To Those In Need–a story

To Those In Need

    The snow was falling. This wasn’t the first snow of the season but this was the most significant snow, the first real snow. The city was huddled together against the cold and spreading darkness but passed in silence, defenses up against forced holiday cheer. As the snow falls the darkness seems to take on a life all its own and the masses move closer to one another, bumping against each other and grunting in response, angry at the closeness but loathing the dark and what it brings. And in the dark things begin to move. They come from the shadows, from between the walls, from behind dumpsters, from under cardboard castles, crawling out into the night and stretching like children as their days begin. The scavengers. And as they emerge the people on the streets purposefully ignore them, actively ignore them so as not to be infected with the sight of them. In the distance the tolling of the church bells. First one church, then another, as if in competition, then finally, distantly, a third and last church awakens to toll the birth of a new hour. One of the scavengers climbs from out of a dumpster and watches the people as they march by outside of the alley, hustling back and forth, some with packages, some with briefcases, some with purses and all of them actively ignoring him and as they do he smiles, smiles beneath a thick black beard that flows down from his face over his throat and across his chest. He reaches down absently and pulls his pants up with a hand as the other hand scratches in the nest of his beard. Suddenly he feels new eyes on him and turns to see one of the others staring him and his smile drops. No need for façade with these. He narrows his eyes and sees the heat coming off the woman and can smell her. She smells like rot and waste. The scent makes him sick. He stares at her and she stares back, wavering, after a moment she speaks.

  “I don’t like you.”

He smiles at her, his mouth spreading open as he leans forward towards her. The woman frowns takes a step back, then another and her eyes look away from the scavenger in the dumpster and out to the alley’s entrance and the people there. To get there she’d have to walk past the scavenger too close to him and she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t like him. He reminds her of a sick dog her grandpa had had down south. The woman looks over her shoulder to the back of the alley and sees more of the scavengers as they too stretch from waking. Beyond them is another alley entrance and more people passing by. Her skin is crawling. She doesn’t like it here. She doesn’t like it here. She doesn’t like it here. She is cold, and her feet hurt, and her belly is empty and she wants to be away from these sick dogs and back onto the streets amongst the people. She turns back and the scavenger stands before her still smiling, smiling with so many teeth, so many teeth. As he opens his mouth all she can think of is that dog, that sick red dog and the way it would look at her from under her grandpa’s porch, how it would growl at her from a cloud of flies, how it was sick, was very sick until her grandpa took a gun and made it better. She stepped away from the scavenger but he was faster and on her in a moment and after that she is cold no longer.

    In the streets the growing shadows thin out the crowds and as the bells toll hour after hour even the streets begin to empty. As the streets and sidewalks grow barren though the bars and restaurants fill with the sounds of laughter and talk, the sounds of the season barring out the thunderous sound of snowfall. As the people move indoors the scavengers slink from their hiding places, coming out toward the bright lights and roar of the people. Drawn, always drawn to them, and drawn to the people that they hate as much as the people hate them. They prefer the darkness, the silence, and the company of rats and insects. They don’t even want to be with one another but stick to packs for protection and little else. Some still reproduce, or attempt to, but such as them never do well in the wilds, on the streets, and there is nowhere else for them to go. Not here. Not in this place. This place is too loud, too bright, and there are too many people shoving in on them. It seems as if it’s always been like this. At least since the days when they came here, following the people as they migrated and shadowing them and now, and now they were here, trapped by the people and with them. The bells toll and the scavenger puts his hands over his ears and retreats into the darkness, sneering. So loud. Always so loud. He closes his eyes and can see the reverberations in his head, like great white waves rushing over him. He bends forward and vomits noisily into the alley and as he is bent forward he feels a hand on his back, patting him, comforting him. He turns quickly, vomit and blood dripping from his lips as he does.

  “My, my god, man, are, are you all right? I, I am from St. John’s down the street, I, I am making my holiday rounds, spreading the word of the Lord and giving aid or comfort where needed. You, you…are you alright my son? Do you need aid? Do you need comfort?”

The scavenger looked up at the priest and the smell of him was overpowering. He could smell the detergent in his clothes, the soap from his hands, the remnants of shaving foam and beneath it all the faint scent of cigarettes. The priest smiled down on him but the smile faltered then faded. The priest took a step away from him, then another, giving a sign of the cross as the scavenger licked the blood from his lips and smiled at the man. His teeth were not sharp, his hands were not powerful but he was stronger than this man, and he had learned where the softest parts were, the places where it was easiest to bite and get what he needed. He was hungry. The old woman was full of disease, of rot of the mind, rot of the lungs and that was making him sick. It was making the lights too bright, the sounds too loud. He needed to feed. Needed it now. He still lead his pack, was still the strongest of them but he was getting older, and if he let this disease live him in, let her tainted blood survive in her then they might make their move, might make sure he never saw another night. He saw the blood coursing through the priest and smelled the fear. And fear made it better, made the kill sweeter, made it like the old days, made it like when they were all much younger and the world much less crowded and loud. He smiled and the priest was frozen in his eyes, frozen in his stare. The scavenger could feel the blood caking and freezing in his beard and heard the others behind him, whispering to one another, watching to see what he’d do. He was sick. He needed to feed. He had waited long enough. He was old but even full of poison he was faster than a man and he was on the priest in a moment, too fast for the priest to scream, too fast for him to run. The scavenger stood before priest and looked into his eyes and grabbed his hands and could feel the blood thundering through his veins. His stomach growled. The scavenger looked into the eyes of the priest and saw the fear, the old fear, the fear his kind had seen since the beginning, when the scavengers and the humans rose from the same mud, and suckled from the same breasts before the scavengers chose a life of darkness and the humans a life of light. The scavenger fell to his knees before the holy man and brought his hands to his lips and held them at his lips and kissed them softly.

