Archive for sightings

Otterman’s Quarry (A Story from the Madhouse)

Posted in art, ASCII Text Art, calligrams, concrete poetry, Halloween, horror poetry, horror stories, pattern poetry, poems, poetry, shape poems, typography, Uncategorized, visual poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 23, 2010 by ecko

     The full moon broke free of bondage behind a once overcast evening as the clouds began to move on, unable to hold back moonlight any longer. The children welcomed the new light with relief, for story time was about to begin and there were always too many ghost stories shared.  Within the small camp at the bottom of Otterman’s Quarry, a remnant of Miss Hoffman’s seventh grade class, eight boys and six girls, all huddled around the small camp fire waiting for fright night to begin.
     The school bus stood nearby, at the edge of their small camp where several tents were pitched.
     Each year, Miss Hoffman volunteered to take her English class out on a camping trip in the spring, with a couple of parents as chaperones and a bus driver. The only requirement was that each student in attendance had to come up with their own story to tell. Those that couldn’t make the trip would have to write a story for homework, while the rest were graded on oral presentations at camp.
     It was Cynthia’s turn to spin a tale, as Miss Hoffman was fond of saying. Cynthia looked around nervously, reaching for her story that was folded up on a sheet of paper.
     “Once upon a time,” She began, “there was a girl who had a doll that spoke.”
     Timmy Horace, self appointed class clown, snorted from behind Susan Crawford. Soon all the kids were laughing.
     “Don’t you start, Timmy!” Miss Hoffman scolded. “Or would you like to tell your story first?”
     That was enough to silence the crowd and keep Timmy in line. Scary stories were one thing, but nothing was more frightening then having to go first. Cynthia’s shaking hands were a testament to that fact.
     “Go on, Cynthia,” Miss Hoffman encouraged, “You’re doing fine.”
     Cynthia continued her story about an evil talking doll and the mischief it caused. She relaxed by the time she was half way through the telling. As Cynthia neared the end of her tale, she said, “Late one night, the little girl was crying because she missed her dog that had mysteriously went missing.” Cynthia got into her tale now and finished in a creepy voice, “That was when the doll finally spoke to her and said, ‘Little girl, it was I that killed your dog!'”
     This gave them all chills, even Timmy the clown.
     “Well done, Cynthia,” Miss Hoffman said, believing her tale finished. “Now, who would like to go-”
     Cynthia interrupted, “Then the evil doll looked at all the children who rode the bus that night.” Cynthia’s voice seemed to change as she said this, pausing to point at each of the kids around the fire, “Then that doll said, ‘You are all fucking dead, every single one of you!'”
     This made them all shift uncomfortably, including Miss Hoffman who was stunned. She regained herself quickly, “Ok, Cynthia, that’s quite enough of that. You scared everyone pretty good. Who’s next?”
     Cynthia looked confused and said, “Sorry, Miss Hoffman, I don’t know where that came from. It wasn’t part of my story.”
     “That’s ok dear, you just got a little carried away,” Miss Hoffman said.
     “I’ll go next,” volunteered Timmy.
     Surprised and relieved to have a new distraction, Miss Hoffman said, “Ok, Timmy, please proceed.”
     Timmy started telling a story of space aliens that took over the world by farting on earthlings. Then something happened as he interrupted his own tale, speaking in a voice not his own, “All of you fell from the sky, and died horribly in the fire.”
     Again, the kids were caught off guard by this. But some were slowly becoming aware of something strange.
     “Timmy! What was that nonsense?” Miss Hoffman asked. First Cynthia with her story, now Timmy was acting weird.
     Timmy appeared shocked and covered his own mouth, afraid of what would come out of it next. He then sat down, giving Miss Hoffman a troubled look.
     Miss Hoffman grew alarmed with what she saw in Timmy’s eyes. He looked afraid. Before she could address this, Susan Crawford stood up and started her story.
     “Headlights in my eyes! Headlights in my eyes! Horns blaring!” Susan shouted.
     Before Miss Hoffman could say another word, Jason Boyd got up.
     “Scratching! Scratching! We couldn’t get out! Windows jammed! Sparks flew across the night!” Jason said.
    “Guardrail gave way!” Another girl added.
     Then Timmy repeated, “All of you fell from the sky! Burned alive!”
     Miss Hoffman was alarmed. She wanted to believe that she was the victim of some terrible joke the kids were playing. But their faces held no humor.
     “Boom! Boom! Fire!” Cynthia shouted from directly behind her, making Miss Hoffman jump.
