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Fringe, ch. 2 :iconthevizir:thevizir 0 1
Fringe and the Angel
I took a deep breath in, locked my claws together, and cracked my knuckles.
"Right...." I muttered to myself, going over the profile of the next one here. "Samatha O'Brian, 11. Fear of dogs, insects, performing poorly at school, and the monster that lives under her bed."
I smirked at the irony of that last one. After all, it's the monster in the closet you really have to be afraid of.
Setting my shoulders, I slowly slid open the closet door before me. Twisted shadows roiled forth as the barriers between Shadow and the realm of mortals was pierced.
A grin filled with entirely too many fangs split my face. "Showtime."
I let my hold on my body go, and from merged into the billowing shadows. This would be easy haunting. I'd just slink under her bed, and begin clawing until she woke up. Mimic a dog growling, maybe rip at her sheets. It only took, what, thirty minutes the last few times? Then I'd have a nice, solid meal to see me through the night. Which meant that I could get back to that b
:iconthevizir:thevizir 1 1
Fringe by thevizir Fringe :iconthevizir:thevizir 1 3
The Bogeyman
The Bogeyman has thirteen heads
Thirteen heads and thirteen hands
The first head's mouth holds twisted lies
Lies that twist the hearts of man
The second head thinks of naught but greed
Greed that wants for all that's grand
The third head sings songs of the deeps
The deeps that rise to drown the land
The fourth head shrieks in bloody rage
Rage too many wars have fanned
The fifth head is a stump of rot
Rot twining plague through your glands
The sixth's head breath brings winter's frost
And frost-bit crops 'pon viney strand
The seventh head's teeth rend and gnash
Gnash on your bones in dark woodlands
The eighth head whispers vile curses
Curses your soul to Hell, damn'd
The ninth head tells secrets of your death
Death in the dark, just as planned
The tenth head burns and blazes black
Black as your bones in desert sands
The eleventh head trades 'way your pain
More pain's the price the knives demand
The twelf
:iconthevizir:thevizir 1 0
Oh, this was bad. Very, very bad. Boss wasn't going be happy at all.
Flint paced back and forth, casting nervous glances at his computer's screen, hoping beyond the hope the poll's results would have miraculously changed over the five seconds since he last looked at the screen.
They didn't.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, adjusting his tie nervously, somehow making him look even more dishevelled. His normally well-pressed suit had become a wrinkled mess hung over the back of his chair, his slick hair now looked more greasy than professional, his face marred with week-old stubble, and his predatory golden eyes looking more like those of a frantic prey animal. In short, it was evident to anyone who took a look at him that Flint was not having a good day.
"Okay. This will all turn out okay. We can still turn this around. We can-"
The ringing of his telephone nearly made Flint jump out of his own skin, which was about the last thing he needed today. Taking a few breaths to calm himself, he
:iconthevizir:thevizir 0 0
Mature content
Fringe :iconthevizir:thevizir 3 3
Horror Shop: Dusk by thevizir Horror Shop: Dusk :iconthevizir:thevizir 3 1 Horror Shop: Mist and Brand by thevizir Horror Shop: Mist and Brand :iconthevizir:thevizir 3 1 Horror Shop: Omen by thevizir Horror Shop: Omen :iconthevizir:thevizir 1 1 Map: Cirundi 2.0: Political by thevizir Map: Cirundi 2.0: Political :iconthevizir:thevizir 73 7 Map: Cirundi 2.0 by thevizir Map: Cirundi 2.0 :iconthevizir:thevizir 108 28 Map: Golarionloft by thevizir Map: Golarionloft :iconthevizir:thevizir 32 12
Horror Shop: A primer on Horrors
"...from ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night, good Lord, deliver us!"
The thing under your bed. The monster in your closet. The shadow lurking at the edge of your vision. The grey-suited man from the government agency that doesn't exist. The black beast you swore was following you. The thing outside your window, right now, watching you, vanishing when you turn your head. The creeps and the freaks and the creatures and the beasts and the things that go bump in the night. Mythologies across many worlds speak of haunting creatures that torment children and adults alike, such as oni, sack men, babau, shadow people, los cucuys, butzemenn, bogies, or jumbies.
They're all real. They are all more terrifying than the tales say.
And they hunger for your fear.
Horrors are created when a critical mass of fear-tainted anima is sent into the Pit. The shear rejection and terror the once-vital s
:iconthevizir:thevizir 6 1
Horror Shop: Toil and Trouble by thevizir Horror Shop: Toil and Trouble :iconthevizir:thevizir 2 3 DasSoviet ID 2013 by thevizir DasSoviet ID 2013 :iconthevizir:thevizir 0 1 Horror Shop: The Spawning of Grey by thevizir Horror Shop: The Spawning of Grey :iconthevizir:thevizir 5 4

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I wasn’t certain how long we walked before I found the courage to speak.

It couldn’t have been all that long. The shifting darkness made it difficult to judge judge just how far we’d travelled. The flickering torches seemed to only make the shadows we passed darker. I could barely make out the corridors that branched off. I would have missed a few had I not caught something moving down them out of the corner of my eyes.

I honestly felt as though we were being followed.

That unsettling thought was precisely why I was so reluctant to say anything. Yet, the silence only made the darkness more oppressive. The only thing that broke the silence were Portcullis’ sharp footsteps. Their crisp rhythm echoed endlessly down the still, stone passages.

Finally, I tugged nervously at the scarf around my neck, and looked up to the towering man. “So... umm... how long is it until we reach London?”

“Hmm?” the pale-skinned giant seemed to have been lost in his own thoughts. Judging by the look in his eyes, he didn’t exactly enjoy being roused from them.

“I... I mean, we’ve been walking a while now, and I’m just-”

“We’ve been in London since we crossed the threshold of the door.” His voice was dismissive, and it made me feel like an idiot for asking the question. I bit my lower lip and looked at the ground, chastised.

Portcullis sighed heavily, and almost reluctantly. “Yes, right. There is no way for you to have known that. My apologies, child.”

I didn’t exactly appreciate being called a child. The apology did lift my spirits some, though, so I wasn’t going to push that part. “Umm... so then where are we going?”

“London and Yekaterinburg don’t share many spiritual ties.” Portcullis waved his hand in a rather matter-of-fact manner. “It stands to reason that the door between the cities wouldn’t be centrally located.”

I nodded. I kinda followed that. I mean, I’d heard of London before. At least, I think I had. My mind still felt incredibly scrambled.

“We could have made a faster trip had we gone through Moscow or St. Petersburg. I just didn’t want to run the risk of the authorities there claiming you for their own.”

Well now, that particular bit of information made me almost trip over my overlarge feet. “Wait... what would Russia want me? I... well, for one I don’t speak Russian, and-”

“You’re a horror with a human soul,” Portcullis said matter-of-factly, his face remaining unreadable. “Perhaps a hundred like you emerge in a year. Half of them are maddened by their experience in the Pit.” Just mentioning the word seemed to draw the shadows closer around us. The usher took a slight breath to ready himself before continuing on. “Simply, you’re rather unique in a way we don’t fully understand. There’s a certain prestige for one to recover a horrors such as yourself. It’s why I believe Sbórščik gave you that scarf of his.”