  “Go, priest, go now, go now and take this gift from a long lost brother, take this gift and go back to your world. Go back and remember why your kind fears the dark. Go and make merry while you still have a chance. Go and live. GO!”

    Screaming the last and shoving the man away. The priest shakes his head, dazed and looks away from the man kneeling before him, past him to the things that are running this way, and there, there is Satan, there is Lucifer, there are the adversaries agents and he is off, he is running, he is away into the lights, into the world, into the safety of the open air where it didn’t stink of blood and filth. And behind him a scream, a scream that will echo in his heart until the end of his days but he doesn’t look back, cannot look back, looking only to the distant church that quickly approaches him and falls on his knees before the savior, thanking him for this night and for every night he may have before him, and cannot help but weep as midnight’s bells sound out through the night.

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It’s the End of the Year As We Know It…

Every year around about this time I sit down and try to give my own thanks to all the people in my life and look back on the year that was. Welcome, friend, to 2011’s version.

 It’s The End of the Year As We Know It

 You know, I have been writing these little end of the year missives for a pretty fair amount of time now and I can truly and genuinely tell you that I love writing them. I love being able to take a moment to thank the people in my life who make my life something more than a countdown of days. I have always approached these as a way to tell you, as many of you as I am able, how much you mean to me and how important you are to who I am. We forget so easily the names and faces that flow through our lives but never the impact they have because the heart can register things our minds often don’t. The kind gesture of a stranger, the hug of a friend, the gentle kiss of a loved one, these things create seismic shifts in us that are felt long after they happen. It’s funny that I still remember the most random things from my school days and yet so much is lost. I recall when my Commercial Art teacher called me in for my senior evaluation after taking his class for two years and being told, with all seriousness, that I was no artist. A cruel thing to say and one that kept me from seriously doing art for at least a decade. But in the same way the good things can last as well. Can send quakes along your heart that help to make life richer, more vibrant, and more valuable.

There will never be a way to repay all of the kindnesses or all of the nastiness I have experienced in life so I am left working, day by day, to pay forward the good and to work past the bad. And I wish it was as easy as that, as easy as saying – I refuse to let these things and these people hurt me and I swear to be better today than I was yesterday – but life isn’t that simple. We are not that simple. The wisest man will always do ignorant things and the greatest monster will have moments of kindness, and that’s how it should be. We should forever be learning, forever growing, forever evolving into whatever it is we are meant to be. I have been lucky enough to have so many patient, good people in my life who are willing to suffer through my bad days and champion my good ones. I hope that I do at least that much for all of you.

I feel very lucky, and very thankful this year, more so than usual, as I have been lucky enough to release three books, do a lot of art shows, a couple conventions, and lived a dream. Lucky isn’t even a big enough word for how I feel but it’s the best one I have because the odds were against us until I was just about ready to give up on the dream of doing a horror convention in Flint and things just suddenly came together. That happens when you have a lot of support, a lot of friendship, and a lot of love backing you up. That happens when you are lucky enough to be surrounded by good people that won’t let you fall apart.

If this year served to tell me anything it was to keep dreaming. Keep dreaming not just the small things but the big things, the enormous things, the things that cast shadows far into the future. I found out that dreams, the best ones, won’t come easy, won’t come fast, and won’t come without taxing your patience and resolve but that once you achieve them things are suddenly so much sweeter. And we won’t attain every dream, we just can’t, but the ones that matter most, the ones that you sit up nights thinking about and planning, those are the ones we need to cling fast to. Those are the ones we can’t let go of too easily or we’ll forever regret it. And in dreaming, just the sheer act of dreaming we give ourselves reasons to reach higher, go farther, and to keep pushing even in the darkest of times because there is always, always hope, even in the darkness of pitch black self doubt because there is always the next day, the next time so long as we don’t give up. Because if you give up, if you give up all there is left is regret.

And of all the poisons the heart will suffer, regret may be the most potent because it is often the one we are fully in control of doling out. Regret is a poison that kills so much in us, so much of our past, so much of our future, and it takes away so much of our present that it colors everything in deep ashen hues. But life is full of regret, full of the hard choices we make for ourselves, for others, for things and dreams we cannot yet fathom. Regret is natural, is a necessary evil in a life brimming with choices. We are bound to regret things, it is how we deal with that regret and how we move forward from it that defines us. It is how we rise above the regret, or tunnel through it, that defines who we are yet to be.