When she turned to look at her, Cynthia’s face appeared disfigured with burns. 
     Miss Hoffman backed away, “What is this? What are you kids doing?”
     They were all up now, chanting, “Boom! Boom! Fire!” 
     Every one of them were now badly burned.
     Miss Hoffman wanted to scream but couldn’t get it out. She turned for the school bus, anything to escape those charred children’s faces, and found the blackened remains of an old blown up and heavily damaged vehicle instead.
     “What the hell is going on?” She shouted.
     From inside the destroyed bus, someone opened the door.
     Of course, Miss Hoffman thought, the chaperones! They must be in on this! Some very bad and tasteless joke!
     She found it strange she had not thought of them, or seen them all evening until now.
     Were they in the bus this whole time? Miss Hoffman thought.
     Before she could enter, she saw the remains of a severely burned man sitting in the driver’s seat. The man turned his head toward her and said in a raspy voice, “Hey teach, you’re not supposed to be here. It’s time to go.”
     Miss Hoffman screamed then fell backwards into the ashes of an ancient fire pit that was lit just moments before. She continued to scream, raising her hands before her face, as she heard the footsteps of the children approaching. Miss Hoffman looked up at the first child. It was Cynthia, but she was no longer burned.
     I’m losing my mind, she thought.
     “No you’re not, Miss Hoffman,” Cynthia said with a smile.
     Miss Hoffman looked at the rest of them. They were all normal looking again.
     “What’s happening to me?” She asked.
     “You’re not supposed to be here, Miss Hoffman,” Timmy replied. “None of us are.”
     “You keep bringing us back here,” Cynthia added.
     “What on earth are you kids talking about?” Miss Hoffman asked. That was when she noticed her own hands were covered in burns. “What? What is this?” She then closed her eyes and shouted, “Just get away from me, whatever you things are! Just get away!”
     Cynthia and Timmy looked at each other. Cynthia said, “She’s still not ready to hear it.”
     “I know,” Timmy responded, shaking his head sadly.
     As Miss Hoffman rolled into a ball in the center of old ashes, the children looked over to see two burned chaperones step off the mangled old bus and wave for them to get on. The kids looked back at Miss Hoffman as Cynthia said, “Miss Hoffman, it’s time to go. Will you come this time?”
     Miss Hoffman was now covering her ears and sobbing uncontrollably.
     The children loaded the bus and simply disappeared, along with the two chaperones. A few minutes later, Miss Hoffman faded away as the first traces of morning kissed the horizon.  All that remained was the burned up and rusted hulk of an old school bus.
     By the next evening, they would all be back to tell stories, stories they’ve told again and again for five years now. Miss Hoffman kept coming back. Miss Hoffman kept bringing them all back.

~~~

     At the top of Otterman’s Quarry, the remaining students of Miss Hoffman’s class had erected a small wooden cross near a busted out guardrail five years ago. Each year they took turns coming back to remember their friends that died when a drunk driver swerved in front of the school bus and caused it to go over the quarry and crash below. The bus exploded on impact killing everyone in the inferno.
     Otterman’s Quarry has been closed to the public ever since.
     It’s been said that on nights the full moon is out, especially near Halloween, you can walk near the cliffs of the quarry and hear the voices of children coming from down below carried by the wind.  If you listened real close, you might catch a ghost story or two.

————————————————————————

“Otterman’s Quarry” Copyright © 2010 Scott Scherr.  All rights reserved. From the new book “Madhouse Theater” by Scott Scherr and John Ecko.

—————————————————————–

We hope you’ve enjoyed this ghost story from Madhouse Theater.  Happy Halloween!  

ecko.

 

From the collaborative madness of story teller and poet, Scott Scherr, and visual poet, John Ecko, comes this twisted collection of short stories, poetry, and visual nightmares from the darkest corners of their unbalanced minds. The stage is set, our props have been sharpened and our cast of characters are ready to perform their torture on you, fair reader. Within these pages wait a vast assortment of sickos, maniacs, boogeyman, monsters, myths, ghosts and much, much more. Please, take your seats and welcome to the theater. We hope you enjoy the show…although you’ve been here all along.
 
Madhouse Theater is now available for purchase.  Please go and check out my new blog to see an expanded preview of what’s inside the Madhouse.

www.madhousetheater.wordpress.com

You can also purchase directly at:

http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=2893692

