

The gang laughs at Dieter’s efforts, and weak moans.  Finally he has no strength for even that, and lies limp on the cold rock.

“Don’t go yet, I want you to feel this.”  Andrey plants his feet and lifts the pick-axe high, ready to strike down with all his might.

From Dieter’s body, dark vapors rise and swirl in a wind unknown and incomprehensible to the seven men baring witness.

“What the hell is that?” Gennady asks, his voice fearful.

Nobody answers.  Mesmerized, the men gaze at the ghostly shifting shade as it ascends out of their victim.

Dieter opens his eye, only a thin slit of blurred vision it now offers.

The macabre mist moves as if a sentient intelligence commands it, rhythmically it sways and swirls above them.

Darkness..?  Dieter finally fades into unconsciousness.

It is the wounded Vasily who finally speaks, his voice low.  “They say the SS practice the dark arts … that Himmler himself was a sorcerer…”

“Horse shit.” exclaims Andrey.

“Then what is it?  It came from a dead SS officer … a black soul!”

Murmurs of agreement circulate as some of the men step back.

Andrey leans in close to Dieter.  “It ain’t his soul, you worthless woman; he’s still breathing.”

“Then what is it?”

The black cloud slowly floats over their heads, drifting towards the way they’d come down.

One of the Russians reaches up to touch it.

“Don’t!” Vasily pleads.

The man looks at him like he’s gone crazy, then touches the mist.  He withdraws his hand quickly.  “Cold…” he offers lamely.

Another touches the shadow. “It’s freezing!”  Then another.  “What the fuck is that, Andrey?”

“His black soul, I’m telling you!” Vasily insists.

“I said he ain’t dead, you superstitious idiot.”

“It don’t matter.  You saw it come out of him … you all saw it!”

“Oh for Christ’s fucking sake!  It’s gas, vapors loosed from the rock, or some shit like that, but it ain’t no fucking soul.”

They all watch as the shade passes over them and continues up the shaft into the darkness.

“Goddamn, you are some cowardly sons-of-whores, everyone of ya.  If we’re all done phylosophising over the cave fart, I’d like to spike this fucker’s head and get outta here.”  Andrey raises the pick-axe again.

The lights flicker.  Andrey hesitates.

“Hear that?” Vasily asks, his voice still trembling.

“No, goddamnit, I don’t hear a…”

Melodic music, soft and surreal, echoes down the shaft.

They all turn and look up the tunnel.

Many voices, sweet and innocent, sing a rhythmical chant in perfect harmony.

All the men feel hackles rise up on their flesh.

“That’s no fucking gas pocket, Andrey!” Gennady exclaims.

The lights flicker again, then extinguish completely.

Black … absolute pitch black, as the earth beneath has always been, and seems to sigh at being so again.

“What the fuck, Andrey?”  One of the gang shouts.

The siren’s-song flows with emotions far deeper and darker than the lowest mine shaft could ever be dug; love lost, hopes requited, grief unending, sorrow eternal, baleful and beautiful at once, and louder as if approaching.

“Lay yourselves within me
Such sorrows you seek I hold
Eternity of Nothing’s bliss beyond your sacred souls”

“Mother Mistress Monster
Unholy Trinity am I
Cometh to gift you mortal born sweet Nothingness sublime”

The song chills their flesh to their very bones.

Andrey ignites a flare, and holds it up, his pick and the dying Dieter now forgotten.  Vasily begins to pray.  The other men take several unconscious steps back.

Darkness enters the light.

Seven men whimper or gasp at once, a single fearful sound.

She is as beautiful as she is terrifying.  The demon is of a nude feminine form, but black of skin and void of hair.  Her figure is muscular, yet delicate, and she moves with inhuman elegance and grace.  Sharply angled features of her countenance juxtapose her full, round lips, and the sensuality she radiates balanced by the cruel, predatory eyes of amber.  Phantom flames, like wisps of aurora, barely to be seen, burn and dance from her.  Under it all resonates the woeful power of the eternally damned.  Pure demon she is, malicious and malevolent, and woe to all souls that witness her.

This unlucky seven, to a man, feels the cold finger of mortal terror at their sternums as it pierces their chests deeper than any spear could impale—all the way into their very spirits—and they feel what few men have ever felt; the true, absolute terror of knowing that one’s irreplaceable, irreparable, immortal soul is in the gravest of danger.

