Forums Horror Movie Talk
WHERE THE DEAD SPEAK: The second revelation...

ts.

The third, held the wooden pulpit where the archbishop gave his long and arduous liturgies.Down the backde of the three-tiered stage towards the east end of the cathedral was an archway opening, disheveled with violet philodendron ivies, casting small flaming shadows from candlelight.

The narrow passage was long and nuous directing to a small chapel.

The glossy hardwood floors mirrored the effervescent stained glass images from above.

The interior of the enduring church was impeccable, with a fresh relaxing ambiance. Hanging on an easel next to the entranceway into the chapel was a display board:

Monday: 8: 30-10:00 A.M.- Early Morning Liturgy10:30-12:00 A.M.- Sermon on Revelation 14:712:30-2:00P.M. –Lunch2:30 P.M.- Trip to Peoria bishopric Tuesday thru Sunday was blank. .. It was down in the bowels of the monastery that invited somewhat of a different tranquility.

The halls were narrowly confined with perplexing walls, constructed of loose concrete and worn down clay.

There were thick coats of searing candle wax streaming down the walls onto the tainted floor in nearly every corner.

It was the only light to lead the way. Scorched steaming water dripped from the aged water pipes that veined the basement ceiling beams.

At the far west end of a large vestibule was the entrance into a lonely soul, Father Myrtle Lee Sutter’s chambers.

Smothering stale tones of heavy soot festooned the walls with-in the room.

Inde, lying cloaked under a warm mauve blanket atop a small cot was the somber remains of a once strong, noble, mentoring and prudent, Father Sutter.His keen wisdom and uncanny enchantment mesmerized many Sunday mass children in the forum during story time.

Daunting to some children, most of them now adults, who did not take his ill-animated features too kindly. A mere shadow of a man, his shady auburn hair was now a thinning scarce white.

His blotted skin tightly pressed bloodless against his cheekbones.

Reminiscent of an old worn down boxer, his huge nose, eclipsed the rest of his face.

In the blink of an eye, after his sudden stroke, he lost most of his ability to speak, rapidly slowed in his coherency to most of those around him, soon finally becoming ambulatory, incontinent and in a catatonic phase.

Just three days ago he came down with a severe case of pneumonia, assumed by most of the clergyman to be approaching his time for particular judgment.Father Tim Otto was tting by his de.

Tim’s calm hands brushed away the cold sweat from Myrtle’s right brow. “The chills have gotten worse.”

He whispered with his eyes clinched shut, knowing the inevitable truth that lie ahead for his dear friend.

Dry eye goop had adhered, intertwined into Myrtles thick eyelashes, clinching his right eyelids together.

In a rusted bowl next to the cot, the fusty remains of a small dab of water absorbed into Tim’s handkerchief.

Father Tim’s lean fingers wiped and smeared Myrtle’s eyelid apart, revealing a pale, flaxen eyeball.

A mucous yellow film swallowed up the whites and pupil of his eye.

Alarmed, Tim swiftly sat up-right, leaning slightly away from him.“Myrtle Lee…. Father, what happened to your eye?”The foul stench from Myrtle’s breath and the sour infection in his friend’s eye caused Father Tim to break out in a vomiting cough.

He pulled another clean handkerchief from his pocket; dropping the damp one in the empty bowl, sheltering his mouth.

Tim could remember overhearing some nurses aids converng together earlier in the week, about Sutter ranting into brutal rages, muttering innumerable obscurities, uncanny slurs,

late into the night before his stroke.

The fits were so horrid one of them told how he tore two fingernails on his left hand clean off while scratching at the door.

“Bit one of em off and spat it at ster Hamlin.”

Tim remembered seeing her eyes squint as she spoke with a southern hospitality accent.With the realization of his nearing exit his fellow clergymen agreed to honor his requests not to expire alone in a sanatorium, but with-in the confines of the church for which he belonged to faithfully for over half a century.

They would do all they could to ease his pains until the Lord decided to come for him. “I’m going to call Doctor Shuvana, so he can come take a look at that eye.”

Tim knew

Sutter could not rejoinder; however he may be able to hear the gruff tone of his voice.

Talking to

him, may soothe him if anything.

A small lump of seepage began to ooze out from underneath

Sutters infected bottom eyelid.

“I’m going to refill this fresh for you.” Leaning over reaching for

Sutter’s

water bowl, his elbow popped and knees creaked.

