Allen was born blind. His childhood was spent nestled in Momma's overprotective bosom; he even slept in the same bed as Momma. This left the poor adult Allen unable to deal with the world and he became a severe agoraphobic. The one bedroom apartment he resided in was sparsely furnished with a television, love seat, twin bed and a lamp. His only connection to the outside world was the telephone and noise of the T.V. Allen was on complete disability and even had his meals delivered to him daily.

Momma eventually left him to fend for himself to begin a new marriage, but she still called him every evening to say Good night to her little boy.

“Come see Momma,” she would cajole to Allen. “You could take a plane and I will be right at the terminal to meet you when you land.”

Allen would shiver at just the mere thought of leaving his tiny apartment, let alone the entire apartment building. Momma set him up in this apartment before she left and Allen planned to stay put until death forced him out.

*   *   *

One afternoon there came a soft knock on Allen's front door.

“Lunch,” rang a cheerful female voice that sounded completely familiar, but Allan just could not put his finger on that southern accent.

“Come in,” Allen answered.

“It sure is dark in here!” the lady exclaimed as she stepped in the room with a tray of roasted chicken.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Allen answered matter of factly. “I’m blind.”

“Light is not only for the sighted people,” the lady explained. “It is imperative for a healthy soul!”

Allen forked the chicken, “I suppose I can see it your way, No puns intended,” Allen smirked.

“I have a light bulb in my car. Let me fetch it for you?”

“Sure,” Allen shrugged and the lady left the room.

A few minutes later the lady returned and screwed the bulb into the lamp on Allen's floor.

“OK, this bulb can do something for you no ordinary bulb can.”

“Sure, lady,” Allen entertained her silly words and sipped his coffee.

“No, really. When you turn this lamp on the bulb will illuminate your world, interanlly and externally.. You will then see what the bulb has to show you.”

“Why give me this magic bulb?” Allen humored her.

“Because you are going to give me something small in return.”

“OK, take whatever lady. I don't have a single thing I would miss.”

“Thank you,” the lady clapped. “When you turn on the lamp it signifies the signing of our contract.”

With that the lunch lady left. Allen immediately switched on the lamp and just about fell face first into the floor, his brown carpeted floor. Allen could see! He spent the whole afternoon looking around his apartment, watching television and gazing out the window. He saw the world for the first time with new born eyes.

Allen called his mother that night and excitedly told her of the news.

“Impossible!” she exclaimed. “I am flying in this weekend to take you to the doctors, maybe a psychiatrist!”

Allen snorted at his mom and hung up the phone, he had television to watch.

The weekend finally arrived and Allen was eagerly waiting for his mother's knock on the door. It finally came right before midnight; Momma must have had a late flight.

“Come in!” Allen called eagerly with a huge smile, but that smile quickly faded.

“What? Not happy to see Momma?”

Allen finally placed that lunch lady's familiar twang. All Allen could do was babble nonsense as Momma bent over him with her eyes closed. Her skin was completely translucent and Allen could see hundreds of featureless figures emitting a doleful moan as their bodies circled the window of Momma's skin.

“I see you have not accomplished much with the present I gave you, what a shame.” The Momma beast finally opened her closed eyes and Allen could see his fate. “You see eyes are not only windows to the soul, but they are windows for the soul. Now turn out the light Allen; I don't want you to see Momma tear your soul apart.”

"The Light Bulb Collector"

Copyright: © 2011 Stacy Bolli

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Stacy Bolli is a single mother residing in the sun soaked state of Florida. She has several works appearing online and in written anthologies. Her most recent stories can be found in "Sins and Tragedies" with Panic Press and "DOA: Extreme Horror Collection" by Blood Bound Books.

Cindy dropped her chin to insulate her face from the bitter bite of Jack Frost. Her arms laden with tools, she ran into her workplace, Woodhaven Funeral Home. She opened the door and took a minute to bask in the strangely comforting atmosphere. The air was warm and the aroma of brewing coffee mingled with the fragrance of freshly cut flowers.

"Close the door," Mr. Robbins, the director of the funeral home, ordered. "We living folks still need to maintain a certain body temperature."

Cindy nodded apologetically and shut the door.

"Thanks, Doll, I have Ms. Baptist prepped and ready for her final make-over!"

Cindy gave a washed out smile to the quirky, little man while walking into the small room that served as her office.

A petite form lay hidden under a white sheet on the steel table. Cindy organized her make-up in preparation. She took her job very seriously, considering it a personal favor to the grieving and the dead. She took extra time in covering the blemishes death left behind and beautifying the features that birth bestowed. Her motto was ‘the beauty in make-up artistry is to make it look as though you aren’t wearing any’. She wanted to make sure the final memory left behind was one of beauty.