It is a fear unfathomable, unlike any other, for this fear that grips them—keeps even their hearts from beating!—comes from beyond the Void, from the primordial darkness that lies beneath every stone, lurks in every shadow, carries on every whispered prayer, and lives in every human soul.  It is the fear of knowing beyond all denial that Hell truly exists, and that it has come to take them.

Hands go to chests as the fear constricts their hearts further.  Mouths open and gasp for air as lungs seize.  All bladders and bowels release, commands to limbs fail.

Darkness, with a goddess’s grace and a demon’s intent, strides ever nearer, and the song of Hell’s Hosts follows.

Everything these men were in this life fades, only their souls hold consciousness in their bodies now; their immortal souls that are eternal and live on forever, that know that the Universe, the Void, and the Heavens are all their birthright to have and to cherish for all eternity.


Yes, unless … by some terrible impossibility, by some unforgivable fault of fate, they should witness, as they do now, one such as Darkness; an unholy horror of Hell, a first-born child of The Fallen One, an Enemy Eternal of all that is Light.  For this Demon Princess can take them into her darkness and annihilate them totally, consume their very existence for her own power so that they, these seven immortal souls, are immortal no longer.  They will cease to exist, never to return, never to be reborn, never to be recovered, they will be for all time absolutely nothing.

Then the seven Russians scream, an expression of pure spiritual terror unheard of from mortal men.  The force of their fear becomes far more than their living bodies can endure.  One-by-one they collapse in death, their golden souls rise up from their corpses and try to flee, and one-by-one Darkness takes them and rends them, and devours them entirely, her amber eyes glowing brighter and brighter with every soul slaughtered and swallowed into her Nothingness.

She takes Andrey’s soul last.  She pulls him right before her, eye to eye.

“Imagine, while you can, if you had only discarded the idea of coming here to harm my host, how different your eternity would be.  Fascinating how fickle fate truly is.”

Darkness sinks her talons deep into Andrey’s soul.  He struggles and screams.  “Nooooooooo!!!”

She laughs as she rips him asunder and takes him down, down, down into nothingness forever.

Flares, footfalls, and voices approach from up the shaft.

Darkness dissolves into mist, and settles back into her dying host.

The lights reignite.  Kolektoru and five others come down to find the eight bodies on the floor of the shaft.  The seven Russians’ inhuman terror remains fixed forever in their features.

One of the Czechs declares, “Christ, it’s cold down here.”

Another turns to Kolektoru. “Look at their faces!  What happened to them, ‘Toru?”

Death Collector shakes his head.  “I don’t know, but there’s going to be Hell to pay.”

Dieter wakes several days later in the infirmary.  He has a cast on his right arm, and a brace on his left leg.  His whole body screams in agony.  His good eye finds Yulka sitting next to his bed.

She kisses his forehead.  “I thought I might lose you.”

Dieter tries to respond but his jaw won’t let him.

“Don’t talk.  Your jaw’s broken.  They almost killed you.  Rumors are flying all over the camp.  Kolektoru and his Czechs disposed of the bodies—cut them up and sent them through the crushing machine.  They reported that you’d fallen down the elevator shaft.  Nobody believes it, but so far the Colonel hasn’t disciplined anyone over it.  But don’t you worry about any of that, just relax and heal.  I don’t know what Kolektoru said to the doc, but he’s taking good care of you as far as I can tell.  I’ll visit whenever I…”

Dieter fades away…

It went like this for the following week until Dieter began to get his strength back, and his jaw healed enough that he could talk some.  Yulka came to visit whenever she could and fed him, and kept him up to date on the gulag gossip.

When his fractured tibia healed, she told him, he was going to be forced back to work—even with the broken arm—so the doctor had said.  That would be in three or four weeks.

Kolektoru came as well.  He stayed only long enough to ask Dieter what had happened, and to receive Dieter’s brief answer, “I don’t know.  I can’t remember.”

But Dieter did remember … something.  Darkness, however, would not answer his summons.

Kolektoru nodded and left.  It was the last time Dieter would see the big Czech gangster.

Several days passed without the customary visit from Yulka.  Dieter began to worry, and the loneliness and isolation began to wear on him.

