Qayid Aljaysh Juyub
A shadow from beyond
In the darkest hours of the night you sometimes notice their devouring presence and a vague, ancient fear rises deep within your soul. Those who are darker than the blackest shadows have existed since the dawn of mankind and will always exist until the last Homo Sapiens will whimper for a merciful death. Greedily, those from the intermediate realm reach into the world of the living to feast on delicious suffering in occupied physicality. She once sought eternal life as a powerful aristocrat and found it in unexpected ways. As a wrathful soul of the dead, the former Dark Countess penetrates deep into the minds of her victims, which may soon include you!
Kevin's enjoyable burp, which resembled in its volume rather a full-grown elephant interrupted rather ungently the expert remarks of his mother to the official measures concerning the Pandemie. She worked part-time as a nurse and was, so to speak, at the forefront of the failed and half-hearted efforts of an incompetent government with a rudimentary understanding of democracy.
"Bravo, lad, no pig can bear this eternal grumbling! But thank God our young people are quite different!"
While Mama Miraculi - Anette with her civil name - was literally speechless, grandfather Armin looked at his 9-year-old grandson with a satisfied look, who in turn returned the visual pleasure of the old man with a mocking glow in his eyes.
"Grandpa is an old climatic pig!"
Now it was up to the grandfatherly trunk animal to look at the well-behaved grandson in complete perplexity, while the rest of the family, which in addition to the well-known mother animal still consisted of father Ronny and daughter
Elisabeth, remained in various variations of silence at the richly laid breakfast table.
"Kevin, what has gotten into you? Apologize to grandpa, please!"
Despite the previous, harsh criticism of the older generation and although she would have loved to slay the present exponent of the same on several occasions, the producer of the male offspring of that Federal Republic happy family felt compelled to intervene regulatively.
"But Anette, I am loud, because he steals my future! The old man has destroyed the earth, that's what they told me on the children's channel and he is also white and therefore very, very bad! Therefore, grandpa should also die quickly, so that the earth is healed again!"
The indignation of his beloved grandson met now -surprise, surprise - with little understanding of the old world destroyer.
"You damned bastard ..."
"Now let's all calm down for once!"
Now Papa Ronny also broke his hitherto contented silence in a partisan de-escalating manner.
"Grandpa Armin should remember that he and his ilk have driven the planet right up the wall. It's no wonder the kid's upset about it."
As encouraging as he was conspiratorial, the father winked at his dedicated filius, who in turn smiled at his producer with a sly glint in his eye.
With extremely sullen facial expressions, Armin the climate pest preferred not to respond to the propagandistically valuable reproaches of his son, who had been brought up in his image. In similar situations, the respectful descendant used to mockingly point out to the paternal pensioner that he was planning to send 'the old wreck' to the St. Jude's home for the elderly - that old people's home run by a church was unofficially also called 'the camp'. Of course, this was an empty threat, since the head of our family could make good use of the old man's pension, and the old people's home, run in the spirit of Christian charity, demanded exorbitant prices for its modest services, which made relatives who had to pay maintenance feel like gutted Christmas geese. To his chagrin, the climate-sick grandfather did not realize the lack of content in such cheap threatening gestures and cowered accordingly.
“Besides, I don’t want to hear any more of that infantile chick talk!”
With a demanding look of clenched masculinity, the loving husband regarded his spouse, who bowed her blond-haired head in learned submissiveness.
“By the way, my cup is empty!”
Elisabeth, the last link in the family food chain, hurried to fill the caring father’s exquisite piece of crockery with the fine coffee brewed especially for him – the rest of the family was allowed to make do with the inferior products of a local discounter for reasons of cost.
“Do I have to say everything?”
The head of the family, so devoted to himself, gave his 13-year-old daughter a reproving shake of the head, though secretly congratulating himself for the little girl’s good dressage. In childish love, Elisabeth reached for her father’s sugar dispenser to sweeten the patriarch’s noble drink, but was prevented from doing so by an imperious gesture from the patriarch.
“I’d rather do it myself before you screw up again! Speaking of crap: Why did you actually only write a ‘B’ in the last math test? Maybe that’s too much to ask of a girl, but take your brother as an example. He doesn’t go to grammar school, but he’s the head climatic activist at his elementary school, and he even gets the principal to dance to his tune, so that no one dares to let him sit out another year! You can’t help but be proud of a boy like that!”