"Okay girl," Cindy gave herself an encouraging cheer. She pulled down the thin shroud to reveal a withered woman in her late seventies. Her frame appeared to be miniscule as if she were shrinking in modesty of her nude form. Her hands were clasped tightly and resting at her waist, each finger serving as a lock. A lock, that Cindy would have to open.

Cindy frowned as she attempted to separate her fragile hands. She pulled gingerly, so not to snap the fingers, but they seemed to be in a death grip. She exerted a little extra force and flinched as the digits parted. When the pruny palms separated a beautiful piece of Gossamer Silk fluttered to the floor. Cindy jumped back in surprise. She wondered why Mr. Robbins had not taken care of this during the embalming procedure.

Carefully she positioned Ms. Baptist’s arms across her chest and picked up the material. She noticed it wasn’t just a piece of silk, but a scarf, the most beautiful scarf she had ever seen. Among the dark and contrasting floral patterns were embedded golden threads. The intertwining threads shone brilliantly under the florescent lights. She could clearly see the illuminating symbol of a golden pentagram.

"Cindy, this is Ms. Baptist’s sister, Helena."

She dropped the scarf and turned to see Mr. Robbins standing inside the doorway with a woman, who had a commanding regal air. Her silver hair curled softly around her thin shoulders. Cindy quickly looked at the table then back to Helena. The resemblance to Ms. Baptist was striking.

She approached Cindy. "Where’s the scarf?" she spoke in a smooth, emotionless tone.

Cindy scooped the scarf from the concrete floor. "It’s right here."

Helena’s cold, dark eyes bulged as Cindy waved the silk cloth. "I don’t want to touch it! A touch of the scarf stains death on the soul." She shook her head in dismay as she studied the scarf from a safe distance. "It can’t be…it just cannot be. There’s no way that’s the same scarf, you ripped from my dead sister’s hands. Are you absolutely certain that’s the silk my sister was holding?"

"Yes," Cindy replied.

"That’s impossible, my sister’s scarf was," she paused to think, "dirty, and it was riddled with," again she paused trying to come up with a word, "holes!" she shouted as if she had the winning answer for a game show.

Her eyes sparkled in a forgotten misery as Cindy asked, "What would you have me do with it?"

"Burn it, burn every stitch. When you cremate Audrey’s corpse, you make certain that damned rag is in the flames with her."

Helena stormed out, leaving Mr. Robbins and Cindy scratching their heads.

"Let me see it." Mr. Robbins attempted to snatch the unwanted fabric.

She jerked back. "You’re not wearing rubber."

"Oh hell, Cindy, give it here, I’m not going to fuck it."

Cindy had a bad feeling that churned in the core of her gut and against her better judgment, she handed it over.

The undertaker folded the silky material into a triangle, placed it on his head, gave it a knot under his double chin, and danced about Cindy’s office. "Look at me, I’m a Russian immigrant." He batted his long eyelashes over his crystal blue eyes. "Do you like my new babushka?"

Cindy found this to be disturbing and demanded that he take it off. He laughed and tossed it down.

Cindy readied Ms. Baptist for her wake. As time passed, Cindy’s stomach grumbled, reminding her of lunch. She left her work of art, formally known as Ms. Baptist, and walked down the long corridor to Mr. Robbins’ office. "Hey, I’m going to 'Burger Barn'" There was no answer. She creaked open the office door and saw Mr. Robbins, reclined in his leather chair. His head drew forth the image of a rotten Jack-o-lantern; his facial features were disgustingly distorted, no longer human in appearance. She screamed and rushed to her office. She shoved her hands into a pair of latex gloves and picked up the frayed fragments of a filthy cloth. Bloody threads held it together. Cindy realized the importance of destroying the scarf. She knew the evil garment had been cursed, and it would leave a trail of innocent victims in its deadly wake.

That evening Cindy played funeral director for Audrey’s wake. When the last teary-eyed mourner left, she went to work. Cindy made sure the Devil’s hanky burned along with the body. She watched the scarf’s edges curl into the orange blaze as the red flames dined on the blackened flesh of Ms. Baptist. Their ashes mingled into one grey clump. When Cindy was satisfied every stitch had been desecrated, she closed the lid to the cremation chamber. She prayed the fire would kill the curse.