I looked down at the bright red scarf in my hands. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been nervously fiddling with the fraying endings. Heck, I was so nervous my new claws had apparently torn a few rips into the ends of the crimson shawl. At least I think I’d torn it. I furrowed my brow and thought back to that bleak Russian street.

The Collector had knelt down, and taken one of the scarves off of his arm. It was faded red one, ragged and patched up in places. “Here,” he had said, gently draping it around my shoulders. “Is something to be remembering me by. Do not be removing it, for me, okay?”

I ran my claws along the fabric. It was hard to tell in this lighting, but it seemed like it was brighter and-

“It’s bonded to you.”

I looked up at Portcullis in confusion. “It’s... what?”

“That scarf was some of Sbórščik’s fear, given to you. Rather kind of him, but I’ve always liked the fellow. Regardless, the scarf is part of you now. It already suits you better, red and torn, not patchwork like him.” a stiff smile tugged at the corner of the usher’s thin lips. “In case you were worried you’d already torn it.”

My gaze returned to the scarf in my hands again. “Umm... right.” I think understood the gist of what he was saying, but not the exact details. “So... so this is like... like him-”


I scoffed and shook my head, laughing under my breath. “I am not going to be able to say that, no matter how many times you repeat it. But, this... this scarf is him giving me some of his power?”

“Something not entirely unlike that, yes,” Portcullis replied, in no way answering my question.

But before I could ask a follow-up, he made a sharp turned through a previously unseen door. I hustled after him, and stumbled forth into a massive chamber.

Now, I’m certain some of it was exaggerated by my own much-reduced size. But from where I was standing, this cavernous hall seemed to easily be the size of a large stadium. Hundreds of chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Each of these cast thousands of flickering shadows on the myriad rows of benches and chairs. And each of these were filled filled with a dizzying array of creatures. There were men and women in robes, chatting away, as glowing orbs danced around their heads. A group of what looked like pale-skinned punks lounged about. What appeared to a gryphon was arguing loudly with a woman with long, pointed ears and silvery hair. An elf? There were walking wolves, shambling mummies, flickering phantoms, and- “Is that a dragon?”

“Hmm?” Portcullis cast an idle glance over his shoulder. The towering, blue-scaled beast looked as if it had been ripped right from a fantasy painting. “Wonderful. Azuriax. Wonder what’s drawn that pain in the arse down here this week.” The usher looked down at me. “Word to the wise, Fringe. Don't become involved in the affairs of dragons. They are invariably the most pretentious sods I have had the displeasure of dealing with. Now keep up here!”

I shook my head and tore my eyes from the fantastical menagerie before me. This proved harder than I thought it would be. Everywhere I looked seemed to be filled with some new, fantastic being. Were they all horrors? The Collector had mentioned spirits and werewolves as if they were different. So then, were all these creatures also distinct beings? Or was it something else entirely?

I mean, a lot of the things here looked rather human, more human than either Portcullis or the Collector had. Had I bumped into one on the street, I wouldn’t have thought them out of the ordinary. Yet, for every handful of human-like things, there were ones that were obviously monstrous. There was a bald, gaunt man whose mouth was filled with vicious fangs. There was a man with goat legs and horns. There was a short, stout fellow with an impressively braided beard. There was a ten-foot-tall woman with blue, tattooed skin and ice-white hair. There was a hunched over man-bat-thing. There was a tall, deathly pale man in a gold-trimmed red uniform-

...wait a second. That was Portcullis! Already, he was vanishing among the winding queues that filled the far side of the room. “He-hey!” I shouted, and made to run after him... only to tangle my feet together, slamming face first into the ground. “Stupid... claws....” I grumbled, pushing myself up onto all fours. Wait... weasels walked on four legs, so did that mean I was supposed to walk on four legs now? I mean, I had been walking on just my hind feet.. I think?

I mean, it was worth a try. So, is it left foot right hand, or left foot left hand, or was it both hands, and-

It was a couple minutes later that Portcullis stomped back over to where I was busy tying myself in knots. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out how weasels do it...” I grumbled through clenched fangs, pushing myself to my feet again.

The usher just sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration.

“I’d like to see you do this!” I shot back at him.

“Fringe,” the usher knelt, his long, red coat spreading out around him. “Were you under the impression that you were walking like a human this whole time?”

I scoffed up at him “Well... yeah. I mean, I have been! Do you seriously expect me to believe I've been walking around like an animal and hadn't noticed?"

The usher sighed. "Yes. Just as, if Sbórščik is to be believed, you'd been looking like an animal and hadn't noticed."

I’ll admit, I really didn’t have a response to that. Instead, I bowed my head, abashed. How much had I changed here?

“The only problem it is giving you now is that you are thinking too hard about it. Just move as comes naturally." Portcullis stood and turned around, lightly dusting off his jacket. “Just try to keep up this time.”

Right, just move naturally. I grunted and pushed myself onto my feet. “Right, okay....” Don’t think, don’t try anything special, just walk.

I took a few steps forwards, and somehow managed to not embarrass myself. I guess it wasn’t so hard. “Hey, wait up!” I shouted after the usher, and began to charge after him.

Only to end up in a tangled heap, my snout thudding into Portcullis’ boot. He halted and looked down at me, eyebrows arched in question.

I shook my head and straightened out. “Okay, serious question. Was I really going around on all fours earlier?”

"No," the corners of the usher’s thin mouth turned up giving the closest thing to a real smile I’d seen from him. "But it's an old trick, and I’ve seen it work in the past."

I growled and pushed myself onto my hind legs, feeling flushed with embarrassment. “Thanks for that,” I muttered under my breath.

“As I said, it can work,” he noted, picking up his pace once again. “You just have to stop being so self-conscious.”

Yeah, I was a two-foot-tall, talking weasel. That wasn’t going to happen.

I followed the pale giant as we made our way around the room. We gave the weird creatures milling about a wide berth. There was a great deal of activity around the doors on the far side of the room. Dozens of them were constantly swinging open and shut in a ceaseless bustle. I couldn’t quite see what lay beyond, given my position so uncomfortably close to the ground. I think I caught a glimpse of a bright red bus rushing past one, kicking up a spray of water. The one right next to it looked over a broad river with a few boats bobbing past.

Right, so doors were weird now.

Portcullis came to stop at a massive bank of counters that lined the wall opposite to the strange doors. There was a rather imposing queue leading up to the counters. Like the rest of the hall, this line filled with a dizzying array of strange beings. Many more such beings clustered around tills. Many of them were engaged in conversation with the monstrous-looking creatures on the inside. Discounting the strange forms possessed by these creatures, this could almost be considered normal. Boring even!

I breathed a minor sigh of relief when Portcullis bypassed the queue. Instead, he headed straight towards a much shorter line. This line stood before a booth, somewhat apart from the others. Next to the booth towered a rather imposing set of double doors.

Indeed, the only person in this line was a short, balding creature that looked identical to a human. He was nervously checking over a few papers, while muttering to himself under his breath.

Portcullis strode straight up to the man, and placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. “I think you’re in the wrong line, Darryl.”