I’m getting old, too fast, too soon.

He blinked it away. As Tim stood to leave, he noticed an intruve smell that hovered near the ceiling.

“What is

that?”

His nostrils flared.

The pungency of ammonia in the cellar’s air shifted towards him.

The

culprit was found, as he glanced towards the grim corner of the room. Flies were flocking, feasting around the smudged edges of a commode dish, withdrawing in

teams from underneath the lid. “Oh my heavenly God, Father Sutter, when was the last time

Carrie was here to clean this place up?” Ung his handkerchief with his free hand, he gripped the

arm of the wooden commode box.

Luckily, it was on wheels.

The hinges from the solid slate of

heavy oak pierced, like a needle through his eardrum, as he budged the chamber door open.

He rolled the commode just outde the door and left it, most certainly for Carrie.On his way to the kitchen about halfway through the maze walls, he noticed a painting hung in- between two lit candelabrums.

It was of a raven, the black bird with the haunting, movable stare; it never really stood out to him before now.

A small plaque was mounted just below the picture reading its creator.

The hallways were complex; Tim knew them well and could ealy navigate them. Father Tim Otto was originally from Downey, California.

He worked as a carpenter for a little over thirty years,

before retiring and moving to the Quad City area.

He was tall with a skinny build, too tall even, with a slight hump on the top of his back from many years of having to duck under things. He had helped his father finish the construction of the Downey Theater in 1971.

Still, even now, he could smell the orange groves that grew in the vast fields.

The scent was very familiar to him, after

having the fruits squashed under his feet on nearly a daily bas, where he assted in the redevelopment of the Downey area, back in the late 50’s.He became a part of the priesthood in 1973.

Strong with his faith, he was proud to have taken this new path in his life.

If only Mom were alive to see me now.

Not today, however.

He was far too busy caring for Father Sutter to think much of anything else.

After lunch, earlier in the day he honorably volunteered to stay behind with the ailing priest so all of the senior clergymen could leave for their outing to Peoria.The church was empty.

Excluding Tim and Sutter, that is.

The loud grumble, like that of a steam engine, from the furnace firing up, the pings from swaying

pipes and the subtle settlement of the interior foundation played in dissonance. It wasn’t the lonely trip to the church kitchen, nor the mind chattering rings from the

unanswered phone call to Doctor Shuvana, to inform him about Sutters ailing status quo, or the

uneasy feeling he had in the pit of his stomach returning to the colorless dwelling where Sutter

lie.

With a fresh bowl of Missppi deluge, having not spilled a drop.

The shrilling hinges of the heavy

door, echoed once again down the corridors.

It was what he saw, soon after entering the room

that would change his life forever. Tim was horrified; the ght of Father Sutter, nude, standing straight up, his knees

trembling with vicious repent, his head was limpid, his face, swarthy slight, undefined, his head

was tilted downward with his good eye closed and the infectious yellow eye wide open, piercing

directly into Tim’s own.“Dear Lord Almighty...what in the...!”The fresh bowl of water fell free from Tim’s hands, spilling it all over the grimy floor.

An ear-deafening reverberation from the steel bowl filled throughout the room and down the halls.

For a split second he could see his own reflection in Sutter’s eyeball.

His greasy white hair was chaotically tangled sloped down partially in front of his face.Tim’s cheeks burned red and eyes widened, “Father, are you O.K.?”

He whispered hoarsely with the lump of his atom’s apple painfully hard to swallow.

Tim gnashed his teeth together with fear.

The overwhelming odor of the chamber worsened, nearly nauseating Father Tim, forcing himself to swallow his own vomit as it tried vigorously to penetrate his lips.Diarrhea was clinging to Sutter’s thigh running a slimy trail down his bare right thigh behind his knee.

“Father , you should try and t....”

Tim began, only to be interrupted by some incendiary words of Father Sutter’s, his first words in nearly two weeks, the Father had lifted his right arm to point his frail fingers towards a diluted area inde his chambers that was hidden from the dull light.

The water that was dripping from the pipes slowed to a stop.

“The Lark is in the chest!”

Father Myrtle bellowed from deep with-in his guts.There was an immediate frozen lence.

Tim’s heart nearly skipped a beat.

Sutter looked to be embodied by another form.

His voice was stern and nefarious.“Take it from here, now.”

Sutter pitched in with a rather light enchanting whisper.Sutter’s teeth were encased with layers of unscathed plaque and loathing venom.

