Decay

Jim worked in a field that left his definition of “deceased” a little blurred.

It had sort of called to him ever since he was a child – that desire to distort the line between life and death, to explore what he could outside the bounds of “nature.” His father had been a pious man, a preacher, but where his mother had been quiet and kind, his father had been cruel and his words had rang out like God himself was using him as an amplifier. He could still hear the hellfire spilling from his lips as he lorded over his congregation, spoke of sin and eternal damnation. Whenever he’d preach those things – promises of punishment for being a heathen –  he’d always look down at his son in the first row. It was like he’d seen something sinister in the boy on the day he was born, and every move Jimmy made only solidified that suspicion.

So Jim had done what came natural – he had cowered from his father, turned away from his warnings of damnation and demons. It wasn’t out of spite (he had never been too spiteful, really) but out of fear, a desire to protect himself. He wasn’t bad, right? He hadn’t even done anything wrong, at least, not until he turned twelve and met the witch that would grant him his very first spellbook, would whisper that he had potential, that he had a knack for black magic.

That had been years back, though, in another story altogether – a time when he’d been fragile, swayed by his desire for approval, to find a place he belonged. He was hardly that watery eyed preacher’s son anymore – now he was a thirty-something year old necromancer who hadn’t shaved in a week or so, who smelt of sulfur and gore and stale cigarettes. He lived in the middle of nowhere in a dirty little trailer, and practiced his craft within the shelter of those rotting particleboard walls.

Things were, he assumed, as good as they’d ever get.

Continue reading Decay

Self Goretrait

Warning: Blood, gore, organs

 

genderterror_selfgoretraitsmwm

I’m Kelly, a bisexual cis woman with bipolar disorder, and you can find more of my work on my twitter or my art tumblr. If you’re a fan of my work, I currently offer commissions! Watch out! My art isn’t often the kind you can safely enjoy at work! I’m a big fan of gore and erotica and especially enjoy combining the two.

Continue reading Self Goretrait

Creator Profile: GRYPT

Their Twitter bio reads an “unholy trinity based in LA creating music + interactive”. Having been together since 2013, GRYPT is more than just a band. They are also writers as well as sound designers. Their music is available on Spotify, with the first chapter of their monthly horror serial available on Bandcamp.

This mysterious trio is made up of Romie Romak, their vocalist, writer, and narrator. The other members, Taylor Shechet and Myrrh Ka Ba, are much more mysterious as to their roles. Fitting for the band, their eerie sound, and the content they create.

Eerie is the best way to describe GRYPT, in my experience. From listening to The Blob Stares Back, to listening to their first album Thy Flesh Consumed, an eerie tone and sound is pervasive. It drips and oozes this eeriness in sound and word. As eerie as one would say a glass crypt would be.

Below is a small interview with front woman, Romie Romak, about the band, their work, and her influences.

[Interview appears as was written by Romie with minor corrections]

As most interviews start, what is GRYPT?

GRYPT is a horror themed multimedia project. At the core we are a band, making tracks and playing shows and such, but we also create fiction and other audio media.
We’ve recently been working on an audio drama that I write and narrate each month, accompanied with sound design and scoring by GRYPT.

Why GRYPT? Why interactive horror media?

GRYPT, the name, is a made up magic word we coined by combining the words ‘glass’ and ‘crypt.’

Having been brought together by the shared influence of the Horror genre, it was unavoidable. Being horror themed as a project, I mean.

As far as creating original multimedia Horror, We wanted to show the scoring capabilities of GRYPT, as well as an experiment with bringing my story ideas to the table. Our recent audio fiction piece is an exercise in channeling the classic Americana of War of the Worlds or EC comics.

What are some of your influences?

Musically, we (GRYPT) are varied but all come from a place of having been into industrial, IDM or trip hop or whatever at some point or another..

We harbor a semi-secret plan to make nu metal influence cool, in a myriad of different ways, varying in directness.

Fiction writing wise, personally, I’m a total retrophile. I have a passion for the time period of whacky, cash-in, increasingly obscure VHS horror. I’m just drawn to stories where the concept itself is the only real character in the movie. And, as I think I mentioned, I live for old horror comics. There is a certain magic to those things I try to recapture.

The Blob Stares Back. I listened to Chapter 0 and I must say the combination of your [Romie] voice and the soundtrack is absolutely amazing. How long does it take to do a chapter?