And I have regrets, boy do I, but I will always, always count myself lucky to have so many amazing people in my life, whether they be close friends or acquaintances because all of you help to define me, and help me see past those many regrets and to keep reaching upwards. All of you share my passions, my joys, my failures and regrets in some small way and all of you help me move forward from all of it so I never get to high nor too low. The darkness is always there friends, is always waiting to cover us, and it will, from time to time, but together we can keep it at bay, and can keep one another in the light. Together we can are a light eternal that can cast away anything if but we stand as one.

Together we are mighty.

Together we are strong.

I leave you with a wish my friends, a simple, simple wish.

May your wisdom out-gain your need, may your love overpower your fear, and may the people around you echo your beauty but remind you where the earth is as you soar.

Thanks for everything.

Wishing you and yours the best in 2012.

I hope it is a year of living dreams for every one of you.

 

In the end only you can save yourself and no one is beyond saving.

Remember that.

 

-          Chris

 

A Debt–OR–My Annual Holiday Note

Every year I write a letter to my friends and acquaintances to show my appreciate for their being around. Since you’re here, and are reading, you must care to some passing degree as well, so I offer this note to you also, whomever you are.

I owe you a debt.

I owe it and it’s time to repay.

Ah, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.

You see, as we go through our lives it is the small moments, the breath we hold before something amazing happens, or breath we let out as we jump into something without looking, that defines who we are. It is the small moments, the seemingly insignificant moments that tie the tapestry of our lives together. It is within these moments that possibility, hope, love, passion, all the good things live. It’s only when we over think things, and only when we let the enormity of life weigh too heavy on our backs that we begin to see the shadows instead of the light. It is only through the moments that magic lives.

And to find people to share your life with is nothing but pure, unadulterated magic.

Magic exists, and I have proof.

My proof is you.

Of all the people in all the world we have come to know one another and were, and are in one another’s lives. Some how, some way we came to mean something to one another and have become part of one another’s life. Even if ours is a passing friendship the fact that you got this and that you are reading this means that we have affected one another in some way. It means we care. The glory of life is that, amidst the pain, doubt, and misery there are people who care more about us than we know, and who sometimes want better for us than we even want for ourselves.

This year has brought all of us pain, loss, heartache, doubt, and more moments of sorrow than any of us need or deserve but between those trials there have been those moments where the people we loved and care for were there for us and made sure we knew it. There were the times when someone took our hand, or our heart, and they were there when we needed them most. It would be great if we could always be there for one another, if our lives afforded us the luxury of the time and ability to always be there but that isn’t how this life is built, and we do our best, and it’s enough. It is enough that, at least for me, you are there at all. We don’t always do the right thing, the best thing, the smart thing, but it’s the people around us that let us know that even in our failures we’re good enough. We’re beautiful.

We are greater than we think, wiser than we know, and we have more to offer the world than we can imagine. This is the beginning. This is always the beginning and there is always room for change.

Why?

Because you are here.

I am here.

We are here.

And together we can change ourselves.

We can change the world.

The hell of life is that we will always want what we cannot have, love what we cannot keep, and lose that which we hold most dear but for now we are together, and while we are together we are not alone. Together we can be strng.

I lost someone dear to me this year and their loss still hangs about me but the love of my friends made that loss easier, as did the memory of having had this person in my life for a time. And I owe my lost friend just as I owe you.

I owe you for the love, the friendship, the trust, and the understanding you have given me over the time we have known one another. Without your help I wouldn’t be the person I am, or have done the things I have. Without the inspiration of some people who I love dearly I may never have found the world of the Meep Sheep, Bloo Moos, Bumble Kitties, or the other creatures and characters that fill out this year’s release of The Meep Sheep.

I owe you, each and every one of you for standing with me for this stretch of the road. I know all of us won’t be in one another’s lives for the duration but that you are here now, and have been in my life and affected me and who I am is all that matters. Your fingerprints are forever on my heart.

For today, for this past year, and for as long as you have been and are in my life I thank you. I know for many of us this has been a trying year, one that defined some of us and which for others made us question who we are. All I can say is that this is but one year of many and there is always time for change, for hope, and for new beginnings.

Here is to you, my friend, and to the year that was and that has yet to come. And here is to all that has held us back and pushes us on, for these are the things that make us who we are. It is only by struggle that we are defined and only by overcoming struggle can we ascend.

Friend, I owe you a debt, and I hope than in at least small ways I repay that debt every day.

Thank you.

Chris Arrrrrrrrr

Always a Great Time for Books and Art!

Well, the holidays are rolling in like a jolly fog kids so that means it’s time to go out and slog through the crush of humanity for presents. Ah, well, what a great idea I have for you! Why not treat yourself or the ones you love to the gift of a book or of art?

Like weird paintings of monsters and strange things? Then maybe you have a friend that would like one of my paintings!

Know someone who likes tales told in the dark? Then try Back From Nothing or This Beautiful Darkness.

Know someone who prefers their tales a bit more whimsical? Then try The Meep Sheep

For information, check to the right to contact me or order the books. I promise you won’t be disappointed.