Sutter’s knees crackled beneath him buckling him down hard on top of his cot, the front leg of the cot bent, almost caung it to collapse.

Sutter softy mumbled small cries as his body rocked back and forth.

Father Sutter was murky and frightening; his voice seemed to slow some with snappish crackles.

His head rocked back and forth, dark blotches filled his eye sockets, his face... expresonless.

Tim walked over towards the direction Sutter had pointed and vaguely distinguished an old haggard trunk covered in a thick layer of dust.The lock looked as if it had been busted or pried opened with something beforehand.

Tim effortlessly opened the trunk and immediately sneezed from the circumventing dust particles bursting into his nostrils.

Behind him, he noticed that Father Sutter had quit whimpering.

There was old newspaper articles stacked on top of each other and some old Frank natra albums, a JFK state of the union address album, some antique ceramic bowls, and cookie jars draped with decaying towels and old newspapers. Tim stood from kneeling and turned.“I don’t know what...OH MY LORD!” There in front of him, directly in front of him, was the distorted, growling look of Father Sutter.

A retched stench that Sutter carried with him resulted in Tim holding his breath.

He took one half step backwards immediately bumping into the trunk behind him.

“Father… maybe we should go lay down....”

Tim stepped ade and grabbed the frail man’s arm.

“I’ll try the Doctor once more and have him come check you out because...”“Move it,” the filtered voice of Sutter interrupted softly, followed by an acerbic grin and a grumbling giggle.

Tim held from looking at his face; the flaxen-globed eye, as plain as day, was still starting him down relentlessly.“What Father?”

There was no answer, Tim heard him though, loud and clear he just wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to budge the trunk loose from against the wall.

Having to clinch his teeth and shrug his shoulders like earmuffs to thwart the piercing shrieks, like fingernails cutting slowly down a chalkboard.

Underneath the filthy trunk was a thickset blanket of damp moss and mildew from the many dormant years of lingering water the withdrawing springtime Missppi deluge left behind.There was a dark square hole in the center of the dampened area, barely peeking through the soiled floor.

Tim briefly hetated but eventually reached his hand down deep into the mysterious hole.

With his arm stretched down nearly to the

top of his shoulder, his fingertips finally felt a piece of tin submerged in a thicker level of clay mud near the bottom.

With all the might his fingertips could convey, he pried the object loose and slowly pulled it free from the sludge.It was an oblong tin box of some sort, worn and rusted through on the corners.

The tin box crumbled within his grips, breaking away into many pieces.

A solid unknown object was wrapped in a heavy stained suede cloth.

Tim’s eyes immediately watered as an unyielding molasses smell seeped throughout the masked item.“Well, looks like you were telling the truth...”

Tim spoke soft with an intrigued high.

Father Sutter was no longer standing bede Tim, his presence, vanished it seemed, into thin air.

His focus was zeroed in on the relic, he must have vanished well before Tim realized.

There was a surge of sudden pain cramping Tim’s neck, as he jerked his head towards Sutter’s cot.Father Myrtle was lying there covered; just as he was when Tim entered the room earlier in the evening, as if he had never spoke or even rose up from the cot at all.

Without any hetations this time, Tim bolted to his feet grasping the tool he had discovered with what he thought was Sutter’s help and darted for the door.The hallway was still quiet, almost too quiet.

Literally scared out of his wits, for the first time nce his childhood and sweating profusely, he blindly ran down the basement hallway maze.

An arcane, high-pitched cackle came from behind him, within Sutter’s room.

In no way in hell was he going back there to see what it was.

Swiftly moving down the halls, through the corridors as fast as he could, jumping up the basement stairs in three leaps, his vion slowed and a hazy tint covered his eyes as they tried to adjust from dim to the well-lit upper level.

Tim slowed to a jog as he pass the kitchen, through the foyer and up two flights of stairs, tripping and falling over the top step, as he reached the third floor smashing his elbow down hard on the marble tiled floor.

“AGGH!”

Tim grimaced with pain clutching his elbow; tears crawled down his cheeks, he surely must have shattered it.

Sluggishly getting to his feet, he went down the hall to his quarters of the convent.

Even with the throb surging pain he was in, he held tight to his newfound treasure.He barged through his door and

removed his tainted parson gown.

Underneath, he was wearing everyday street clothes; his blue jeans were covered with muck from the knees down.