Thank you.
We do each chapter the month before it is released.. I go in, record my narration, then Taylor and Myrrh Ka Ba the score and sound design landscape.

I have no idea how the story will end. I’m writing each chapter as I go.

Will people be able to get the full story anywhere? Like an audio book of sorts?

We plan to release The Blob Stares Back, when it’s finished as an album and perhaps a companion book of illustrations would be in order.

In the meantime, anyone can subscribe to receive the next chunk of the story each month if they support us on Patreon. There is no minimum donation required to get The Blob Stares Back.

Also, the first 7 chapters will be aired October 13th on KXLU. We’ll be there on the air with our homie Jarrod from Girl Pusher.

Where to go from here?

We have new music to succeed our last album, Thy Flesh Consumed, which will be released soon.

In the meantime, we’re also figuring out how to finish The Blob Stares Back..

 

If you enjoy spooky tunes or a good old school style audio serial, check out The Blob Stares Back. Chapter 0 alone is filled with wonderful ambiance that matches Romie’s perfect tone for this type of work. Taylor Shechet and Myrrh Ka Ba provide a wonderful soundtrack that could be released alone. The Blob Stares Back matches the worlds and feeling of old school horror VHS, making you feel involved even if you aren’t.

If you want more on GRYPT you can find all the necessary information on their Patreon or Twitter.

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Worms 1

wmsm

 

hello, i’m nick! i’m an ftm man born and raised in nyc, and my favorite art topics are ultraviolence, body horror, decomp, and general gross crap that isn’t appropriate to talk about with your dad at the dinner table. at the moment, you can catch me on twitter or on my art tumblr.

i feel like the exploration of graphic horror has helped me to understand this concept of life – both mine and my loved ones’ – being something fragile, where everything can change in an instant, and so it’s important for me to be honest with myself every day and try to live life fully. horror, therefore, was sort of the jumping off point for my transitioning journey, in that i wanted further honesty with myself and my identity. the acceptance of death, gore, violence etc. has helped me to accept myself as i am in life and reminded me to count my blessings.

Continue reading Worms 1

Scrawling

By:  Emilie V Sovis

I – The Parchment

         The silence drives me to desperation. I am here in the dark, with little left of life but a desire to end the madness. Here is my final hope, my last call into the darkness that crawls ever closer to me. This is my recollection and record of the nightmare that has beset us all, and left us, far from one another, alone and quaking.

My skin has taken upon it a pallor like that of the grave. My eyes, peeled wide from staring into darkness have gathered beneath them bags of tired blood and weakened plasma, the children of my rampant insomnia. My hair is filthy; my skin is made-up with the dust of these long dead passages. My fingers are cut and callused and my nails are but brittle, receding refugees of cracked cartilage. I have not the beauty I once did. I have become a rotten ghost, a pitiful creature, and a terror to the eyes, but nothing compared to what moves in the darkness around me.

Continue reading Scrawling

Devilbabes n Jawboys

gt3markedsmall

Hi! I’m Francine Queen, or Witnesstheabsurd on tumblr and Personfaces on twitter! I was invited to produce a piece for Genderterror and couldn’t be more happy to contribute – the inherent beauty of “monstrosity” or the grotesque has been an intrinsic element of my work for the full span of my career and likely, always will be. A couple of years back I came up with an archetypal design that resonated w some of what I appreciated in both human and monster bodies – the “Jawboy” – impeccably sculpted muscles, long talons, and most importantly, a vats pair of eyeless, slavering jaws hiding kitchen knife fangs. I revisited a similar concept for the Genderterror piece, but this time opted to remove facial features entirely, instead focusing on a long coiling pair of horns. Crucially, the face is blank barring a series of bloody marks, potentially wounds, potentially self-inflicted- I wanted to create a character whose identity was self-created, whose identity might appear inexplicable or horrific to an onlooker – something that drew parallels with my own womanhood, being trans and queer. I hope you enjoy the work and i’m looking forwards to potentially appearing again here soon! I’m available to commission at witnesstheabsurd@hotmail.com, as well.

(Fyi this is how she kisses )

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All The Hungry Ghosts

Wait to be consumed.