The small man sighed and shook his head with annoyance, raising a hand in protest. “Listen, I don’t see where you horrors get off with your own special line. I am currently dealing with a matter of vital import. And I will have you know, sir, that I am fully aware of my rights here as guaranteed...” his wheezy voice trailed off as he noticed the red uniform. Slowly, almost reluctantly, his gaze followed up Portcullis’ arm. One could see the colour drain from his face as he reached the stern, pale face of the usher.

At that point, the man’s eyes doubled in size, and a black cloud began to rise off him.

“Ahem... sorry, sir. Thought you were some minor busy-body here. Yes, well, I mean, if you have something urgent to attend to then I guess I shall be forced to let you-”

“Go into the main line, Darryl.”

The man’s shoulders slouched. With a defeated sigh, he picked up the crate at his feet. The man then trudged over to the main line, leaving behind him a wispy, dark mist. I caught of a whiff of that cloud, and it was intoxicating! It was almost like that scent that drew me to Russia. Almost, but not quite. And far less intense. Like a watered down version.

I felt a growl rise in my throat. That could be changed of course.


I shook my head and looked up at Portcullis “Hunh?”

“Could you not, please?”

“Not what?”

“Do the whole monster thing here, please?”

I had no idea what he was talking about, so I just shrugged and sighed “Whatever...” that weird black fog had vanished anyways. “So, did you know that guy?” I hooked a claw over my shoulder in the direction the nervous creature had retreated.

The usher gave a brief glance over his shoulder at the departing man. “Darryl Flitman. Owns a menagerie of supernatural creatures down in Brighton. He comes in here every few months. He's typically requesting permission to stock some new and dangerous creature. One that would inevitably kill thousands should it get out. Runs a tight ship, thankfully, so nobody’s had to cover up for him... yet.”

“Right, and what kind of monster was he?”

“Darryl?” Portcullis scoffed, and looked down at me, making certain I was serious. “Darryl’s a human.”

“Wait, okay, hold up!” I made a t-shape with my hands, “You mean to tell me there are humans here?”

“Well, yes. Most-”

I pointed at a pair of human-looking creatures in business suits, “So those are...”


“And them?” I indicated the robbed people with the lights dancing around them.

“Humans... mages if I had to guess. Now, Fringe-”

“And them?” I pointed at the pale folks drinking what I presumed to be blood.

Portcullis sighed, “Vampires. I’d think that was obvious...”

“Yeah, I just found out that vampires existed. Thanks.” I then pointed a group of what appeared to be humans over in a corner, “And those?”

“Two humans, and a wererat, if I’m judging correctly. Honestly, Fringe, this-”

I jabbed a claw in the direction of the hunched-over bat-creature, “So, then, is that a vampire or a horror?”

He sighed, “That’s Dr. Benjamin Obasanjo, professor of antiquities at Cambridge.”

I scoffed up at Portcullis, “Okay, seriously?”

The usher responded with a flat “Yes.”

“You’re telling me you know exactly who that is?”

Portcullis rolled his eyes. “There are a hundred or so werebats in England. Only one of them hasn’t figured out how to shift into human form, and that’s Dr. Obasanjo. He became cursed five years ago, if I recall, when he was exploring Aztec ruins in the Yucatan.”

“Hunh....” I stared at the bat, er, man, er, Dr. Obasanjo as he sat down and picked up a copy of a newspaper from the table in front of him.

“Fringe, did your parents never teach you not to gawk at strangers?”

I snapped my attention back to the kiosks of me, feeling incredibly self-conscious. “I... well, I don’t really remember....”

“It seems that they did...” the usher muttered as he straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back.

“I’m sorry... I just, well, I... I had no idea that any of this existed!” I gestured around the room. “Like, I thought that werewolves and vampires and... and closet monsters!" I plucked at the ruff of fur on my chest “I thought all this was just a bunch of stories! Things people dressed as on Halloween. Well, maybe not closet monsters, but... you get my point!”

“That means the Veil was doing its job,” Portcullis responded, not even looking down at me.

“The Veil?”

The usher seemed to groan inwardly. “It’s... a long explanation. To put it simply, the Veil is what divides the magical world from the mundane one you grew up in.”

“Okay... but why?”

He groaned outwardly now, “I did just say it’s a long explanation, did I not?”

I crossed my arms and released an annoyed huff, but it was clear I wasn’t going to get anywhere. But before I got out more than a “So...,” a harsh voice shouted out “NEXT!” and Portcullis began striding forward.

“Got ‘er now, guv?” the voice that came from behind the till was gritty and unpleasant. It sounded if the speaker gargled with whiskey and cigarette butts every morning. His coarse accent didn’t help the comprehension much, either.

Well, at least I think it was a he. After all, I’m not exactly one to tell the gender of giant spider monsters.

The man-sized arachnid rose up on its spindly legs. It stared down at me over with the counter with his disturbingly human eyes.  A lop-sided grin made his mandibled maw look both terrifying and hilarious at the same time. Yet, as awkward it looked, a giant spider leering down at you isn’t going to make you laugh.

Especially not after the kind of day I’d had.

“This is her, Spinner.”

“Bit of a small one now, ain’t she?”

I looked up at the spider and tried my best to puff out my chest. “Hey!”

“Got some spirit, though, I’ll give ‘er that.”

Portcullis let loose another belaboured sigh. “Are you done mocking the closet monster, Spinner, or shall I order myself a bite to eat?”

“I ain’t got much better to do here today, ‘Culley!” the spider quipped, turning his smug grin onto the usher. “But if sending her on her merry way means I don't gotta deal with you, then I’ve already wasted enough time.”

“Just don’t cock this one up.” Portcullis growled at the spider beast as it began fishing around its desk for a bunch of papers.

“Oh, come now, that last kid you brought in ended up alright!”

“You sent a winter monster to Queensland. Now, I don’t know if you’ve been to Oz, Spinner, but Queensland’s one of the warm parts. With jungles, you know?”

The spider shrugged “Could’ve sworn the kid was a wild one...”

The look Portcullis gave me was a desperate plea for help, and I could only shrug helplessly back. After all, I could barely understand what the spider beast was saying through his accent. Coupled with my rather selective amnesia meant most of the discussion flew right over my head.

“Alright, got ‘er!” the spider announced victoriously. He then reached down over the counter, and jerked me up in a pair of claws. Rather suddenly I might add.

I made to protest, but before I could get much more than an annoyed “Hey!” out of my mouth, I was set down on the counter. The spider creature clicked his mandibles as he took the lid off of an ornate pen.

“Alright, luv, what’s your name here?”

I blinked a bit, “Umm, well....”

The spider looked at me with a bit of confusion, eyebrows cocked over at least three eyes. After I shuffled my feet a bit, he turned his questioning eyes to Portcullis.

“She is a reborn, Spinner.”

“Oh, right!” the spider leaned down and looked me straight on with his eight too-human eyes. “Did you pick a name out for yourself yet? I can suggest a few! Claw, Fang, Blade maybe... Weasel’s always a good one,  and it’s not all that common either. Eh, but you’re more of a ferret really....”

What? I raised my claw to speak, but continued to ramble on.

“Mask, maybe, ‘cause of that mask across your eyes... or Masque if you’re feeling exotic. Red, ‘cause of the blood red around your paws, and your claws right? Or maybe Blood? That’s always a good-”

I stopped him rather quickly there. “It’s Fringe.”