Picking up the receiver to his rotary, he dialed Doctor Shuvana’s office with his mud-clotted fingers; there was no answer.

He hung up the line and dialed into Saint Anthony’s Hospital.“Yes, this is Father Tim Otto over at United Cathedral...is Doctor Shuvana available?”

He paused for a small length in time, “yes...yeah...o.k., well is there any way you can send the Doctor over to the church to take a quick look a Father Sutter?”

He sat down at his desk listening, “There has to be someone who can come by here...look, I know it’s late...I really don’t think... please, he needs someone here to take a look at him...thank you!”

He hung the phone up, scooting his chair in under the cherry oak desktop and began to examine the strange charm. He took a small pocketknife from his desk drawer and like warm butter, cut through the suede cloth wrap.

Adorned with a fierce stare, and brows tilted inward, he focused intensely on the item nking his front canines into his lower lip.

The appearance of the item gave Tim the first impreson of an amulet of some sort; foslized in the center of a shard of crystal rock was an aged rusted spike.

The spike was surrounded by many thin cylinder wires, the material was unfamiliar to Tim, he had some experience with various glass textures and metals having been a carpenter, but this was definitely a unique creation.Unveiled before his very eyes was an ancient piece, one he had never seen nor heard of in his lifetime.

There were no symbols; no inscriptions and the piece didn’t weigh very much either.

Looking at it, you might think it to be a rather frivolous tool of sorts, one someone fabricated, but Tim was no fool, this piece was not going to be hidden where it was, for who knows how long, if there were no gnificant purpose behind it.

That too, made Tim cringe a bit with angst.

Fully mesmerized by the oddity, he had forgotten about his elbow, noticing it had swelled to the ze of a soft ball.

He tapped the crystal piece on the corner of his desk.

Solid as a rock, he thought to himself.

It gave off a luminous, colorful glare of eminence with each tap.

He held it up towards his the lamp light bulb, squinting one eye shut and attempting to look through it. Abruptly, there were three fulminating thuds at his door directly behind him.

Tim jerked up so fast; he literally tripped and fell back off his chair to the floor slamming that same sore elbow.

“OOH!” he screamed, rolling from de to de in agony.“Who...who is it,” he faintly spoke trying to hide his pain.

There’s no way they’re here yet, he thought.

Tim regained some momentum and slowly stood up holding his sore elbow close to his de; concealing the item in his back pocket, he dusted himself off with his one good arm and walked towards the door.

As he opened the door, he could sense the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

There was no one there.

His heart was now pounding, deafening, rattling his eardrums.

“Hello?”

The pain from his ear trailed down into both des of his jaw.

Tim peaked his head out in the hall, looked each direction.

He saw nothing, shut the door, and began to walk back towards his desk again.

He picked up the tipped over chair from the floor and placed it properly at his desk.

“I am getting the heck out of here.”

He whispered under his breath, once again wiping the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.

As he reached for his jacket hanging next to his bed there was yet another, louder knock this time “OWH!” unconsciously leaped out from within his throat. Tim laid his jacket over his bedpost, launched towards the

doorknob, and flung the door open... nothing, no one. “Hello...Carrie...Doct...”

Tim stretched his head out one more time to look, immediately he picked up a horrible stench, an aroma that seemed to pass by him entering his room behind him.

His nose followed it.

He lightly brushed his fingertips against his back pocket, wondering if it was that same molasses smell from the amulet, but this smell was different...and awfully pungent.

He glanced back towards his desk, and then quickly looked back into the hall.

Before his very eyes, a shapeless formation of dark transparent energy hovered in the hallway.

The negative shape vanished in a gust of cold, clammy wind, rushing through him.“What in the hell is going on here?”

Eyes bulged; he leaped back towards his jacket, yanked it up from his bedpost, and ran down the hall.

Tim heard loud thunderous thumps coming towards him from the far end of the foyer hallway, as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Tim did not hetate to burst through the front door, through the rain storm and towards his lonely car in the empty parking lot. It was late, the stars, unseen to the eye; humidity heavy, wet and dank.

He fired up his 1973 El Camino and peeled out of the driveway.

The fog seemed to have a mind of its own circulating mysteriously around the car windows.

Scattering mists of raindrops soon manifested a blind spot on his windshield.

The wipers appeared to worsen his vibility while turning east on Central Avenue.

Chunks of hail smashed fiercely to the earth, drumming atop the hood of his car.