Then the laudanum he took for pain was withheld, and the Russian doctor didn’t give Dieter any assistance at all anymore.

He awoke the next day to a painful tapping on his broken arm.

“Good morning, Nazi-boy.”  It was Arkady.

If Dieter could’ve run, he would have.  Yulka’s absence and this Pig sitting next to him could only mean the worst had happened.

“Betcha didn’t expect to wake up to my pretty face, did ya?  Well your Czech body-guard ain’t around no more, sonny.  He and four of his boys had a little accident in the mines.  Flash fire burned ‘em all up.  Gas seepage ignited by tool sparks they say.”  He rolls his eyes.  “Sounds reasonable to me.  So guess who’s back in charge?”  He swats Dieter’s fractured leg.  “That’s right, yours truly.”

Dieter looks away.

“So you heal up good and fast, Nazi-boy.  We got some catching up to do.  See ya soon.”  He laughs as he leaves.

Dieter went two days without food or water until finally he realized he would have to leave the infirmary in order to get chow and something to drink.  He broke one of the cots and fashioned a crutch.  Then hobbled to the barracks.

He was able to eat, but wasn’t let back into the infirmary.  He saw Yulka with Arkady in the Pigs corner of the barracks, her face was bruised.  She wasn’t able to get away.

That night they came for him.  Darkness, of course, gave no warning.  Dieter and Yulka were raped together again, and the ordeal started all over anew.

Some days later, Dieter was able to find a moment with her.  She couldn’t talk, though she tried.  All she could manage was to sob at every attempt, until finally, “I’m going to kill myself.”

“No, Yulka, no!  We can…”

“I can’t take it anymore, Dieter, not after what we had, I can’t.”

“Then escape with me.  We’ll leave the camp and try our luck out there.”  He gestures to the window.

“Nobody escapes, Dieter.  We’ll freeze to death.”

“At least it’ll be on our terms, and we’ll be together.  Please, I can’t take this anymore either.  If we’re going to die, let’s at least be together, and away from this Godforsaken Hell.”

She nods. “Okay.  When?”

“As soon as I get a little more healed, and can get supplies stashed away … a week, maybe two.”

“A week, maybe two?  Dieter, I can’t…”

“Please, Yulka, you have to.  I can’t go now.  Just a little more time.  You’re strong, you can do it.  Bury it, Yulka.  Bury it all.”

She nods again, then looks in his eyes.  “I love you.”

The words hit Dieter like an avalanche.  Only his mother had ever spoken those words to him.

He kisses her passionately.  “I love you, Yulka.”  She smiled weakly, then hurried off before they were caught and punished by Arkady.

It was three horrible weeks of abuse before Dieter was able to hoard the supplies they needed, risking his life on multiple occasions to sneak out of the camp and stash them beyond the perimeter.

When finally Dieter got a moment with Yulka, they set their plans.

That night, Dieter Müller and Yulka Tolstov snuck out of the Dneprovski Gulag and into the freezing night of the Siberian tundra.

At Dieter’s supply cache they pulled on the Guards’ coats he had stolen, and shouldered their packs of rations and gear.  Then they ran through the night and into the next day, knowing they had to put enough distance between them and the camp so the cold would eventually discourage the dogs that would be used to track them.  The very same dogs, they both knew, that would be let loose on them to tear them apart in front of the prisoners if they were caught.  They’d both seen the punishment before.  The dogs, like everything else in Kolyma, were under fed, and they made quick work tearing the flesh off a man’s bones.

They both often thought they heard the baying of the hounds carried on the wind behind them, but never saw them in pursuit.

Finally as night came on their first day of freedom, they made camp as best they could, and huddled together catching what sleep would come to them.

One snow-blind day blurred into the next.  They didn’t speak much anymore, so consumed they were by the cold, hunger, and the constant march through the endless white nothing of Siberia.

By Dieter’s reckoning, they were maybe a week out from the camp when they were caught in a storm and forced to hunker down.  The merciless winds took their shelter into its wicked grasp and sent it flying away into the dark.  Dieter dug a shallow cave in the snow and they laid in there as the storm blew all around them.

When the storm broke, and light finally pierced through the gloom, Dieter woke Yulka.  They had to keep going, they had to move or die.

“I can’t…”  She said weakly.

“You can, Yulka.  You have to!”