The days that unfolded were plagued by disturbing events at Woodhaven. The staff tried to conduct business as usual; however, the tension inside the funeral home had festered. In the absence of Mr. Robbins, the workers had become sloppy with the exception of Cindy. Later that week, a body was waiting for her with an un-removed toe tag, which read, 'Helena Ann Baptist'. Cindy felt her heart palpitate as she inched away the sheet. She unleashed a sigh of relief when she found Helena's hands unoccupied. No scarf, natural causes, Cindy thought, and with a lighter heart, she began her work. Laughing at herself for allowing the crazy notion, of a scarf surviving the scorching heat of the fire, to enter her troubled mind.

As she brushed and lined the contours of Mrs. Baptist, she noticed something in her mouth. Cindy reached into the toothless hole, in order to free the obstruction. To her horror, she pulled out an unscathed, shimmering Gossamer Scarf. In her panic, she threw the silk into the air. She observed, in slow motion and unable to move, as the Devil’s hanky softly danced down onto her sleeveless forearm. The golden pentagram glowed under the bright lights and Cindy knew her days were numbered. Helena’s tortured words clawed at her psyche, "A touch of the scarf stains death on the soul." The curse is spreading.

"The Corpse Painter and The Devil's Hanky"
Copyright: © 2010 Donna Jean Lyons and Stacy Bolli
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Stacy and Donna Jean were drawn together by the powers of darkness. This cosmic connection could not be explained. However, they knew, between their twisted minds, they could unite as one and together they weaved a macabre tapestry of depraved words and horrific mental images. Allow yourself to feast on their linguistic offspring.

Stacy is a married mother to three amazing children and hails from the sun-soaked state of Florida.

Alena wrapped the jacket tightly around her shoulders and kept her head bent against the relentless cold drizzle. Tears tinged with blood dripped down from Alena's battered face and stained the front of her white vinyl windbreaker. Alena did not care to reach up and wipe away these soiled tears from her eyes, she just kept trudging down the darkened country road with one thing consuming her thoughts, revenge.

Alena kept her steady pace until she reached her doorstep. She slowly opened the door so not to disturb her sleeping Grandmother on the couch. Grammy always slept on the couch during her date nights. She did not like Jason, her boyfriend. Grammy warned her multiple times that she saw hostility hiding in his eyes. Alena always laughed it off with a kiss to Grammy's cheek.

"Jason is the most gentle creature on this planet, he would never hurt a fly!" Alena would assure Grammy.

Grammy would always grumble in response and take her usual post on the couch.

That night when Alena attempted to slip by Grammy unnoticed, but the old lady reached out and grabbed Alena's arm as she passed.

Grammy sat up and turned on the lamp beside the couch. "Look at me, LeLe!" Grammy ordered.

Alena slowly turned her damaged face and saw Grammy turn sheet white.

"My LeLe, he did this to you?" Grammy reached up to Alena's cheek and Alena flinched.

"He hurt you! I told you this boy was no good, I saw the devil in his eyes!"

"Grammy, he was angry with me. I flirted with another boy and he saw me, it is my fault," Alena tried to explain but her words ended in a pathetic whimper. Alena gathered her thoughts and recanted the horrible evening.

"Jason saw me talking with the other boy and he touched my hand. Jason became so angry and I followed him to his car so we could talk. Jason started the car and we drove to Old Dixie's Crossing so he could cool off. Well the more we drove the angrier he became and we started shouting at each other. He pulled to the side of the road and slapped me hard across the cheek. I tried to fight back Grammy, but he is so big!" Alena bowed her head and wept.

Grammy pulled Alena next to her and wrapped her arms around the small, trembling teenager. Alena let her head fall against Grammy's warm bosom and let her hand open to reveal what she was holding. Nestled in the center of her palm was a bloody ring with a small shred of tissue hanging from the clasp.

"LeLe, what is this?" Grammy asked.

"It is Jason's nipple ring. I ripped it from his chest as he pushed me out of the moving car."

"Oh LeLe, this is very good! I am going to show you what to do."

Alena gave her Grammy a puzzled look and dropped the bloody ring into her grandmother's outstretched hand. Grammy recited a few unrecognizable words and blew onto the ring. She then gingerly removed the small piece of flesh from the ring and handed it to Alena.

"Swallow it."

"What? Grammy, I will throw up!"

"Swallow it, LeLe. You must do what I tell you to make the magic work."

Alena got a glass of water and the flesh easily slid down her throat.

"Now go to bed, LeLe. I cannot explain any further, but the magic will reveal itself to you in the next couple days."

The next morning Jason's sister had called Alena in hysterics. Jason had been in an car accident and died instantly when his car skidded off the road and hit a massive Oak tree.

Alena hung up the phone numb with emotion, not with sorrow but anger. Anger that she did not have time to exact her revenge.