Tortuous clouds danced a fizz across the night skies.Impatience soon

pigmented his cheeks boiling red and veining his eyes.

“Damn it,” He screamed violently, “I can’t see a fucking thing.” Shrilling bellows of thunder filled the blanketed night.

“Lord our father, in heaven, let your name be sanctified, let your kingdom come, let your will take place, as in heaven and also upon earth.”

He whispered quickly to himself, as he drove, slowing his speed as the inde windows began to cloud up, he careened alongde the 4th Avenue Cemetery.

There was an abrupt lence; the storming rain and falling hail subded, as fast as it had started. Tim pushed his brake petal to the floor as they squealed to a halt at a red light on the corner of Coal Town Road North.

He was near the entranceway of the Cemetery.

It did not grab his attention at first, but hidden behind the layer of dew upon his de windows, after smearing it away with his hand, through the light fog and the cemetery gates, he fathomed hazy formations, images of pale distorted figures, standing next to many various headstones.

Some of the beings were tting and some were leaning. Standing rather conspicuously next to an ivory statue of praying hands was a translucent being, one that gazed upon Tim’s ever so slowing stare from within his car.

Exhaust fumes poured white with a fusty scent of burning oil from his cars muffler.

The being looked at him as if it were piercingly angry; beady eyes gleaned Tim’s recourse, it indolently slumbered away from the praying hands, carrying with it many vague proportions.

In an instance, the creature ran at Tim’s idled car, slurring in tongues, it pointed its finger directly at Tim, right into his heart; stopping at the edge of the cemetery curb as if it could not cross some imaginary line.

The being’s evil stare turned acerbic with a smile; all the other indistinct images took notice, yet seemed to have no real interest.

They seemed to be doing their own thing.Tears once again streamed down Tim’s cheeks, “Lord, God, I have prayed many nights, never to see such abominations and here I stare at a dominion by which I cannot explain.”

Not even his ageless logic could analyze a concluve perception.

He drove off, running through the red light and immediately turned on Coal Town Road North.

The smears of transparent specters rapidly faded behind him, along with that one ghastly screaming fool. Tim was frozen with fear, his mind unable to even begin to analyze anything.

His head was befuddled and the pit of his stomach, extremely anxious.

Small surges of pain shot up his injured arm, he ignored those best he could.

He was closer to home and even further from the truth.

All those months of insomnia he had just been able to overcome, would again come a knocking at his door.

“Lord, please help me.”

He pried from his lips unealy with an irritable uncomforting sense.Tim managed to navigate the roads near blind for about three more blocks, turning on 7th Avenue Alleyway towards McKinley Park, a mile or so from his home over on 44th Street in Rock Island.

He would never make it to his house, not tonight.

Driving faster than his norm, he careened his car around the brick road potholes, still in utter shock of what his eyes, his very soul had witnessed.

Just as he was driving past the front gate of McKinley Park, his front driver’s de tire blew out.

Bright sparks from the tire’s rim briefly lit up the ancient alleyway lined with maple trees free from any streetlights.“No,” Tim punched his fist down on the steering wheel, “What next?”

He continued in a whiny tone.

The engine soon stalled out after the front end of his car tilted off balance.

Luckily, he had remembered to grab his jacket.

Raindrops randomly fell from the empty tree branches overhead.

Tim got out of his car, slamming the door shut.

He jumbled through his keys feeling

out their shape, opened the trunk and with the dimness of the trunk light grabbed a spare tire; he found his tire iron under some old newspaper articles, stagnant nce May the previous year.

He could barely see through the swelling fog surrounding him.

Tim could hear squealing tires off in the distance, coming from the main city road.Just as Tim jerked the flat tire from the wheel drum, he heard something rustle softly in the leaves behind him.

These new revelations embodied his aura, consumed his energy.

He glanced back but was still blinded by the fog.

A soft growl charmed into a whiny hiss, and then grew quiet.

The gusts of wind halted slightly; the fog seemed to dispate into much thinner layers.

Tim stood up in fright, eyes bolted, looking around

his surroundings, holding bloodless to the tire iron.

It was too quiet, too quiet indeed.

About x feet away from where Tim stood, out of the depths of the fog seemed to divulge a black energy that replicated a figure, its negative energy was illuminating and could be felt by Tim’s beating heart.

Soft mellifluous laughs reminiscent of frolicking children came from behind him.

