Tales From the Weird #1

PuppetGreetings Dreamers!

Sorry its been so long but lots of exciting things going on in the Waking Dream.  I had originally said I would write an article on how to know one is a sleeper, but Laertes said people might take offense finding out that they are a sleeper, so I’m going to leave it at that.

So today I am kicking off a new series of blog posts, Tales From The Weird.  Each of these short stories are about actual events Laertes and other Dreamers have compiled over the last few hundred years.  Many of them we’ve been able to find on the interwebs because Dreamers are becoming more vocal now about their abilities.  Good thing and bad thing.  It raises awareness of the coming Transformation.  But it also exposes Dreamers to more aggressive Sleepers.

So today I give you, “The Master of Puppets”

A dark, shadow hugged the walls of the mortuary, avoiding the puddles of moonlight that might expose him.  He had to get a new body that cold November night  before they put it in the ground.

His name was Aleister Carter, and he was a mortician.  He owned his own mortuary in Wildwood, New Jersey many years before, but after allegations of missing bodies, his license was revoked and his business shut down.  But this did not deter him from his work.

Shivering in the biting Pennsylvania cold, he sneaked around to the back of the building, and with trembling hands used his lock-pick set to gain access.  He researched the building for weeks, he had to be careful never to hit the same mortuary twice.  This would be his thirty-fourth body.

As he opened the back door to the building, the familiar scent of decay and formaldehyde filled his nostrils, intoxicating him.  He seldom did his own embalming, unless there was an urgent need.  One does not often come across unclaimed bodies.

As he stepped into the main embalming area, and started to talk towards the refrigerator to purloin one John Edwards II, a silky, dark voice called from the shadow, “Why, hello there, Mr. Carter.”

Aleister whirled in the direction of the voice, but all he could see were two amber eyes glistening in the moonlight coming through the windows.  He immediately reached into his pocket and pulled out his .22 revolver — which he always carried, just in case.

He raised the gun at his unseen stalker, but something knocked it from his hand so fast he did not know what it was.

“You won’t be needing that,” the voice said. “If I wanted you dead, you would be already.”

“Who are you?” he asked in an emotionless, fearless tone.

“Who I am is unimportant for now,” the voice from the shadows said almost purring. “What is important now is that I am about to give you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“And what would that be?”  Aleister squinted, peering into the darkness, but could not make out anything other than the penetrating amber eyes.

“Why, to work for me, of course,” the voice laced with feigned benevolence.  “I’m sure it would be lucrative for both of us. And I’ve only ever met one other successful necromancer before in all of my existence.”

Aleister raised an eyebrow, trepidation creeping into his chest, threatening his resolve, but stayed his ground, anchored by intrigue.  Aleister was indeed a successful necromancer.  The bodies he collected became his puppets, through ritual and his own inherent Weirdness.  He had made 33 to date, the perfect mindless servants.  He had much larger aspirations.  He wanted an army.

“I have been extremely successful,” Aleister retorted with arrogance. “Why would I need you?”

The voice chuckled darkly, “I have resources beyond your comprehension.  Not to mention an endless supply of bodies.  I own several research facilities. And fortunate for you, many of my subjects do not complete the experiments.”

Aleister pondered this, yet something inside him told him that the figure in the shadows could not be trusted.  But, neither could Aleister.

“And what do you want out of the deal?” he asked, still calm and emotionless.

“You’re unwavering fealty to me and,” a large pearly white toothy grin appeared from the shadows. “you’ll of course build me an army. Imparting your wisdom on me, as I will impart mine unto you.”

“Fealty?” Aleister asked in a mocking tone. “Can anyone ever truly give fealty to anyone?  Especially with the dark times approaching.”

“Fealty will ensure that you survive the dark times,” the voice retorted with derision. “Your little puppets will not save you from the storm.  You need many, many more to survive. And time is not on your side, friend.”

“Let’s say I agree,” Aleister said, choosing his words carefully. “Will I retain control over them or will I be expected to relinquish control?”

“You will teach me to create my own, and you will retain control over the ones you’ve created.”

“Can I think on this?”

“Yes,” the voice replied in a dark tone. “You have sixty-seconds.”

“And if I say no?”

“I’ll kill you where you stand,” the voice replied flatly. “I can’t have rogue necromancers interfering with my own plans, and time is short.”