“Fringe, eh?” the spider clicked his mandibles. “Interesting choice... like that TV show, right?” I didn’t have a chance to respond with a “What?” before he hurried on, scribbling stuff down on the paper before him. “Haven’t met many Fringes in my day, so you’re gonna stand out a bit. Which is a good thing. Last thing we need is another ‘Shade’ or ‘Black’ or ‘Grim’. Some blokes just don’t have a creative bone in their body. Right, so where were you spawned?”

“I... well, you know,” I tugged at my scarf nervously again, “I mean, it was that great, black-”

The spider jerked around and slammed two claws over my mouth. “Nope! Not interested in that. Really not interested in that, thanks luv.” His breathing was coming hard and fast. It was clear that this guy had been traumatized by his experiences in the Pit as well. How many people down here had gone through that? Was that something all supernatural beings shared?

It took him a couple seconds to calm down and release his grasp on me. “I’m, well, I’m actually asking you where you were found, okay? For census purposes and the like.”

“Oh... yeah. Eh-katrinsk...”

“Yekaterinburg, Sverdlovsk Oblast, Russia,” Portcullis offered, helpfully. I honestly hoped I didn’t have to learn to spell that.

“Well, that’s kinda neat. A Yank spawning in Russia?” the spider chucked. “Wonder what’s the story behind that.”

I bit my lip and shrugged, unable to do much more than shake my head, “I’m... I’m sorry, but I don’t really remember much.”

The spider chuckled. “You keep that up and I might just have to mark you down as Canadian instead.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, that.” Spinner seemed way too pleased at some internal joke he was making at my expense. Thankfully, he didn’t linger on it. Instead, he dove right into the next question, “Okay, so who was it who found you?”

“Oh, right! It was the Collector!”

The spider looked up from his scribblings and cocked several eyebrows, “Come again, luv?”

“He said his name was the Collector.”

“I... the Collector’s from-”

“Sbórščik,” Portcullis interjected, causing the spider’s eyes to alight with understanding.

“Oh, Sibor! Great guy! Shame they shuffled him off to the ass end of Russia. He was a riot at parties... I mean, bloody depressing at times if you listened to some of his stories. But did you know he once drank Asegirr the Iron-Handed under the table? That was a beautiful ruckus, that was! Anyways, kid, got any idea of your fear?”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me and wasn’t just more idle banter. “Umm... what?”

“You know, what are you, really? You the fear of having things nicked from you? You the phobia of claws? I mean, you’ve gotta have some idea, right?”

I shook my head. I had absolutely no idea what he was even asking.

The spider looked somewhat disappointed, and his many shoulders sagged. “Right, then, Culley, could you hold her still then?”

I took a step back, “Why... why does Portcullis need to hold me?”

It was then I was reminded of the old adage: don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.

The spider drew out a massive needle that seemed to be made of rusting iron and tarnished brass. A winding hose connected the needle to some kind of archaic stove, with far too many knobs and dials. The entire device seemed like it was ripped straight out of the Victorian era. “Well, it’s simple, kid. This contraption here hurts. A lot.”

Before I had time to react, I was pushed to the counter, held down by Portcullis’ bony hands.

“Guys! Please!” I begged, but it didn’t seem to have any impact. Instead, the spider’s chitinous claws tapped across my shoulders. One tap located some point right between my shoulders that set my entire body rigid.

“Right, luv, just close your eyes and think... well, honestly, you won’t be able to think of much here.”

And with that cheery bit of encouragement, he shoved the needle into my spine, and I screamed out.

In pain.

In fear.

In vain.

Everything was white.

Everything was broken.

Everything was wrong.

I couldn’t get out.

I needed to get out.

But a horrible blade of metal pierced me.

It bound me to this place.

I screamed, I cried, I clawed. But nobody came.

I was alone, I was trapped, and I wasn’t going to get out. Ever.

This was my fate.

Had I ever really escaped from this place?

Was that horrible black void just madness sinking in?

Was that fantastical world just a lie I made up in a vain effort to keep my sanity?

Is this all there was?

This dead white maze, tumbling into ruin around me, falling into ruin only to rebuild itself anew?

There was no escape.

There could never be an escape.

I could never get out.

I couldn’t.



The needle came out with an excruciating jerk, and I let in a frantic gasp. My chest heaved, my ears rang, and my heavy breaths brought a bitter taste to my mouth.

Spinner was right. It did hurt, a lot.

“Easy now, luv!” the spider said as he removed his claws from my shoulders. “Don’t wanna get up too quickly. Coming down from an adrenaline rush like that will knock your balance right out.”

It took me several moments to even begin to think straight enough to respond with words. Eventually I managed one: “What?”

“Needed to find out what you were the fear of.” Spinner said, rather matter-of-factly, as he fiddled with something behind the desk. “Best way to do that? Make you absolutely terrified, then take a look at your soul.”

That made absolutely no sense, so I wheezed out another “what” between panting breaths.

That word was quickly becoming my go-to response for everything.

“You know, to be honest, I don’t really understand, myself. Just repeating what the mad folks from the Tech told me. All I know is this contraption here works really well. Also, seems to beat the piss out of those who get spiked by it... as you’re figuring out first hand here.”

I managed to somehow find the strength to raise an arm. I then flipped my hand around, and presented the spider with my middle claw.

Spinner let loose a cackle that sounded something like a dying cat hacking up a lung. “Just like I said, this one’s got spirit, Culley! Keep a close watch on her, alright?”

The usher responded with a chuckle. “The human soul never ceases to amaze me....”

The chime of a small bell broke through their shared levity, and the spider wiped a claw across his eyes. “Right, kid, let’s see what we’ve got here...” Spinner held up a small vial, holding a swirling white fog that seemed to be constantly shifting. Crumbling. Growing.

A ringing sounded in my ears, and the bitter taste returned to my mouth. I swiftly averted my eyes. That thing, whatever it was, was wrong. Just wrong. “What... is that?”

“Well, you’re a horror now, right?” Spinner asked offhandedly, still pondering the vial, “And we horrors are living fears. Every one of us is something that people are afraid of. And it seems like you’re... hmm...” he tapped the jar with one of mandibles, “I’d say some kind of fear of being trapped. What would you say, Culley?”

The usher leaned forward, to get a better look at the thing. I don’t know how he could stand it. It was wrong. Even thinking about it made my skin crawl. I wrapped myself tighter in my scarf, as Portcullis pondered above me.

“Perhaps... fear of being trapped in a collapsing building? Would explain the crumbling walls.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Just trying to understand the white there... some kind of lab maybe?”

“A hospital?”

“Oh, that’s an idea! Got that sterile kind of feel to it that florescent light does...”

“COULD YOU STOP IT!” I shouted out, stomping my foot on the counter top. The more they talked about that... that thing, the more agitated I was becoming. It was like somebody scratched their nails across a chalkboard. Meanwhile, others were discussing the artistic merit of the ensuing noise. I didn’t even want to think about it, but the more they talked about it, the more I was forced to admit it existed.

Portcullis sighed, and straightened back up. “She’s right, Spinner. She’s been through a lot today, and the last thing you want to do on a stressful day is deal with your own fear.”