Filled with paternal pride in the less intellectually gifted progenitor, Ronny grabbed the aforementioned sugar shaker, the top of which immediately came loose during the dosing process and landed most ungently, along with a massive load of precious sugar, in the oversized paternal coffee cup, which, triggering a caffeinated tsunami on the breakfast table, fell over with a loud clatter. While the rest of the family, including its official head, remained in surprised, horrified silence, the gleeful laughter of the highly esteemed heir to the throne revealed the real author of the disaster.
The family tyrant’s first impulse, of course, was to properly chastise the beloved son for the misdeed. But since our man was a macho man of the more cowardly sort, he quickly thought better of it. As a small bean counter at the job center he had little to report and used to crawl his superiors properly in the anus. He was able to compensate for this by taking out his frustrations on customers and his own family. Thanks to his dim-witted but extremely active son, whom he cleverly allowed to jump on the currently orchestrated climate crusade, he suddenly became somebody. His son-man and his little one brought it in the long run actually on the front page of the local cheering sheet; even government council Beutelschneider should have inquired after him according to statements of his dictatorial superior! Although sometimes certain strangulation fantasies regarding the worthy offspring went through his civil servant’s skull, it would be inconceivable if the moody Kevin was no longer up for the whole climatic theater.
“So Elisabeth, you really are a little bitch! Soon you’ll be checking everything before you set the breakfast table. As punishment, after you’ve cleaned everything up here, you’ll clean the toilet and get grounded for 3 weeks.”
Ignoring the mindless laughter of the careerist offspring, the paternal tyrant continued issuing orders.
“Grandpa Armin is now going up to his garret to think about climate change. Anette, you mow the lawn with the household shears now and go shopping afterwards!”
In the meantime the laughter of the funny Kevin faded away, who grinned broadly with regard to the affectionate look with which his father covered him.
“Kevin, my beloved son, wouldn’t you like to play with your Paystation 62 ½?”
The addressed smiled benevolently. A round of gambling wasn't bad, maybe he could have some animal torturous fun with Elizabeth's bird or his battered golden hamster.
"I now proceed to the study to the home office and wish not to be disturbed. Breakfast is over, starting now!"
In one accord, united in mutual hatred, the family left the breakfast table and the Dark Countess reached for the mind of her chosen victim.
The cockatiel snuggled comfortably in the hands of the person supposedly carrying him. This comfort, however, came to an abrupt end when the bird was unexpectedly placed in the half-full sink of the fitted kitchen and, after a brief surprise, fought for its life with its plumage sucking itself full.
Meanwhile, the dark countess completely controlled her victim, whose mind was in a kind of dream state. All motor functions of the host body were available to the 'bogeywoman'. Actually, she intended in a first impulse to simply crush the stupid feathered creature and/or to sink it into the toilet. The shadowy creature quickly recollected itself and filled said sink with the amount of water that was just sufficient for the bird to be unable to stand in it and to drown in agony after a certain pleasurable time.
Amused, the parasite from the netherworld watched the futile, gradually weakening efforts of the unfortunate pet. Finally, bored, she allowed herself a quick glance at the other furnishings of the highly polished kitchen, only to mischievously chuckle and put a spontaneous idea into action.
"Poor Hansi, you got all wet."
She deftly took the half-dead and now completely apathetic bird out of its horrible bath.
"Well, we'll just have to dry you off!"
Quickly, the Dark Countess placed the cockatiel on the little turntable of the open microwave, closed the same and turned on the appliance on maximum. When the object of the unconventional animal experiment exploded shortly afterwards, 'the bogeywoman' left the kitchen laughing happily.
Armin, the grandson-conditioned titular climatic proboscidean, dozed rather buzzed on the scuffed couch in his modest garret. On the cheap camping table stood a bottle of 'Danziger Sewage', resealed after drinking, which the old man had half emptied within a short time. Since the financially esteemed grandfather was allowed to pay most of his pension to the self-loving son, he was left with quite modest means for his personal needs. Although grandpa paymaster belonged to the cohorts who still received a relatively decent pension, he resembled those who had to vegetate at the edge of the subsistence level due to the insurance-affine, asocial govermental reform - as is well known, the champagne corks were popping at the As-illianz insurance company - in terms of assets due to the special care of his offspring; the 'thanks of the fatherland' for lifelong work. So the old man could just get himself some cheap booze from the discounter 'Schiddl', which was bottled in sturdy earthenware bottles. As the reader can probably imagine, the lion's share of the expenses was made up of the aforementioned containers, so that the delicious swill could not only be called 'sewage' in its name; rumor has it that the Russian Mafia used the drink to dissolve corpses in it at low cost. In any case, the greenish liquid was a lot of fun in Grandpa Armin's head, so that he was able to block out his miserable situation until about the middle of the month, when he ran out of money and the big hangover began.