~~~

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Halloween Special Edition: The Angry Ones

Posted in art, ASCII Text Art, calligrams, concrete poetry, Halloween, horror poetry, horror stories, pattern poetry, poems, poetry, shape poems, typography, Uncategorized, visual poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 21, 2010 by ecko

“The Angry Ones” Copyright © 2010 John Ecko.  All rights reserved.  From the new book, “Madhouse Theater” by Scott Scherr and John Ecko.

(Please, click on the image once or twice to see the appropriate size)

HALLOWEEN SPECIAL EDITION:  THE ANGRY ONES

As a tribute to my favorite holiday, I’ve decided to release three special edition color versions of  some of my visual nightmares from the new book, Madhouse Theater.  Here’s number three.  I am amazed at how many people I’ve spoken to that claim they’ve had encounters with ghosts at atleast one time in their lives.  I hope it’s never one of these kinds. Can you feel it yet…Halloween is just days away!

~~~

From the collaborative madness of story teller and poet, Scott Scherr, and visual poet, John Ecko, comes this twisted collection of short stories, poetry, and visual nightmares from the darkest corners of their unbalanced minds. The stage is set, our props have been sharpened and our cast of characters are ready to perform their torture on you, fair reader. Within these pages wait a vast assortment of sickos, maniacs, boogeyman, monsters, myths, ghosts and much, much more. Please, take your seats and welcome to the theater. We hope you enjoy the show…although you’ve been here all along.
 
Madhouse Theater is now available for purchase.  Please go and check out my new blog to see an expanded preview of what’s inside the Madhouse.

www.madhousetheater.wordpress.com

You can also purchase directly at:

http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=2893692

`

Something In A Dark Cloud (Sightings Part 3)

Posted in art, ASCII Text Art, calligrams, concrete poetry, Halloween, horror poetry, horror stories, pattern poetry, poems, poetry, shape poems, typography, Uncategorized, visual poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 18, 2010 by ecko

“Something In a Dark Cloud” Copyright © 2010 John Ecko.  All rights reserved.

This poem didn’t make it into the Madhouse collection, but I thought I’d share it here to finish up my three part pondering on Sightings.  I’m astonished at the amount of reported UFO sightings that I’ve read about online.  Add to that the many stories from those that claim they’ve been abducted by aliens in the middle of the night and then you have to wonder: Do these abductions happen?  It’s one thing to rationally explain the many causes that create strange lights in our evening skies, but what about the abduction claims?  Are they all lying, and if so, to what gain?  Makes me wonder.  On top of all this, I wonder how many rational minded human beings have had encounters but have never reported them.  “Who would believe me?” I can hear them say.  Indeed, who would?…and if that’s the case, and abductions do occur, then how does one stop these strange creatures from taking anyone they please when they creep undercover in the shadow of our doubts and unbelief?  Something to consider, should you ever find yourself waking up in a strange place with no idea where you are or how you got there…assuming it wasn’t the tequilla, or course.

Whether it’s the Boogeyman lurking in the closet, strange beasts that roam the wilderness, or beings from elsewhere visiting our nightly skies, there’s certainly enough evidence to say that people have seen something.  Either our eyes are liars in the dark and our imagination betrays, or perhaps we’ve caught a glimpse into the unknown and our minds are unwilling to accept the strangeness of what our senses have revealed to us…and we deny these strange sightings all together.  I, myself, am skeptical to a point, but not foolish enough to dismiss these sightings completely for there are things man has yet to understand and mysteries that still wait around every dark corner. 

For more strange tales and bizzarre sightings, please check out Madhouse Theater, now available for purchase.

From the collaborative madness of story teller and poet, Scott Scherr, and visual poet, John Ecko, comes this twisted collection of short stories, poetry, and visual nightmares from the darkest corners of their unbalanced minds. The stage is set, our props have been sharpened and our cast of characters are ready to perform their torture on you, fair reader. Within these pages wait a vast assortment of sickos, maniacs, boogeyman, monsters, myths, ghosts and much, much more. Please, take your seats and welcome to the theater. We hope you enjoy the show…although you’ve been here all along.
 
Madhouse Theater is now available for purchase.  Please go and check out my new blog to see an expanded preview of what’s inside the Madhouse.

www.madhousetheater.wordpress.com

You can also purchase directly at:

http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=2893692