That weekend was Jason's funeral and Alena and her Grandmother attended the burial out of respect for his family. Night came quickly and Alena fell into a deep sleep as Herbie, her hamster, ran frantically in his exercise wheel.

Late in the night Alena woke with a start as a loud crash erupted from the front porch. Alena jumped to her feet and ran to the front room to check on Grammy.

Grammy was already awake and opening the dead bolt on the front door.

"Grammy, who is here?" Alena asked.

Grammy flung open the door and turned to Alena with a wide smile crumpling her face.

Alena gasped as the broken and filthy body of Jason lurched through the front door. His head flopped unnaturally onto his right shoulder and his right leg was bent to a distorted angle. Alena could still see his eyes roll furiously in their sockets, they held complete comprehension and terror.

"Grammy!" Alena screamed. "What is this?"

"Shh," Grammy whispered. "Don't be afraid, he is yours! His soul is forever trapped within this lifeless and broken body. He will feel the pain of his death until the last vestige of his bone and flesh dissipate from this Earth. Get the ax, LeLe."

Alena and Grammy quartered up Jason's embalmed body and wrapped the wriggling pieces into plastic and tucked them into the freezer chest, all but one piece.

"This special piece is for you to deal with right now, Alena."

Alena barely made it to her room, she could feel it twitching in her palm and she almost threw it in disgust. When Alena closed her bedroom door her gaze found Herbie's cage. She opened the cage and threw the wrinkled male reproductive organ inside and watched it undulate through the wood shavings like an obese earthworm. Herbie squealed at the bald intruder but cautiously approached it. He sniffed his new companion with his quivering little nose and then began to nibble...

"Alena's Piece"
Copyright: © 2010 Stacy Bolli
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Stacy Bolli is a married mom of three beautiful children and hails from the state of Florida. She is just beginning her writing career and has had three published works in SNM Horror Magazine. She will also have upcoming stories featured in the House of Horror E-zine, Bonded By Blood II: A Romance In Red, and Full Moon anthology. She can be reached at stacybolli@yahoo.com, www.myspace.com/stacybolli , and Facebook.

She arranges her surroundings using her lithe body to create straight lines and perfect angles, it was the epitome of nature’s most perfect design. The sun disperses it’s golden rays along her silken threads and they were captured and returned as perfect luminescent jewels of nature. She fluidly traversed from corner to corner in eager preparation for the arrival of her next victim.

She detects quivers in the atmosphere, a signal that her victim is close. She sits motionless with bated breath, entangled in her own silken lair as he continues his oblivious approach. Hesitantly he places one foot into her domicile and her adrenaline surges with the anticipation of the tasty juices she will soon experience.

He collects his courage and creeps closer to her with a different motive in his male mind. He inches close enough for her to smell the slight musky odor being emitted from his masculine body and she begins to feel the wet sensation of her own dripping poisonous saliva.

She uses her thin appendages to expertly guide the obedient male to her and he does not protest, he is enraptured by the beauty of the glittering surroundings and her own graceful body. She uses her limbs to swiftly pull him down underneath her taut abdomen and she feels him tremble with sensual anticipation. As quick and precise as a viper, the shiny black mandibles emerge from her feminine opening and delivers a paralyzing bite to her meal.

He struggles a brief moment as the poison takes effect and his body heavily falls back into the patterned white silk. His body remains still but his eyes continue to roam back and forth in desperate terror of the unknown.

A long thin proboscis emerges from the black pearly mandibles and snakes its way around his body, probing for an easy point of entry. The salivating, hairy proboscis finds that entry through the victims gaping, frozen mouth. It expertly slides its way into his windpipe blocking the last of his vital breaths.

She drinks greedily from the victim using the proboscis as a giant straw and his once robust exterior quickly falls into itself in the absence of fluids. When her meal was complete the proboscis retracts back into her vagina and she closes her legs. She uses her white silk bed sheets to cocoon the remains of her John into his final adornment.

She reaches into his discarded trousers and pulls out his wallet, a decent amount of money and an adorable family portrait. It proudly displayed his beautiful wife and two children. These types of humans always deserved to die. She reaches over and called her pimp to dispose of the spent rubbish.

"Her Insatiable Web"
Copyright: © 2009 Stacy Bolli
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Stacy Bolli is a married mom of three beautiful children and hails from the state of Florida. She is just beginning her writing career and has had three published works in SNM Horror Magazine. She will also have upcoming stories featured in the House of Horror E-zine, Bonded By Blood II: A Romance In Red, and Full Moon anthology. She can be reached at stacybolli@yahoo.com, www.myspace.com/stacybolli , and Facebook.