The whole thing was accompanied by the grandfather's decrepit radio, from which the program 'Dementia Musica' of the state radio station 'DDR3' with selected pieces of slightly moronic folk music sounded full-bodied. The direct successor model of the famous folk receiver was one of the few artifacts from Grandpa Armin's once rich inventory, the rest was sold off by the faithful descendant on the occasion of the move of its producer into the previously unused attic.
At the moment, the thoughts of the ignoble old man circled around the recent events during the common breakfast and the behavior of his son, whom he had raised after all in his image.
Also, how sweet were the times when he still mimed the macho king of the Karenz barracks. In front of the local thugs and all kinds of authorities, Arminius the Mouth Herius folded his puny tail, but instead the proud office assistant played a downright oppressive role towards his family, which would have made many a brutal tyrant turn green with envy. Oh, how often did he then benevolently chastise his wife because the food did not have the right degree of warmth? Had not the little selfless patriarch, out of sheer goodness of heart and because he actually believed that his filius would later provide for him, occasionally supported the beloved son by giving him a good beating to graduate from his 'higher school'? And the occasional bribes to the teaching staff, should they have been in vain? With tears of narcissistic self-pity in his eyes, the little pitiful old man wondered what he had done to deserve this miserable fate. But at least, it went comfortingly through the ignoble old man's brain, the ungrateful descendant behaved like a 'real German man'!
A strange giggle snapped Grandpa Armin out of his bitterly nostalgic daydreams. Was that something again this small dung bellows? Lately, the cheerfully affectionate little grandchild used to disturb the little respected grandfather at his 'Morning Pint', cough at him, loudly shout 'Corona' and then run away laughing. Well, thought the deprived tyrant conciliatory, he actually behaves like a real, little Hitler boy. Only slightly annoyed, the old man opened his eyes.
"What do you want..."
The statement of Armin the Unwise was rudely interrupted, because the massive earthenware bottle of his special favorite drink collided quite rudely with the grandfatherly, not only in the physical sense 'soft pear'.
Like a cat, the Dark Countess had crept into the old man's modest dwelling, grabbed the chunky bottle of 'Danziger Sewage' and, laughing merrily, was now working on her victim's head in a way that Greta Thunberg would probably also use on Donald Trump if the opportunity arose. The mighty ex-macho king was already after the first blow in the realm of nightmares and was in the further course of extremely activist action quickly transported to a better world; accompanying the masterpiece of rustic howl from the 'merry woodchopper boys' sounded from the radio.
After the work was finished, the bogeywoman looked boredly at the crushed skull of the old man, carelessly threw the murder instrument with demonic force into a suitable corner, so that it burst and the pouring residual contents properly corroded the flooring.Finally, she left the run-down, grandfatherly living quarters, yawning contentedly.
Meanwhile, 'DDR3' tormented its unhappy listeners with 'Say goodbye quietly'.
Kevin roasted the old lady and her poodle with a well-aimed beam from his flamethrower. The Paystation game 'Doomsday Massacre' offered all hobby psychos the possibility to virtually disembowel all kinds of contemporaries in a more or less original way. Actually only with proud '18' released, overfather Ronny got the slightly stupid, but with outstanding graphics equipped, baller game as a 'reward' for the extremely useful offspring; of course, the ulterior motive to educate the lucrative son to a 'real man' played a certain role.
"You won't be consuming any coke now, old climarian liar!"
The 9-year-old's excited, slightly unintelligible exclamation was, of course, based on some misunderstandings that are not uncommon among children of that age and were particularly pronounced in a specimen like Kevin, who was endowed with little cognitive ability.The young climate activist had not quite mentally grasped the issue of carbon dioxide - called 'coke' because of certain linguistic inadequacies - and the little boy could not quite get to grips with the propagandistic term 'denier'. Even the surname - Kevin used either Thuna, Tuna or sometimes Tünnes - of that highly stylized icon of a child crusade controlled from above, the highly under-gifted primary school pupil was not able to realize correctly.