“So I don’t have a choice, really?”  Aleister said, planning his escape, legs tensing, heart pounding.

“Of course you do.  It’s either accept my offer, or return to the Spaces Between.  Clearly a choice, my friend,” the voice said with amusement.  “Oh, and don’t bother with trying to escape. Remember the gun.  The next thing you’ll lose will be your head.”

Aleister stood there for another twenty seconds, pondering his choices.  He had come to far to end it all now, and starting from scratch could take decades, and they both new neither of them had that much time to prepare.

“Fine,” Aleister said succinctly. “I would rather continue my work and not have to start all over again, in another shell, another time.”

“Excellent,” the voice responded. “Continue your work here tonight.  Someone will come fetch you tomorrow evening at your home.  Oh yes, I know everything about you, but timing is everything.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me who you are?”

“I said it was not important right at the moment.  Do not ask again.” And with that final word, the eyes and the voice vanished from the room.

Aleister knew his new “master” had left, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest, like being suffocated.  Clearly, the disembodied voice was a very power individual.

He shook off the feeling and quickly went to the refrigerator to fetch his newest acquisition.  He had tarried too long, and he would not have time to do the binding ritual at the mortuary as he had intended.

He pulled a small vial with bluish liquid, iridescent in the moonlight and walked to the refrigerator.  On a gurney lay his freshly embalmed prize.  As much as he wished to stay and admire the workmanship, one of his other puppets, standing guard in the copse of trees outside, alerted him to a potential threat.  A police cruiser was sitting in the parking lot, presumably using a radar gun.

After the binding ritual, he was able to see through the eyes of any of his puppets, as well as direct them with his mind, his Weirdness.  He could not only command them individually, but as a unit.  He had them stationed all over the small town.  They appeared as homeless people to everyone else, immune to hunger, loneliness and the elements.  But tomorrow he would gather them together, for he knew that he would be leaving Pennsylvania the next night.

Aleister opened the corpses mouth and poured the contents of the vial within. It was only a few seconds before it’s eyes opened, and it sat bolt upright, looking at Aleister blankly.

“Come,” Aleister commanded, the residual intelligence of the Dreamer that had resided in the corpse previously, allowed it to understand.

The corpse followed Aleister to the back door, stumbling a few times, but quickly becoming accustom to its new state of existence.  A hollow shell which would be filled with Aleister’s will.

As they stepped out into the moonlight, Aleister beckoned the other puppet to follow and the three vanished into the woods behind the mortuary.  He would return to his home, perform the ritual, and be reunited with his new, dark master.  The end.


Well! I hope you enjoyed this first installment in the Tales from the Weird!  We have so many weird tales to tell over the next few months.

Until next time

The Crier

Ghosts Aren’t What You Think They Are!


Sorry I’ve been away for a bit, but I’ve just discovered Twitter!  Yep, pretty cool stuff.  You can follow me at http://twitter.com/JustinTheWeird — (I thought Justin the Crier would make me look like a sissy to outsiders)  You can get a chance to talk to all of us there, Me, Jeremy, Jeb, Jakob, Jack and my newest…erm…friend, Joe. (Gotta figure out what’s causing these new additions).

But enough about us, today I wanted to fill you in on what I have learned about Ghosts.  Yep, mystery solved!  It really is so simple, I’m just feeling silly that I didn’t figure it out on my own, and I think that Laertes purposefully kept me thinking about it, hoping I would figure it out on my own.

As I’ve told you before, there is a place called the Spaces Between, which is for all intents and purposes the Afterlife.  When a Dreamer, or an Immortal dies, their true self — their spirit — returns to the Spaces Between so that they can decide which Sleeper they will inhabit when they return to the Waking Dream.  I’ve also mentioned that they can peer into the lives of

<hours pass>

Good Evening, Again.

Jakob here.  Evidently Justin can’t, in fact, out drink Jack, and as a result they are both asleep and I am left to impart on you the finer points of ghostliness.  There are three distinct types of ghosts that you, the paranormal investigator or Ghost Hunter, should be aware of.  And, you should understand that they are not to be trifled with.  Now let’s proceed.

Type I Ghost — The Orb

Orbs are whole benevolent Dreamers simply observing the life of a potential body.  Think of an orb as a ghostly probe being operated by Dreamers in the Spaces Between.  They tend not to manifest themselves, simply observing without interfering with the storyline a particular Sleeper was living.  Remember, a sleeper is like a novel.