Although frightening, something even more nister stood in front of him, something that refused to buckle with his stare.

He leaned ade the car and squint his eyes as if he would see any better.

He could not.

The figure seemed very odd in proportions; it rustled a little bit.

The shadowy figure suddenly started to shake its form, a loud ear piercing hisng followed by another low growl, this one like that of an angry stray cat.

As his head bowed inward, the figure rushed at him.

“AWWHH,” Howled from within Tim’s lungs.It was an owl, enormous in stature and cripplingly disfigured, once noticing Tim as the culprit behind disturbing its restful sleep it lunged for attack.

Tim darted around the car in-between two brink pedestals, the entranceway into the park.

He nearly slipped as a mud puddle swallowed his left foot.

He did not look back he just kept running.

Unimaginable pain struck his left shoulder blade as the flying owl dug its piecing talons deep into his skin.

Tim fell hard to the ground, then instantly jumped back up to his feet.

The owl flew off but did not cease attack. Tim ran along the edge of a muddy embank that sloped into two paths that ran parallel into the woods and alongde McKinley ravine that lead into a large sewer drainage pipe which poked out from the slippery hills.

The calls from the owl dead on his ass had astounded him.

He hetated to cross the stream when the owl lay in a fatal blow, biting the back of his neck as the specters razors-like beak seared deep into his flesh.

Tim slammed face first into the creek; he rolled over gasping for air and wiping his eyes.

He grabbed the back of his neck and looked in the palm of his bloody hands “Jesus God,” He gurgled, “Where are you?”

He cried.The owl landed on the inner range of the trail, which barely peaked over the creek, its evil eyes stared harshly down at him.

Tim was lent, he knew the bird had won, now, how would he get out of this dilemma.

His heart was pounding with fear.

The bird was extremely huge for an owl of this type.

The feather colors were stale and gray, a wise owl indeed, a hunter for years and know a master at its skill. It was an abomination, formed in the figure of a bird.

The bright eyes sneered down as the owl opened its bloodied beak beaming it at him.

Tim pushed himself back swiftly; the owl did not budge.

The fragment that was inde Tim’s pocket had fallen into the creek. The bird broke eye contact from Tim and looked at it, it's smiling at it, thought Tim.

Its wings flapped a second as it aimed its body in the direction of the shiny piece that began to wash down stream.

It floated atop some small pebbles in the creek momentarily until it hit the stronger deeper current and went straight into the sewer tunnel which lay out from the earth for anyone to venture.

No fence, no keep out gns, nothing.An intimidating ght for such a bird Tim knew for sure.

He did not want to misjudge the wisdom of it either.

The bird peaked back its head softly towards Tim sneering even more devilish then before. “Ok, buddy” Tim bargained, “your too late, you want it, go get it... go ahead.”

Tim made a sarcastic face at the bird, which it intelligently seemed to notice as it shifted its body back at Tim.

Soft whispers could be heard from with-in the sewer tunnel walls.

Then the formation of a figure with green eyes, one Tim had never seen before.

Something was taking shape before his very eyes.

“LORD PLEASE!” Tim coughed, spewing water from his mouth.

Tim still could not move, the bird had nearly paralyzed him from the severe bite. He was humble and strong, he did not necessarily fear death, just almost did not believe it to be real.

“There’s no face.”

And there wasn’t.

the image was a skinny black figure, which had an amorphous shape to it, anger, rage.

The ambiance it created was frightful; the aura was surreal and noticably evil.“You have lost the Lark.”

It directed in a hideous voice with a small whine tone.

Tim’s fear had harbored his vocal cords.

“Help, “ He cried, “Someone please...”The next day, Tim’s body had been found, by the states sheriff department, they found his car abandoned two blocks away.

Tim’s esophagus had been ripped clean from his mouth, eaten away to the bone.

The odd thing was that the tongue was found hanging from a bush right next to the sewer tunnel entrance.

A crow had been found on top of the sewer tunnel gnawing away at his tongue as it was left uneaten by the owl or whatever had ripped it from his throat.

*****************************************

By Michael Mowder, Jr. 2000 MORE TO COME...

again, include some form of a pic (and fix the structuring in this one, as its pretty messed up) and we can get you some home page potioning.

There we go...Starting to get it figured out...

this was great. extremely in depth with descriptions and imagery, a nice solid story. I dont have much constructive criticism to issue: I dug this piece quite a bit! One of my favorites to be posted here thus far!