While he continued to computer-technically slaughter random passers-by like a crazed Islamist at the Feast of the Sacrifice, some infantile wisdoms even passed through his narcissistic mind. Full of envy, the propagandistically triggered youth thought of the action of the '2FEU', which took place without his participation.The parallel class, under the wise guidance of their politically one-sidedly educated class teacher, had painted funny little signs regarding the admission of immigrants who are sweepingly called 'refugees' and even made it with this noble deed into 'Prawda TV Show' - sorry, I mean of course something like 'CNN'. But let's not talk any further about profiteering of any kind disguised as humanitarianism, unscrupulous instrumentalization of children, an equally corrupt and bigoted establishment or whatever else there is in a state of authority camouflaged as democracy!
After our infantile 'warrior of the light' had shot a lovingly programmed rollator driver with a large-caliber machine gun so to speak into pieces -extra points for 'Rest in Pieces'!-, involuntarily refreshing thoughts of grandpa Armin and the 'climate-damaging' bird of his sister shot through his underdeveloped brain. The 9-year-old activist smiled mischievously at the thought of the funny pranks he, as his tolerant dad called them, played on the 'useless old man' and the 'flying rat'. However, this childish amusement was abruptly interrupted when an extra-long charging cable, formed into a noose, wrapped itself around the louse-like neck and was mercilessly tightened. The attacked man tried in vain to free himself from the awkward situation by all sorts of ultimately pointless movements, but the computer accessory, which had been used for assassin purposes, only tightened all the more after such useless attempts. Just as Kevin's efforts to free himself were gradually fading and he was on the verge of unconsciousness, the murderous noose loosened. The victim, who had temporarily escaped death, gasped and involuntarily moved his hands towards his neck. Before he could reach the strangle cord, however, the noose tightened again with murderous force.
"This is fun!"
The dark voice of the 'bogeywoman' reached the ear of the doomed full of sadistic merriment.She had crept into Kevin's room on silent soles, routinely grabbed a suitable tool, and ambushed the otherwise distracted child from behind.
Five times the dark countess repeated her cruel game before she made an end. Meanwhile, the words 'Game Over' appeared on the large Paystation screen, as the Avatar had also passed away in the meantime.
Ronny, over-fatherly grand patriarch by his own grace, grunted with rutting satisfaction. While he pretended to the family to be robot in the home office for the weal and woe of federal republican social funds, the not incorruptible social investigator - witch finder general - pulled himself in a somewhat fancy 'women's movie' on 'You Porn'. In the neither artistically nor in any way valuable work of art with the significant title 'Cock Suckers Sodomist Farm' well-proportioned country women had fun with all kinds of animals. At the moment, the creepy home worker admired an intimate encounter between the so-to-speak nature-loving protagonist and a kind of computer-animated donkey. Despite an outsized porn experience, the dedicated job center employee's hand gradually moved toward the puny swell in his pants. In addition, the Rollex adorning his wrist, which he recently received from satisfied patrons regarding the successful placement of slaves - er, I mean 1-Euro jobbers, of course, sorry! - shone merrily in the light of the 80-inch monitor.
Meanwhile, the 'bogeywoman' had crept unnoticed into the spacious, luxuriously furnished study of the hard working servant of state. This was not much of a feat, of course, since screams of pleasure and donkey braying echoed in the center of domestic work at a volume that endangered eardrums, and the film-promoting masturbating patriarch sat bent over in his magnificent executive chair with his back to the always open door.
It should perhaps be noted that the family subjects of course regularly heard the unusual noises coming from the official porn king's residence, but did not dare to question the cinematic preferences of their overfather for fear of their strict master; even Kevin blessedly limited himself to occasional imitations.
So the Dark Countess calmly looked around for a suitable tool and quickly discovered Ronny's noble 'Samurai Sword Set'. Although our 'hero of work' knew little about Japanese culture in general and nothing about those Far Eastern warriors in particular, the sword stand and its contents fit well into the chunky interior of toxic masculinity. Smiling happily, the experienced assassin grabbed the 'Demon Dragon Katana Deluxe' and gleefully pulled it out of the scabbard, which she carelessly dropped on the floor. Routinely, the Dark Countess executed two practice blows in the direction of her victim, and then struck the decisive blow. To the extraordinary misfortune of the movie lover on the verge of satisfaction, the weapon was not a mere decorative piece and the razor-sharp blade effortlessly severed the grand-patriarchal neck. The sword was wielded with such force that the head of the family autocrat flew in a high arc with pinpoint accuracy into a gold-plated wastebasket, which already contained all manner of unprocessed applications from needy Job Center customers. Accompanied by the gloating laughter of the dark countess, a veritable fountain of blood shot out of the neck stump of the decapitated man, whose body, however, fell to the floor after a short time, along with his noble executive chair.