Type II Ghost — The Apparition

Apparitions are fairly common and the most forlorn of our ghostly triad.  These are Dreamers who have died, but do not realize they have died, nor do they have the ability to realize it.  They have slowly slipped into their own self-contained universe, encapsulated in their consciousness.  They do interact, but they are generally benign, however, there are those who become territorial and can use there Weirdness to assert their will on their surrounds.  Make no mistake.  This is a naturally occurring effect throughout the Waking Dream.  Remember, a dreamer is the writer.

Type III Ghost — The People of Shadow

You have heard the term “shadow people” before, if you are familiar with the paranormal trends.  However, That is a slight misnomer.  The People of Shadow are a faction of dreamers who choose to live in the shadows.  Very little is know about the People of Shadow, as their tradition is passed down through the centuries, secretly and in hushed tones.  And, evidently, there has never been a traitor amongst them.  No one reveals their secrets.  I have theories, and many of them are insipid, however I can only think that they simply exist to intervene when necessary.  What constitutes necessary still alludes me — I am reminded of the Mothman Prophecies. We cannot know their intentions, and does it matter if we do?  Will we understand?  Probably not, and it would probably ruin things.  Life is a mystery for a reason.

So I leave you with this question: Would you read a book if you already knew the ending?

All Work and No Play Makes Jack a Dull Boy

The Soul CageGood Evening, Fellow Dreamers!

I hope the twilight is finding you well.  It is raining here tonight, and the sound of the droplets on my roof make me reflect on how privileged we are to live on such a magnificent planet, full of diversity and beauty.

My name is Jakob, and I thought it would be nice to take a moment and introduce myself, as well as introduce the newest atrocity we’ve uncovered that has slipped through the diaphanous veil that separates the realms.  As you know, Jack, our gruff, yet necessary friend, has introduced you to the Ocularim last time, but now it falls upon my shoulders to discuss the most recent unpleasantness. We have dubbed this particular creature the Soul Cage.

While we’ve not directly encountered this horrible beast, we have been able to find documentation that it has been able to make its way into our world through mishaps that invariably happen when one does not follow the exact steps of a ritual.  Laertes has been invaluable in helping us to describe this create, and as you can see, I, in my meticulousness, have offered a rough sketch of the creature.

Any creature that issues for from the Spaces Between requires Weirdness as its sustenance. As such, when it cross the veil into our world, it must find a source of said Weirdness.  Unfortunately, it must feed off unsuspecting Dreamers to feed.  Now I must warn you that this creature is as intelligent as it is terrible.  We have been able to ascertain that this creature can move undetected among us, and preys on those sleeping.  Some solace is that they tend to inhabit our sewers, and are more likely to consume a homeless person, rather than venture into buildings.  Though, one should be wary when traveling alone at night in a subway or dark alleys at night, as they have an extreme aversion to light.

Essentially, this formidable beast will find a sleeping victim and spray a neurotoxin via a small duct in its prehensile tail which paralyzes its prey.  Once this has occurred, it emits a low level, acid from the pours of its tentacles to eliminate any clothing or non-organic material.  After which, like a boa constrictor, it consumes its prey whole. Yet unlike a boa, the creature does not immediately kill the host.  Oxygen is forced into the victim via capillary tentacles located inside the mouth of the beast, and the unfortunate soul to be capture is nourished by a natural secretion of the creature.  However, as the creature slowly drains the Weirdness from its prey, the body dies over a period of weeks, perhaps months.  When the Dreamer finally does die, it is absorbed by the Soul Cage and it begins its hunt again for a new source of energy.

These creatures live solely to consume Weirdness and they are intelligent enough to manipulate the Waking Dream as any Dreamer is able.  We do not know how many have made their way into our world, but we do know that they exist.  Unfortunately, it is very difficult to find them as I said, the majority of their victims go unreported as lost.

We are unsure of their goals or aspirations in the Waking Dream.  But like the Gtthak, they remain a complete mystery as to how they will ultimately factor into the Transformation of our world.

So please, heed my warning, and be wary of dark lonely places at night, especially the urban areas.  They are drawn to Dreamers as the moth is to light.

Yet another reason to sleep with one eye open.

We will communicate with you again, soon.



On Being Weird and Unsane

Greetings, Dreamers!