Emile’s apartment is stripped down. You were supposed to meet him this morning for burgers, so you could talk about the latest news of the of the condemned hospital down the street. He never showed up, and now he’s missing. Every trace of him is gone, all but for papers scrawled with nonsense strings, littered around his bedroom walls and floor. His computer monitor is covered in bad video card static, and you can’t get it to shut down.

The cops have nothing to say that can comfort you. You take his jacket to have something to remember him by in case you never see him again. It’s purple, and thick and warm, and you always kind of wanted it anyway. You walk home.
A

The walk is uneventful, and the cool autumn air is the kind that makes you feel thoughtful. You think about Emile, and all the weird papers on his walls. Emile was a pretty oddball sort of guy, just the type you’d get along with, but he wasn’t the sort to just up and disappear. At least you don’t think so.The Mind is Meat and Water.

You try to think back to the last time you saw him, but all you can really recall are the papers. How they’d been neatly stacked by his desk, as he talked to you about a new project. He wanted to start an ectoplasm collection, and you were both supposed to do some research on the condemned hospital down the street over its viability for an ectoplasmic farm. You and Emile both love that kind of stuff. Creepy Slime is only one of several schemes Emile has hatched that has kept you both occupied long enough to stave off feelings that you may not belong on planet Earth.

And now he’s missing. Show Yourself.

 

Continue reading All The Hungry Ghosts

Smiles and Lies

This piece was originally written in 2010, before I transitioned. The piece remains in its original format.

Hiding
Hiding
Suppressing
Suppressing

No matter what
It won’t stop
It won’t go away

No matter how hard I try
He stays and he stays
Digging and clawing

He begs and he begs
He whispers into my ears
and fills my dreams

Without him I am nothing
But he is not all of me
Acceptance is mutual

My dark passenger
Such a love-hate
He is all that is
And is all that I am

Yet he is not what they see
Nor will he ever be
Forever hidden
Behind a lie and a smile

Bullshit bullshit they cry
but they do not know
know one ever knows

people wonder why they never know
because it is always hidden behind
a smile and a lie

a monster can dream
and a monster can fear
but a monster will always lie

Always hidden behind a smile and a lie
always in the shadows
of your mind
of my mind

he whispers and speaks
and I gladly listen
for a monster’s plan is always
quite pleasant

for his dreams and his schemes
for his nightmares and his lusts
I am held captive

for I am the monster
who smiles and lies
who hides behind the clever disguise

the one you never suspected
was capable of anything
quite like the monsters

dreams and schemes
smiles and lies
we all hide behind

smiles and lies
smiles and lies

without them we are nothing
no where to hide no where to run
but we will always exist

they never see us
because our dreams and schemes
are all hidden behind
smiles and lies

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Sunflower Blood

Trigger/Content Warning: Sexual Assault

She saw the boys surrounding her sister. She saw her sister’s face bloody and beaten. She saw bruises covering her arms. And then she heard her scream. One of the boys dropped down in front of her, knife in hand. He spread open her legs.

And then Delilah shot up in bed, the heat from the sun already beating down heavily upon her forehead. Fear found its way into her sweat. It dripped into her eye and made her jump. She rushed over to the phone to call her best friend.

#

Dante reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of pink-rimmed glasses, handing them to Delilah. He smiled.

“I’m scared.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of, D. You think I’d let you get hurt?”

Continue reading Sunflower Blood

Going Home

There was nothing left aside from the void of absolute nothingness. It had all faded away to black. The rust, the blood, tears and muck, had all slid away like sewage down a storm drain. It was all gone save for Alexander, left alone on the frigid floor to question and cry foul for the rest of what may as well become eternity. What happened to it all? To the quiet evil and lumbering oppressive heat all around him, the murky blackness taken tangible form. What brought him to this moment of utter and definitive nothingness?

Nowhere as a concept always comes across in an abstract or even in most cases strictly metaphorical way, and yet that’s where he was. The physical space no better described than the simple noun of ”Nowhere.” Darkness stretches out in every visible direction with no foreseeable end to its emptiness, not that Alexander was going anywhere. His body felt heavy, weighed down by the hopelessness of sitting in the middle of expansive nothingness. He couldn’t even remember how long he’d been sitting there in the dark, if there even was a before making this supposed afterward. The only thing remaining inside him beyond the hopelessness was a virulent feeling of guilt, the knowledge of doing wrong without recalling what it was. It was at constant odds with the hopelessness within, trying to push him out of utter apathy and into self loathing bitterness. His mind felt split in two pulling itself perpetually back and forth.