~~~

All You Can Eat (A Short Story from the Madhouse)

Posted in art, ASCII Text Art, calligrams, concrete poetry, Halloween, horror poetry, horror stories, pattern poetry, poems, poetry, shape poems, typography, Uncategorized, visual poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 15, 2010 by ecko

      I’ve been a waitress here at Mickey’s Diner for the last twenty years, and I’ve seen them all come and go. The place is usually crawling with an assortment of unsavory flavors after 3 am, but not tonight. The winter storm is keeping them all indoors or below their rocks or on their far-away home worlds; wherever they come from. At one time I was convinced that I worked at the only place on the planet build above a colossal creep magnet that attracted them from all over. But not tonight.
      Aside from the locals, even the freeway traffic was at a minimum. No drifter delights for this girl this evening. What a shame that would be. Guess I might have to simply enjoy my shift for once, then go home to my family without any stories about obnoxious patrons or strung out truck drivers sucking down the coffee faster than I could brew it.
      Must have been my karma. Just as I was nearing the home stretch to a one-of-a-kind quiet evenings on third shift, in comes perhaps the strangest customer I have ever had the misfortune to serve.
      He startled me real good. I was just wiping down table six, which had just hosted four teenagers who used the tabletop condiments for their own amusements (gross little fuckers), and turned around just in time to see a man standing just inside the front doorway. He was bundled up in foul weather clothes, looking tattered and torn with use, and a dirty hood pulled half way down his face. He was apparently fascinated with a piece of Mickey’s Diner food artifact left by the lazy day crew or the lights were hurting his eyes. Either way, his mere presence standing silently in the darkest side of the diner had me thinking he was up to no good.
      Just great, we hadn’t had a robbery in months. Why now, and on my shift? I’d like to find that fellow who invented karma and punch him in the face!
      “Howdy, stranger,” I began, “Where’d you come from? I don’t want to sound rude but if you’re looking to make a score you’ve come to the wrong place. You probably have more money in your wallet than we got in the register.” I was trying to sound part funny and part serious. Whatever it took to make light of what could quickly be a bad scene. I also spoke just loud enough to let Hal, the cook, know to go grab the shotgun from Mickey’s office. It was never loaded, but it sure looked intimidating when you pulled it out. Hopefully, that would be enough.
      “Now that we’ve taken care of that, can I get you a table?” I asked hopefully.
      The stranger lifted his head and gave me the chills when I saw his glazed eyes. He looked like he was on something, and that wasn’t good.
      Where the hell was Hal? He should’ve come out by now.
      “Table, please,” the stranger almost whispered.
      “Well alright then,” I said and grabbed a menu, motioning him to follow me toward the table I’d just cleaned off.
      The man only increased my suspicions as he limped in my direction. He was either high on something, or very drunk. I backed off a good five feet to let him sit down. If he tried anything, I had my hand close enough to the half full coffee pot to give him a good spray, before running into the kitchen.
      As it turned out, Hal never heard me and the stranger wasn’t interested in foul play of any kind. I started to feel a little foolish as he scooted in to the booth and merely stared at the menu I placed before him.
      What can I say, I’ve been on this shift long enough to know that “a little foolish” was okay in my line of work. The stranger obviously took no offense to my initial comments.
      “What can I get you?” I asked.
      The stranger wouldn’t look at me. I was a little bothered when he showed me his filthy hands and began wiping something resembling dried up blood off his face. But that was probably me being foolish again.
      “Something raw,” was what he said.
      I couldn’t help myself. That made me laugh uncontrollably. Maybe it was just the way he said it in that whisper-like voice, or perhaps my nerves were just shot from this whole bizarre experience.
      When I regained control, my sarcasm took over, “Let me guess, you’re a zombie that just wandered in out of the cold and now you want me to serve you up live manwich on a bun, does that about cover it?”
      “Exactly,” the stranger said. I thought I caught a hint of a smile beneath that hood.
      Sensing his amusement and the fact that it had been a boring night up until now, I played along, “I see, let me write that down. One live human… All-you-can-eat then? Would you like a to-go box for what you don’t finish?”
      The stranger laughed. He then pretended to examine the menu and said, “That sounds great. How about some fingers- chicken fingers to go along with that as well. And a cup of coffee stripped from the hand of a dead man.”
      Oh, this was getting fun now.
      I pretended to write this all down. “Fingers we can do, but I’m afraid the manwich will take a bit. I can get you the coffee for starters.”
      “That would be gor-ious,” the man chided.
      I got the stranger a cup of coffee and reminded myself to smack Hal later and command him to buy a hearing aid.
 “Seriously, fellow,” I asked, “What can I get you to eat?”
      The stranger removed his hood for the first time and I noticed that the back of his head was covered in blood. In fact, a good portion of his skull was missing. He looked up at me with those dead eyes and smiled. “I’ll just have a salad…for now.”
      It should have registered that there was something dreadfully wrong at this point.   Clearly, this stranger was indeed, a zombie,  yet my tired and overworked mind could not grasp this fully, so I continued with the jokes, “So does that make you a vegetarian then? Bit odd don’t you think?”
      Again, the stranger/zombie laughed and responded, “I consider myself a humanitarian.”
      Now that was funny, zombie or not. I was rolling with laughter.
      The stranger was laughing as well. Again, he grabbed some napkins and began wiping the traces of blood from his face.
      “A bit dead tonight?” The stranger asked.
      “Yeah, but I won’t hold it against you,” I said. Man, I was on a roll.
      The stranger laughed again and said, “My, you are a live one. It will almost be a shame to eat you. I’ve enjoyed our company.”
      Not understanding that the stranger was no longer joking, I continued, “Eat me, pal, and you’ll be doing this girl a favor. You’ll save me the trouble of finishing this lousy shift.”
      “Anything for you, sweetheart,” the stranger said.
      We were having so much fun I never made the connection between all that blood and Hal never showing up with the shotgun.