I have finally recovered from the recent unpleasantness with the shooter at the Event Horizon Club here in Baltimore.  I hate hospitals, and I definitely did not like being shot — though I think Jack did…

Anyhoo, I’ve had a slew of emails from my fellow Dreamers wanting me to explain the correlation between Weirdness and Insanity — but it’s not really insanity, its unsanity.  Insane means that you have no control over your actions and can inadvertently harm yourself or others.  Unsane means you have control of your actions, and you can control yourself, as well as see all the things we’ve been told not to see or believe in.

I’ll give you an example.  I have determined, with the aid of Laertes, that I do not in fact have multiple personality disorder — though the rest of the world sees it that way.  My other personalities are actually my past lives which have organized themselves in my brain to assist me.  A precursor to becoming Immortal — I hope.  Even though Dreamers forget their past lives when they inhabit a new sleeper, there is always a connection to the Spaces Between, where all of our memories are stored in an ever-expanding tapestry of experience.

Tristan, the original Crier, saw people no one else could see — except the Beast — which led me to believe that those were actually disembodied Dreamers who were trying to assist Tristan and give him the information he needed to get his message across.  They had access to the things we do not when we are in the Waking Dream.  And for some unknown reason, they were drawn to him.

The more unsane you are, the more you are able to embrace your Weirdness because you are not beleaguered by the banality that plagues our world. People who see ghosts, practice magic, hear the trees, see fairies, see angels, see auras, tell the future, or any host of non-normal things, are not insane, they have refused to allow themselves to be restricted to the mundane.

So, we have to be very careful when we are labeling people insane versus unsane.  You’ll know the difference when you see these people, because it will glow from within them, touching your own Weirdness in a way I can’t begin to describe.

We will speak again soon

The Crier

Things Fall Apart

Howdy, Dreamers.

Jack here again.  Justin’s jus’ a lil out of it today.  Y’all prolly been wondering why we ain’t posted in a bit.  I got one word for ya — Sleepers.  We were shot comin’ out of a bar downtown the other night, along with five others.  Lucky for us, I took over and got the situation under control ‘fore the police got there.  Took a bullet to the side, but it ain’t no nevermind cuz it din’t hit anything worth mentioning.  So I jumped at the shooter, grabbed his pistol and pistol whipped him a bit til someone pulled me off. Just a warnin’ to the rest of you Sleepers out there who might be readin’ – better kill me on the first shot, lessen ya want the same treatment.  We were held up in the hospital a few days for observation.  Justin’s retreated to the subconscious cuz he was right shook up.  Lucky for him he’s got me to take care of things he ain’t able to.

Now, I know it ain’t the Sleepers fault.  They know the worlds gonna change here right soon, and they ain’t got the Weirdness or wherewithal to know what’s happenin’.  But there ain’t no sense in killin’ off us Dreamers so someone musta put the idea in they head.  Justin and Laertes just think its cuz they sense the end is near and they ain’t goin’ down without a fight, but I think that’s just a bunch of hog wash.  I think they’s somethin’ else goin’ on but I can’t quite put my finger on it.  I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but I been around and seen stuff.  This is crazy stuff (I ain’t allowed to cuss — but you know what im meanin’ by stuff).

Now, what I reckon is that when they’s more than a coupla Dreamers around, that’s when stuff get crazy and the Sleepers are drawn to it — kinda like them zombie movies where they head towards the fresh meat.  We was at a Dreamer club called the Event Horizon, which is only for Dreamers, so someone sent that crazy cuss to kill anyone comin’ outta the club, that’s what I reckon.  I don’t think it was just a mad Sleeper, I think it was planned by who ever is causin’ things to go down the chocolate creek without a paddle.

I take off my hat to the five others that dint quite make it out alive, but times is tough, and they’s only gonna get worse as the months roll on.  I’m reckon Halloween is gonna be a real hoot this year — so you jus’ better be prepared. Fall’s the witherin’ season — the dyin’ times.  Prolly gonna be a whole lotta death this year.

My word of advice to yall would be to keep one eye open at all times, cuz we ain’t figured out who’s behind alla this, and time is running out.  Things are fallin’ apart — I guarantee it ain’t gonna stop, now matter how much one is wishin’.  I reckon yall know that too.

That’s all for now.  I’m sure Justin’ll be ready to talk here again real soon.