Then the light came. The nothingness was purged by its introduction, swiftly whisked away in an unbridled fury. Alexander thought he felt the weight lifting off of his being, but it was still there burrowing deeper inside as he was carried up by the light into its brilliance. There was no safety nor security in this brilliance, just uncertainty. It became it’s own brand of nothingness stretching upward instead of outward, pulling him into the light. He wondered if this was his absolution at last, a merciful hand outstretched freeing him from the pain of uncertain guilt and hopeless apathy. He was wrong.

The light disappeared as swiftly as it came, taking Alexander’s newfound hope with it. He laid outstretched on a cold surface akin to the one he sat on before, his appendages bound and secured by an unseen force beyond his recognition or understanding. He had found yet another nothingness filling him with the toxic uncertainty, only left to obsess over his equally uncertain guilt. Alexander feared this new nothingness, but this fear was short-lived and replaced with pain. The pain began and never ceased. Every nerve ending of every corner of every section of every part of his body screamed, never in unison but at countless unpredictable intervals. There was no more apathy nor uncertainty, only the pain. The pain and the guilt buried within, clawing at his insides as furiously as the pain did his outsides. At what seemed like the peak of it all, the culmination of physical and metaphorical pains twisting his body and mind beyond their respective limits, he had an epiphany. Alexander heard one word inside himself over all the pain and guilt and uncertainty. One simple word, a name he’d since forgotten. Joshua.

And with that remembrance came his true absolution, Alexander’s liberation from this hellish nothingness of pain. Fury, his only weapon and only option. Pulling himself free from his invisible restraints, Alexander makes out blurred grey figures swarming around him. The figures shout and converse in a seemingly unintelligible way, as if they all spoke a language he did not. Instead he heard the name chanting in his head, Joshua, Joshua, Joshua, Joshua. He raised his fist to the air as his true weapon manifested. His guilt and pain processed into physical form, an unyielding slab born of his hopelessness. Alexander swung the slab without effort, cleaving through the small varied figures, their chattering replaced with sounds of terror. More and more figures came and more and more were cut down by Alexander’s newfound fury. Still he heard the name in his head, louder and louder the more it repeated.

Then the light returned, pushing and pulling against him. He struggled to maintain his footing as he slashed and swung wildly all around him, figures now scattering in attempts at escape. Within the light around him came a hole, a hole to something else. Something that felt strangely familiar. Before long he felt himself being pulled towards the hole with incredible force, his footing swept out from beneath him. He resigned himself to this force, no longer holding onto the fear of hopeless uncertainty, barreling toward whatever laid beyond. A manic smile spread across his face.

The hole passed and Alexander continued forward, a burning sensation building all over his body. The flames felt like pin pricks compared to the pain of the table, only spurring him forward towards familiarity. As the flames grew his remaining uncertain worry waned, releasing him from all that held him back. The pulling force turned to plummeting as Alexander realized what this familiarity was. He wasn’t just being drawn back through the hole, he was falling back to the depths he once sat in. The frozen floor replaced with scalding steel surface, the blackness given way to the oppressive heat once again. He collided with the surface leaving a scar in the space of his re-entry. The blood and rust had returned filling Alexander with the heat of his newfound purpose. He screamed toward whence he came the name he had so fervently chanted inside his mind.

Alexander pulled himself up within the smoking crater, emerging from the scar reborn. Steam hissed and gears groaned as he marched forward, dragging the ferocious slab behind him as he went. To most it would sound as tho nails were scraping against steel but to him it was clarity given audibility. With this and the myriad of other sounds following and guiding him as he marched he felt more and more sure of his newfound purpose. No longer shackled metaphorically nor physically, Alexander found joy in it, this purpose.

The way he saw it, They did this to them. It was They who cast them aside as if they were trash. It was They who tried to erase him, to purge him and those who mattered. It was only right They suffer as well, and who better to deliver said suffering other than he?

So onward he marched, jubilant and focused. Ready to inflict on Them every monstrous act he had endured. He had found bliss in this state, this twisted notion of right born from unparalleled abuse at the hands of the monstrous.

Alexander was home.

***

BlaineProfile

Blaine is a 25 y.o. Non-Binary/Trans Gender-Fluid writer who loves all kinds of media, especially video games and cartoons.

 

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