—————————————————————-

“ATM” Copyright © 2010 Scott Scherr.  All rights reserved. From the new book “Madhouse Theater” by Scott Scherr and John Ecko.

—————————————————————–

We hope you’ve enjoyed this twisted tale with a slice of humor from Madhouse Theater.  

ecko.

 

From the collaborative madness of story teller and poet, Scott Scherr, and visual poet, John Ecko, comes this twisted collection of short stories, poetry, and visual nightmares from the darkest corners of their unbalanced minds. The stage is set, our props have been sharpened and our cast of characters are ready to perform their torture on you, fair reader. Within these pages wait a vast assortment of sickos, maniacs, boogeyman, monsters, myths, ghosts and much, much more. Please, take your seats and welcome to the theater. We hope you enjoy the show…although you’ve been here all along.
 
Madhouse Theater is now available for purchase.  Please go and check out my new blog to see an expanded preview of what’s inside the Madhouse.

www.madhousetheater.wordpress.com

You can also purchase directly at:

http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=2893692

~~~

Bigfoot (Sightings Part 2)

Posted in art, ASCII Text Art, calligrams, concrete poetry, Halloween, horror poetry, horror stories, pattern poetry, poems, poetry, shape poems, typography, Uncategorized, visual poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 14, 2010 by ecko

“Bigfoot” Copyright © 2010 John Ecko.  All rights reserved.  From the new book, “Madhouse Theater” by Scott Scherr and John Ecko.

One of the most famous sightings of all time is that of the 8 to 10 foot creature that’s been spoted in numerous places around the world and has been known by many names.  Eye witnesses swear they’ve encountered such a creature and to this day the hunt is on to find Bigfoot.  From casts of enormous prints to sketchy photographs and video footage, there are even those who have claimed to have heard the beast in the middle of the night- sceptics and believers alike still explore the wilderness to prove or disprove such beasts exist.  Perhaps some creatures should not be found…if we know what’s good for us.  