The spider clicked his mandibles in annoyance, but set the vial down. I hadn’t noticed, but the fur along my shoulders had ruffled out. It was only beginning to flatten back down now that the damned ‘fear’ had been put away. Wonderful. Seemed like ‘raising my hackles’ was no longer just an idiom for me.

“Right,” Spinner said, shuffling things around, and locking the vial away in a case. “I’ll just mark you down as ‘fear of being trapped in a crumbling building’ for now. How does that sound, kid?”

I waved my hand. “Yeah, whatever.” At this point, I really couldn’t care less.

“So, Culley, when did Sibor come across her?”

The usher thought for a few moments, “According to him, this morning. Therefor, given the time difference, I’d say she came to either last night or this morning.”

Spinner’s mandibles clicked as he looked over a calendar, “Hmm... I’ll mark September 3rd, just to be on the safe side here.”


That couldn’t be right.

I didn’t know why, I just knew it wasn’t right.

I rubbed the side of my head, “No...” I said aloud. “It... it’s March. It’s March! I know... because I hadn’t yet....” I ran my hand through my rough mane of hair What hadn’t I done? There was something I did in the Spring, every Spring. I bit my tongue and tilted my head back. My eyes squinted up at the shadows playing across the cavernous ceiling. I couldn’t remember what it was.

The two other monsters remained silent as I agonized over this. I think it became evident fairly quickly that I wasn't getting anywhere with this.

“AARGH!” I slammed my palm into my head. It was like a puzzle, but somebody tossed away half the pieces and replaced them with blank, black tiles. There were a few small things I could remember, but the big picture? I had not clue.

“Fringe...” Portcullis said, a slight degree of hesitation in his voice. “Today is the fourth of September, 2016. I don’t know how long you were gone for, but...”

I shook my head, not willing to accept what they were telling me. “It’s March...”

“The... well, the void... I don’t know what Sbórščik told you of the Pit... but... but that place is the End of Everything. Everything includes time. It seems to me that you spent around seven months on Earth within...”

Seven months... I shook my head. On one hand, it hadn’t seemed that long. Yet, it had also seemed like I'd been in the darkness for an eternity. My shoulders sagged, and I let loose a massive sigh. “Okay... okay, that I can... that I can kinda see.”

Seven months, lost to that void.

Could have been worse, I guess. I mean, I could have died instead.

Yeah, that was pretty much the only way I could think of this being worse.

Spinner’s clicking mandibles once again brought me out of my reverie. “Right, so...”

“Actually, that will be enough, Spinne.” Portcullis said, withdrawing a folded note from one of his jackets' pockets. “You can ask her further information at a later date.”

The spider monster snatched the note from the usher’s hand, his eight eyes scanning over it. “Well if that’s the way it’s going to be!” the spider clicked his mandibles and clapped two of his eight claws together. Another two claws busied themselves placing the form and the box containing the vial into a tube. His eyes left the note and focused instead on me. “Looks like you should be all processed within a few days here! Now, if you wouldn't mind, we should be getting that back to Sibor.” As two more of his claws grabbed my scarf, I took a step back. Portcullis leaned forward, laying one of his gloved hands on Spinner’s limbs.

“Actually, Sbórščik wanted her to keep it.” the usher said in response to the confused look on the giant spider’s face.

“Really? Isn’t that just a bit unusual?”

I didn’t see what the pale giant said or did, but Spinner’s look of confusion was replaced with one of surprise. And more than a little fear.

“Ahh, hunh... so, you’ll be needing a place for a while, Fringe?”

I shrugged, rather confused by this turn of events “I... I guess?”

“We’ve got a few rooms for you to crash in while we find a more permanent place to put you up.” The upbeat tone returned to the spider’s voice as he fished around in his voluminous cubicle. “Here we go! Room 1493!” he held out a spindly limb, and dropped the key into Portcullis’ waiting hand. “Trust you know your way there, Culley?”

The look Portcullis gave the spider was one of blatant annoyance, he wasn’t even trying to hide it this time. But instead of retorting, he picked me up and returned me to the ground. “Follow me, Fringe!” he said as he shoved his way through the massive double doors beside Spinner’s desk.

I looked up at the spider monster. He grinned a rather fake looking smile down at me, a pained attempt at looking comforting. “Welcome to the Netherworld, Fringe.”

Then, with a slight grimace, he turned his attention back to the massive chamber beyond.

Fringe, ch. 2
So remember that short story I wrote a while back? Fringe?…

I decided to turn that into an actual story instead. 

Yeah, I know, I can't let good things lie. 

But here we are, second chapter, and we're getting a bit more into the weirdness of the Horror Shop 'verse. It's a bit slow here, but this is a breather, a bridge between that action-packed into, and the full stuff that we'll get to later on. I'm almost done the third chapter, and so you should be expect that some time early next month here!

And per usual, horrors belong to :iconthevizir:, but if you've got any questions, concerns, or comments, feel free to ask me here and I'll try getting back to you all posthaste!
I took a deep breath in, locked my claws together, and cracked my knuckles.

"Right...." I muttered to myself, going over the profile of the next one here. "Samatha O'Brian, 11. Fear of dogs, insects, performing poorly at school, and the monster that lives under her bed."

I smirked at the irony of that last one. After all, it's the monster in the closet you really have to be afraid of.

Setting my shoulders, I slowly slid open the closet door before me. Twisted shadows roiled forth as the barriers between Shadow and the realm of mortals was pierced.

A grin filled with entirely too many fangs split my face. "Showtime."

I let my hold on my body go, and from merged into the billowing shadows. This would be easy haunting. I'd just slink under her bed, and begin clawing until she woke up. Mimic a dog growling, maybe rip at her sheets. It only took, what, thirty minutes the last few times? Then I'd have a nice, solid meal to see me through the night. Which meant that I could get back to that blasted assignment. I mean, who assigned an 8-page case study due the day after a long weekend. I had plans!

I'd try to haunt my professor out of spite, but the last time I tried that, it turned out she wasn't just a retired lawyer. No, she was also a witch. Now that a fun conversation to have.

But complaining about that wouldn't get me a meal tonight. So, shoving those thoughts to the back of my mind, I slunk forth into Sam's room, nothing more than a monstrous shadow crawling across her walls, shifting slowly towards her bed.

A bed that was surrounded by several... children? I halted in my tracks. Sam was an only child; I knew that from my previous times haunting her.  So then, why were there four bodies standing around Sam's bed? At two in the morning?

I inched closer, my form still merged with the deep, nighttime shadows. This was really strange. I'd never known Sam to have a sleepover at her place before... and it was a weeknight anyways. Also, all these other kids looked identical.

One of the weird kids raised their hand, and held it forth over Sam's bed. A sterile blue light shone from some strange, stick-like object, casting stark shadows across the room.

It was then I realized Sam was actually awake, her deep brown eyes open wide in terror, darting around wildly, while her mouth formed into a silent scream. Yet for all the fear evident upon her face, my own attention was drawn to the child holding the strange glowing object.

No, not child. Alien. Definitely an alien.

Looking right at me with those big, emotionless black eyes.

I dove for the closet as fast as I could, flying like a bat out of hell. I didn't even look back as I slammed the closet door behind me.