“I can’t … feel my legs, Dieter.”

Dieter pulled his gloves off and put his hands down her pants.  At mid-thigh Yulka’s legs were ice cold.

Oh no…

He began massaging her legs furiously.  “You’re just cold.  That’s all.  I’ll get you warm then we can go.  You’ll be okay.  I’ll get you warm.”  Tears froze on his cheeks.

Yulka stopped him.  He looked at her pleading.  She shook her head.  It took a great effort for her to speak.  “It’s … okay … my love.”

Dieter broke down and bawled.  Mucus joined the frozen tears on his face.

“No, Yulka, no!  I love you!”

“I … love you.”  She managed a smile.

Dieter curled up in her lap, squeezed her waist, and sobbed.    She pet his head as he did.

At some point Dieter realized she’d stopped, and he looked up.

Yulka’s face was frozen, smiling down at him.

He sat upright and waited, and waited, and waited…

Her spirit has gone already.

No … no!  She hasn’t, please no!  I could’ve seen her again.  She didn’t know I could see her, and she left me.  I could’ve talked to her again.  I could’ve… Oh, no, no!

Dieter sobs again, though no tears remain to be given.  He sits next to Yulka, holds her, and rocks her stiff body back and forth.

You need to focus, Dieter.  You need to survive.  You need food.

Dieter realizes what Darkness implies.

No.  I won’t.

Then you will perish here.  Take her flesh and you can make it to freedom.  She is gone.  It makes no difference.  Eat and live. 

Dieter takes a makeshift knife from his pack.  He cuts open her jacket and shirts.  Racked with sobs and wailing, he carves a piece off her shoulder.  He holds it up and looks at it.

Do it!  Survive!

Dieter puts the piece of flesh from the only woman he ever loved into his mouth.  He cries and tries to chew, but can’t.  He shakes his head and spits her out.

“I can’t.  I can’t!”

You will die.

“Then I die!  I don’t care!  I can’t take this anymore—this … constant suffering!  That’s all there’s ever been.  You lied to me!  There was never any riches or power.  You lied!”

Of course.


What do I feed on, mortal?  Pain, humiliation, death, souls … suffering!  I have tasted more of yours throughout your life than a thousand of your victims combined.

But not my soul, fucker.

No, not your soul.  With all you have inflicted on others, you have consigned that to Hell; to pain and humiliation forever … suffering eternal!  A fitting end.

Dieter sits quietly a moment, then shake his head. “No … no.  I will not suffer more.  I will not burn!”

You will, mortal.  It is your destiny.  It has always been so.


Dieter stabs himself in the neck.

By my hand, Darkness … by my hand!

Oh you poor soul…  So be it.

Dieter withdraws the dagger.  Blood sprays from the wound across the snow.  He leans against his beloved Yulka.

I’m scared, Darkness.

There is Nothing to be afraid of.

Dieter’s soul and the demon rise out of his body at the same time.  Darkness takes her true form before him.

You’re … my God.  Now I understand …

Enjoy the irony while you can.

Finish it, Darkness.  Just finish it…

Very well.

Darkness pulls him in.

And what of you?

I go to find another faithless fool bound for war.

Darkness devours Dieter into Nothing.



Thank you so much for reading!  ~Christopher Shawbell


Leave a comment


  1. ltdalin

     /  January 13, 2013

    How do I put this into words?
    It’s worthy of so many, I can’t seem to choose.

    It is one of the best written, graphic, realistic…These are all words I have used before. Mesmerizing, horrifying, beautifully carnal and disturbing pieces, that I have read.

    Not only have you written down the horror, but taken me on a ride emotionally through his experiences.

    This is the work of a Master, and not a Student.

  2. alexzandrastgrimm

     /  January 2, 2013

    All I can say is holy f-ing WOW! That was a TRUE horror story..Amazing – seriously.

  3. Anonymous

     /  December 21, 2012

    Masterful in the making

  4. saltinurwounds

     /  December 19, 2012

    Great horror story, CC! You pulled no punches & spared none of our feelings. Just the way horror SHOULD be written. Bravo!!!

  5. Anonymous

     /  December 18, 2012

    Fuck balls that was soooooooooo fucking good!!!!!!!

  6. Holy Shit! I loved it man. Great job. No other notes for you.



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