~~~  

For more poems and tales about creatures that roam the dark places, check out Madhouse Theater.

From the collaborative madness of story teller and poet, Scott Scherr, and visual poet, John Ecko, comes this twisted collection of short stories, poetry, and visual nightmares from the darkest corners of their unbalanced minds. The stage is set, our props have been sharpened and our cast of characters are ready to perform their torture on you, fair reader. Within these pages wait a vast assortment of sickos, maniacs, boogeyman, monsters, myths, ghosts and much, much more. Please, take your seats and welcome to the theater. We hope you enjoy the show…although you’ve been here all along.
 
Madhouse Theater is now available for purchase.  Please go and check out my new blog to see an expanded preview of what’s inside the Madhouse.

www.madhousetheater.wordpress.com

You can also purchase directly at:

http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=2893692

Monster Photographed in Grand River, Ohio? (Sightings Part 1)

Posted in art, ASCII Text Art, calligrams, concrete poetry, Halloween, horror poetry, horror stories, pattern poetry, poems, poetry, shape poems, typography, Uncategorized, visual poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 13, 2010 by ecko

This photograph was taken October 11, 2010 at Hidden Valley Park in Madison, Ohio by my fellow Madhouse collaborator, Scott Scherr, when he was out hiking with his two boys.  It appears to be the head of some strange creature hovering just above the water,  possibly napping…lol.  The creature seems to resemble a  crocodile with grayish skin.  You decide…is it a rock? Some trick of light and shadow perhaps?  Either way, Scott’s not telling what he thinks he saw but he does say that this was not a staged photograph.

After showing me the photo, it looked like a great opportunity to introduce a segment from our new book, “Madhouse Theater” that I’ve decided to do in three parts called, “Sightings”. 

It was wonderful to share a “sighting” of our own here on Eckovision, just in time for Halloween, and photos such as this one beg the question: “Do we see what we want to see or are there strange, unexplained occurences happening all around us, proving that the lines between myth and reality are much closer to being blurred by our own personal encounters?” Are we really witnessing strange beasts in the water, or 10 foot hairy creatures roaming the woods, or are those strange lights we spot at night something…otherwordly?  Some things to consider next time you happen to be out and about and catch a glimpse of something strange in the corner of your eye. 

Here’s a poem from the Madhouse that touches upon such encounters:

  

Strange Lights

We watched them move across the night;
strange lights in a moonless sky.

At first glance one might dismiss
this sleight of hand on eye.

One by one they killed all doubts,
and reason lost its voice.

Dare we let such wonder in?
A skeptic’s loss of choice?

How long did we fail to notice;
have they been there all this time?

In those few moments we laid down
the trivial for the sublime.

Like children when the world was new,
dumfounded and sincere,

We shared a common unity-
at least…until the fear.

We watched them move across the night;
strange lights in a moonless sky

pretending to be stars.

 

“Strange Lights” Copyright © 2010 Scott Scherr. All rights reserved. From the new book, “Madhouse Theater”.

  

For more strange speculations,  please check out our new book, “Madhouse Theater”.

~~~

From the collaborative madness of story teller and poet, Scott Scherr, and visual poet, John Ecko, comes this twisted collection of short stories, poetry, and visual nightmares from the darkest corners of their unbalanced minds. The stage is set, our props have been sharpened and our cast of characters are ready to perform their torture on you, fair reader. Within these pages wait a vast assortment of sickos, maniacs, boogeyman, monsters, myths, ghosts and much, much more. Please, take your seats and welcome to the theater. We hope you enjoy the show…although you’ve been here all along.
 
Madhouse Theater is now available for purchase.  Please go and check out my new blog to see an expanded preview of what’s inside the Madhouse.

www.madhousetheater.wordpress.com

You can also purchase directly at:

http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=2893692