I leaned against the closet door, panting like I'd just run a marathon as my heart threatened to burst from my rib cage and go running off down the hallway screeching in fear.

Finally, I managed to get my thoughts back in order, and-


Or not. Yeah... I would definitely have to take a time out here to process this. This can't be real. I mean, seriously, that had to be something like a couple of young mages playing a prank because, I dunno, Sam showed one of them up in math class. Or... or maybe it was a fey preying on her because Sam had just binge watched Star Wars or something. I... I mean, I wasn't exactly the most experienced person in the supernatural world, but somebody would have told me if aliens were real, right?

Right, yeah... this... this was just me jumping to conclusions. That had to be it. I'd just check again just to confirm it was nothing. Right.

I turned myself around, took in a deep, shuddering breath and slid open the door.

A four-foot tall, bald, grey-skinned humanoid stood right there in the closet, staring down at me with its big, black eyes.

Yeah, okay... myth confirmed. That was definitely not a costume.

The alien reached one spindly hand down towards me, and, in a frenzied response, I grabbed hold of the closet door with with both claws, and slid it closed with such force I'm surprised I didn't somehow break it.

All the while screaming of course, because, well, aliens are real and one just apparently tried to abduct me.

... just like they were abducting the little girl.

Oh, God dammit.

I grit my fangs together. Okay, right, aliens are real. And they're terrifying.

And they were trying to take Sam. I mean, okay, I'm a monster, but I don't actually hurt kids. I could remember being a kid, for crying out loud! I just scared them, right? It's what closet monsters do!

Now Sam, she had to be scared out of her mind, and yet I hadn't been able to feel her fear. They were doing something to her, and she needed help.

"Okay, no time to be a coward, Fringe." I said to no one but myself. If these aliens thought they could abduct a little kids, well, they had another thing coming. I flexed my claws, gritted my fangs, flung open the closet door, and with a roar-

-I was hurled across the hallway and crashed into the far wall by a painfully bright flash of light.

"THAT'S CHEATING!" I shouted at the little grey men, as I furiously attempted to blink away the blindness.

Yet as I lay there dazed and confused, nobody tried to make a follow up. Nobody crossed the threshold into darkness. Nobody tried to grab for me. Really, the only thing I could detect was the odd car passing outside of Sam's window on her side of the closet, and a faint terrified scream on my side from another closet monster having a far more successful night.

I guessed those strange little gray men were gone. Good, because they were terrifying. Also, make a mental note to to yell at one of my instructors next time I saw them for, you know, failing to tell me that ALIENS WERE A THING!

Slowly, on all fours, I crawled forward into Sam's room, keeping the shadows tight around me just in case something even weirder happened. I inched towards the bed, my ears alert for any kind of movement, since my eyes were still watering from the blast of light, but there was nothing. Heck, I couldn't even hear Sam breathing.

I couldn't hear Sam breathing.

"SHIT!" I shouted, and jumped forward, shadows twisting space around me so that I appeared right on top of her bed. Her empty bed. The sheets were made perfectly, not a crease or rustle. It was like the bed had never been used before.

The bastards had taken her.

Well, shit.

I scrunched my eyes closed and ground my teeth together. Great job. Just... great job, Fringe. Had I moved just a bit quicker, I might have just saved her from... whatever those things were. But instead, she's gone. Because of GOD DAMNED ALIENS!


It was then that I heard a slight buzzing in my ear, and the fur on the back of my neck started to stand up.

"What now?" I asked, but of course nothing answered me. Instead, the buzzing became a ringing, and the whole room began to brighten.

I made a break for the the closet again, but I wasn't quite fast enough, as another explosion of light sent me careening across Sam's room, where I landed with a thud in a pile of stuffed animals.

Which of course left me completely powerless because, in case you missed the memo, stuffed animals and closet monsters don't mix.

I tried to crawl out from under the pile of lions, tigers, and bears, but whatever had just appeared in the room wasn't having any of it. A hand plunged into the mass of plush, grabbed me around the chest, jerked me up, and slammed me into the wall.


I attempted to squirm my way around to face whatever was holding me pressed against the wall, but it really was an exercise in futility. I did however manage to get out a rather angry "Closet monster!" in response to my assailant's slanderous allegation.

"A talking weasel?"

"For the love of..." I growled between clenched fangs, before trying again. "I'm a closet monster!"

"Truly? Because you look more like a weasel to me."

Oh... whomever this was wasn't gonna be having a good day once I got loose. "Really? Could a weasel do this?" I snapped, and sent my shadow to go and rise up behind whomever was grasping me.

Only it didn't. Nothing happened.

I tried again, furrowing by brow... "Hnng!" Nope, more nothing.

"Umm... you... you wouldn't mind checking to see if there's a teddy or something still caught on my tail? That would be great, thanks."

My assailant wasn't having any of it, and they spun me around so that I could see them face-to-face.

And I immediately figured out why I couldn't use my shadow powers.

See, angels glow.

Yes, standing there bathed in celestial radiance, a burnished silver breastplate gleaming over pristine, white robes, was an angel, wings and all. A young woman by the look things... though it's always hard to tell with angels.

"Cut with your mind-games, beast!" the angel shouted... seriously, if she forgot to put up a field to dampen noise, then Sam's dad should be coming through the door behind her with a shotgun any second now. "Where is Samantha O'Brian?"

"Yeah, not a beast either, thanks..." I really wasn't in the mood to help out this holier-than-thou flygirl. "And, here's the thing, you'd know exactly where she was if you arrived like five minutes ago!"

And now I had a sword of light at my throat. Wonderful.

"So you do know what has befallen here!" the angel had a triumphant look in her eyes, like she had just solved the world's greatest mystery.

"Actually, here's the truth, I really, really, really don't."

The blade pressed in a bit closer. Always one for drama, angels.

"I mean, seriously, I had no idea aliens even existed until tonight."



"Little gray men or reptiles?"

... okay, seriously? This angel here knew about aliens, and yet nobody decided to inform me? I rolled my eyes and clicked my tongue in annoyance. "The gray ones."

The angel staggered back, shock in her eyes, and then fell to her knees. Meanwhile, I just barely managed to dive out of the way of the stuffed animals, and slammed, muzzle first, into the floor.

Just in case I wasn't having a bad enough day.

"No..." my erstwhile assailant moaned. "They have taken her. I... I have failed."

Okay, now this was awkward. I picked myself up from the rather unceremonious position I'd fallen  in, but, well, honestly, I didn't know what to say in circumstances like-

"She was the first child I was assigned to as a guardian!" the angel cried out, before burying her head in her hands and stating to... cry? Seriously?

Right, now this just got really awkward. I inched towards the glowing woman, and, laid a hand on her shoulder, attempting to console her. "Umm... there, there?"

Yeah, and if dad did come in now, he'd have found a six-foot tall glowing, winged woman being consoled by a two-foot tall monster...

That’d be an explanation right there, all right.

Especially when she grabbed me and began sobbing into my fur. Yeah...

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t, you know...” I tried to twist out of her glowing grasp, but it really wasn’t working, “... appreciate the circumstances here, but are you certain... this is best... the best solution?”

Apparently it was, because the crying, if anything, intensified.

“I mean, you’re an angel, right? Can’t you, you know, just fly there and rescue here?”

The angel sniffled and shook her head, the tears continuing to run down her shining face. “I... I can’t. I don’t know where she’s gone. I can’t feel her. She’s too far! She’s gone!”

And then back to the tears. Right, okay, this wasn’t-

“Wait...” the angel said, something seeming to click her her voice.

And then she was holding me up, looking me straight in the eyes, her own grief-stained face deadly serious. “Didn’t you say you were a closet monster?”

This wasn’t the kind of reaction I wanted from that bit of information there. “Umm... yes?” I grinned, trying to look as harmless as possible. Last thing I wanted was a sword of light against my face again.

“Good,” she said, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “Because you’re going to help me rescue Samantha.”

“I’m going to what?” I wasn’t quite certain I heard her right. If an angel couldn’t reach Sam, then how was a closet monster going to help.

The angel set me on the floor, and stood to full height, wiping her face on the billowing sleeves of her robe. Then, she glared down at me.

“You have access to the Netherworld’s network of doors, correct?”

I creased my brow, “Umm... only a few, and it all depends on what I’ve-”

“What I mean is that you can open doors from your world to the next.”

I waved my hand from side to side “It’s not my specialty, though I can do it if needed. But what does this have to do with Sam?”

A grin tugged at the corner of the angel’s mouth. “I suspect the grays’ vessel has a closet.”

Oh... oh! That actually made some sense! There was only one hitch though “How are we going to find her?”

The angel turned to scour the room, before her eyes locked on a stuffed animal, lying on the floor next to bed. She reached down, and picked up a rather ragged looking wolf. “Hmm...” the angel muttered, looking it over. “This was her favourite. Seems a bit worse for wear since the last time I saw it.”

My ears flattened against my head and I looked down at the ground. “That... that was me. Whitefang there has a bit of a bite, and, uhh... yeah."

The angel shot me a withering glare, but thankfully didn’t decide to lecture me on the evils of haunting children. Instead, she tucked the stuffed wolf into her belt. “Regardless, it should be able to lead us to her.”

I nodded, not really understanding what she was doing, but hey, if she said it’d work, I’d trust her. I mean, she was an angel after all.

Several awkward seconds passed, as I waited for her to do something, or say something, before she gestured at the closet. “Well?”

“Oh! Right!” I bounded over to open door, and slid my hand on through to Shadow. “After you!”

The angel walked over, and grimaced. It was evident that this really wasn’t something she was looking forward to. But, with an admirable degree of courage, she stepped through and into the Realm of Terror.

I followed right after, sliding the door shut behind me.

The angel looked up and down shadow-cloaked grey hallway we found ourselves in, deep shadows billowing around our feet. “This is it?”

I looked up at her. It was clear she thought the Netherworld would be more, well, grand. “Oh, this? God no! This is just the easiest way to get to Sam’s room. It’s just a back hallway at the crumbled ruin of her school.” I shrugged. “Apparently, it connects to ruined remains of a classroom at that end of the hall there,” I pointed to the left, “and the local swimming pool that way,” I pointed to the right. “Where the water is alive and tries to drown kids.”

“Charming...” the angel sighed. “So how do we get out?”

I looked up and down the hallway, my eyes passing over the varied doors. Most of them lead to other closets, of course, which is not what we needed here. Right, which of these was out? Ahh, yes!

I jumped up, bounced off the wall, grabbed a loose rope, and dropped to the ground with the rope in tow, throwing open a set of curtains.

The eternal twilight of the Netherworld poured into the hallway, sending the cloudy shadows skittering for the far ends of the hall. Behind the curtains what a window, which looked out across an abandoned schoolyard, the rusted remains of the playground rising like the skeleton of some long-dead beast at its heart. At the edge of the weed-choked field, dozens of rows of dark, boarded-up homes loomed, their dark windows staring vacantly at the barren trees and broken lampposts surrounding them.

I grinned up at the angel “Ta-dah!”

“This... this is the Netherworld?” the angel seemed to be shocked. “I wasn’t expected something so... bleak.”

“Hey!” I glared. “You don’t hear me going to Heaven and griping about your choice to wrap everything in gold and alabaster, or whatever it is you do there.”

“You’re right, my apologies.”

“Besides,” I shrugged, “This is just a crummy part of the Netherworld.”

Oh, if looks could kill... I wouldn’t have been able to smirk as widely as I did.

“Regardless!” she said, swinging open the window and letting in the Netherworld’s chill breeze. “We have a child to save!” She removed the wolf from her belt, and held it close to her chest. She stood there, her eyes closed for several long seconds, before her breath caught in her throat. “I have her... hold on.”

“Hold on to-” I wasn’t able to finish off my question before she had scooped me up, and then launched into the air.

It turns out angels travel really, really fast.

I gripped onto her robes for dear life as she rocketed across the skies of Shadow. It took her only a few minutes before her feet touched down on some kind of metal surface with a “clang!”

“We’re here,” she announced.

“Yep,” I replied.

“You can let go of me now,” she said, looking down at me.

“You know, I will once my stomach catches back up to me, thanks.”

The angel sighed, and pressed onwards into the... whatever we were. It seemed to be some kind of abandoned factory, overgrown with rust and chains. She stopped at a strange looking circular door in the wall. “Here!” the angel lay her hand on the door. “Samantha is behind here!”

“Umm, right!” I said, as I untangled my claws from her robes. “Right, okay, don’t worry, I’ve got this!”

The angel thankfully stepped back, allowing me to gather the shadows around me. Opening a door like this would be a first for me, but, well, saving a little girl’s life would also be a first, so it was going to be one of those days, it seemed.

I let the shadows ooze into the door, loosening it, easing the connection between the land of the living and the realm of nightmares. I wasn’t exactly certain how long it would take, but thankfully the angel didn’t seem to either, and was being incredibly patient with me.

And then it clicked.

Light flicked in from around the door and I let loose an explosive sigh. “One door to secret alien base, just as you ordered!”

The angel beamed and walked forward. “Spaceship.”


“The grays take their abductees into space, usually beyond the orbit of the moon. That’s why I couldn’t fly there.”

I stared at the door. So I’d just connected to a ship that was further than the moon?

Well, that happened.

“So, then,” I looked up at the angel, “What’s the plan?”

“The plan? You stay back here and keep the door safe. I’m going to rescue Samantha.”

“Seriously?” I gestured at the door, “I just opened a portal into space!”

The angel looked down at me with a twinge of annoyance. “You’re also a two-foot tall weasel-”


“-who is better suited to slinking about than to taking on the grays’ security forces!”

I growled. Fine, if she wanted to go in all guns blazing, that was her call. Angels gonna smite, I guess.

And so, begrudgingly, I opened up the door. Beyond stood a strange hallway, lit by the same sterile blue light I’d seen before from the alien’s device.

The angel made to step through, but before she did, she looked down at me. “If I don’t make it, know that you have my thanks...” she placed her hands over her brestplate.

“Uhh... yeah, thanks for trying to get Sam back. She’s a good kid, and she really doesn’t deserve what... what do you mean if you don’t come back?”

The angel plucked a feather from one of her mighty wings and passed it to me. “Should I fall, take this to the mortals’ world and call for the angel Telemiel. Tell him Heather has fallen.”

I looked down at the shimmering white feather. “Okay, you can’t be serious...”

But the angel... or rather, Heather, I should say, was off, heading down the corridor, shining blade in hand.

“Right...” I sighed, and slumped against the doorway. Watching, waiting, hoping she knew what she was doing and wasn’t just racing off on some grief-stricken suicide run. “STUPID!” I shouted and slammed my head against the wall. The clang was thankfully drowned out by the sounds of screams and... lasers? Something shooting.

Well, that wasn’t good.

I inched forward, but then remembered what Heather had said. I was only a closet monster. What could I do? Especially here?

I stopped myself halfway down the hallway with a sigh. I was just a glorified doorwoman... or a weasel. She was right. What was I thinking?

But then, as I turned back towards the door, I felt a tingle run down my back, as a familiar, misty blackness wrapped around me.


Mortal fear.

Correction... I had been useless.

A grin split my face as I absorbed the strange fear into myself. Seems that an angel appearing in full celestial glory could terrify even these aliens.

Now, I wasn’t exactly good at this, but, well, desperate times. Seems like it was my time to save to the day here.

So, with that alien fear, I let loose the monster within.

And she was very, very angry.
Fringe and the Angel
Another short story, featuring our favourite human-come-closet monster!


This one was in response to a writing prompt: "When a child is abducted by aliens, the child's guardian angel joins forces with the monster under the bed to save them." Now, that just so one of the most Horror Shop-ish prompts to ever be written ever. And so I jumped on it, and decided to have Fringe meet some aliens.

The rest, as they say, is comedy. Or action. Or whatever. 

This also helped me get a better grasp on Fringe's character for when I actually continue her story forwards.  If you're trying to place this in relation to her introductory piece, this is about eight or so months on, when she's gotten a much better handle on the whole "closet monster" thing.

As per usual, horrors belong to :iconthevizir:, but if you've got any questions, concerns, or comments, feel free to ask me here and I'll try getting back to you as soon as possible!
Well, here's Fringe the closet monster from a series of short stories I'm working on for the Horror Shop 'verse!

In introduced her in this eponymous short story here, and decided to keep her story going beyond that rather ambiguous end there. I'll be posting more of it as we get closer to the release of the Horror Shop comic, as something of an introduction to the universe for those who haven't exactly been following all the rambling I've been doing. 

For those who haven't yet read the story, Fringe here used to be a young human from good ol' Earth, before she ran away from something terrifying, stumbled into the Pit, and got remade into a horror... because that's kinda what the Pit does to souls that enter in. Specifically, she was remade as a weasel-like closet monster. Or, I guess ferret-like, because she looks better with the mask. Details! 

Anyhow, the story will follow her as she gets a crash course on what it means to be a horror, as well as all the magic and mystery that was lurking in the shadows of the world that she just so happened to miss.

Anyhow, as per usual, the horrors and the Horror Shop universe belong to yours truly, :iconthevizir:. If you've got any questions, comments, or concerns, let me know, and I will try my best to get back to you posthaste!

And keep an eye out for more information on the Horror Shop comic, written by myself and illustrated by the incredibly talented :iconmbeau:! Coming soon to an Internet near you! 
The Bogeyman has thirteen heads
Thirteen heads and thirteen hands
The first head's mouth holds twisted lies
Lies that twist the hearts of man
The second head thinks of naught but greed
Greed that wants for all that's grand
The third head sings songs of the deeps
The deeps that rise to drown the land
The fourth head shrieks in bloody rage
Rage too many wars have fanned
The fifth head is a stump of rot
Rot twining plague through your glands
The sixth's head breath brings winter's frost
And frost-bit crops 'pon viney strand
The seventh head's teeth rend and gnash
Gnash on your bones in dark woodlands
The eighth head whispers vile curses
Curses your soul to Hell, damn'd
The ninth head tells secrets of your death
Death in the dark, just as planned
The tenth head burns and blazes black
Black as your bones in desert sands
The eleventh head trades 'way your pain
More pain's the price the knives demand
The twelfth head's eye, it watches all
All the little gears follow its commands
The thirteenth head's a glowing grin
A grin, a laugh, and a gnarled hand
The Bogeyman has thirteen heads
Thirteen heads and thirteen hands
The Bogeyman
A little nursery rhyme I wrote up about the mythological Bogeyman of the Horror Shop 'verse.

Like every good nursery rhyme, this one bares an element of truth, shrouded in fable and misinterpretations.  Folks who've followed my work for a while here will probably be able to separate the grain from the chaff here!

As per usual, the horrors and the Horror Shop mythos belongs to yours truly here, :iconthevizir:, with thanks to :icongaius-of-xor: for proofreading and advising here. Because I really suck at poetry!

Anyhow, enjoy all!
Jun 22, 2016
:iconthevizir:thevizir has changed their username (formerly DasSovietCanuck)


thevizir's Profile Picture
B. Visser
Artist | Student | Literature
Freelance journalist from Northern Alberta, Canada; worldbuilding fanatic, Pathfinder RPG enthusiast, and political junkie. Loves sci-fi, steampunk, and low-magic settings; is a huge fan of Gothic and Victorian horror.

Also, not actually a communist. Took the name as a tounge-in-cheek reference to Soviet Canuckistan, and ran with it.

Current Residence: Cowtown, Canuckistan
Favourite genre of music: Power Metal, Jazz and/or Drum Corps
Favourite photographer: Dorothea Lange
Favourite style of art: Comedic/light hearted
Operating System: Windows 7
MP3 player of choice: Sony Walkman
Wallpaper of choice: Halloweeny stuff - quelle suprise!
Favourite cartoon character: George W. Bush. Whaddya mean he's real? Are you trying to give me nightmares?
Personal Quote: It is better to be roughly right than precisely wrong. -- John Maynard Keynes


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AchillobatorPrince Featured By Owner Apr 16, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Just to be clear, the Kithkin are an extraterrestrial, alien race, correct? And Cirundi is an alien planet completely unrelated to earth, right?
thevizir Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2016  Student Writer
Usually, yes, the kithkin are an extraterrestrial, alien race, and Cirundi is another planet unrelated to Earth; though I did use a map of Carboniferous Earth as a base for the map before tweaking it (and I will probably continue tweaking the world until it reaches the point that I'm happy with it). 

Now, this is not always true, as in my current Pathfinder game, Cirundi is a continent on the planet that was sunk beneath the waves, and thus the kithkin are not extraterrestrial, but merely not from the Lands of Mists, not unlike the kitsune, catfolk, vanara, or wayang. It all depends on what kind of story I want to use them in at the moment! 
AchillobatorPrince Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
That's pretty interesting, thanks.
Henderzon Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2015  Student General Artist
Thank you very much for the fave and the comment! :)
Sykonesis Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the favourite and nice comment.It feels nice for some reason.
thevizir Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015  Student Writer
No problem! I try =D
CSA-FDoL Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fav!
WIZBA Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
thanks for the fav :)
Kaniac101 Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the fave on my monster under the bed entry :D
Adasca Featured By Owner Jun 14, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Aw, Thanks for the watch! La la la la 
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