Finally the 'bogeywoman' removed the head of her victim from the paper head and looked at the still dirty grinning grimace of the deceased.
"He sure died happy!"
Chuckling maliciously and proud of her handiwork, the Blood Countess left the room. Meanwhile, the donkey and his playmate had also finished their business.
Anette returned heavily laden from the ordered shopping.Faithfully, she had worked through her self-loving husband's shopping list and scrounged the missing funds from good-natured passersby, as head of the family Ronny, in all his despotic glory, matched her household money to that of his needy clientele at the job center.
Puffing under the weight of the heavy duffel bag on her back and the two overstuffed shopping bags in her hands, the part-time housewife of passion returned exhausted to the polished kitchen. While she was still freeing herself from her burdens by carefully setting them down on the floor - her husband liked to administer educational slaps in the face if there was too much noise - it occurred to her, boiling hot, that she had actually forgotten to mow the lawn as ordered by the patriarch. A feeling of paralyzing fear drove into the pit of her stomach, for quick-witted Ronny understood little fun in this regard. These damn blackouts! Probably due to stress, memory gaps kept creeping in.
"Dearest Mommy, I have a surprise for you!"
Torn from her less than pleasant thoughts, the faithfully battered wife noticed her daughter standing a few feet away by the refrigerator, smiling gleefully at her producer.
"What are you doing here? Have you already cleaned the toilet with the toothbrush? I don't have to tell you how strict Dad is about room inspections!"
Secretly glad that she was only second to last on the family food chain, the primordial mother looked disapprovingly at her unfortunate descendant, though without really looking at her.
"Dad won't have any more problems with it! I've done almost everything! But Mom, why don't you turn on the food processor? I have a really nice surprise for you!"
Anette looked at her unusually extroverted daughter in disbelief. As a rule, the over-fatherly head of the household always found some imaginary unclean spot and then chastised the family femininity accordingly with gusto.
"Why aren't you in your room waiting for further instructions? Attila, the Hun king, is going to get very, very angry!"
Relieved, the worrying mother daughter looked mockingly at Elizabeth. Perhaps the stern macho king forgot about her misdemeanor, because of the unforgivable offenses of the little one. Anette thought almost enviously of the small, miserably furnished cubbyhole that her daughter was allowed to dwell in. She herself, on the other hand, did not enjoy the privilege of a 'kingdom of her own', but lived, so to speak, in the kitchen and bedroom.
"Please, Mama, turn on the machine! I made this just for you. Please, please!"
Finally, the mother beast let herself be softened and turned on the aforementioned device slightly grumpily, only to flinch in fright. A bloodcurdling scream came from the machine as the chopper did its work. Quick-witted, Anette turned off the food processor and allowed herself a look at its interior, which contained the remains of Kevin's unloved golden hamster.
"My God, Elisabeth, what have you done? Father is going to beat us to death!"
Completely aghast, the worrying animal murderer stared against her will at her broadly grinning daughter, who had meanwhile set up next to the refrigerator.
"I hardly think so! Mom, look!"
With a jerk, Elisabeth opened the refrigerator, revealing her father's head adorning the middle refrigerator compartment. Immobilized with shock, Anette gazed with unspeakable horror at the grotesquely distorted face of her slaughtered oppressor, while the Dark Countess moved cautiously toward the back of her second-to-last victim.
"That wasn't easy, cutting off Papa's head. You have to hit the weakest part of the neck and hit it hard. The critters were amusing and hitting the old guy dead was really funny. Stalling the little bugger was the most fun. But now, it's your time."
Before the long-suffering mother could overcome her stupor, the 'bogeywoman' severed her victim's spine just above the pelvis with the katana she had pulled from a hiding place. Letting out a cry of pain, Anette fell backwards to the floor.
"Very good! That's the way to do it! You know, Mom, in ancient Japan they tested swords on criminals. Isn't your stupidity worse than a crime? It's been a long time since I cut someone up alive. I'll start with the parts where you still have feeling."
In the brief moment before infinite pain blocked her thinking, Anette looked pleadingly into her tormentor's hard eyes, only to fall into horrified confusion as they suddenly took on a jet-black hue.
The shrill screams coming from the family home astonished some of the neighbors, but no one took it particularly seriously, since they had already become accustomed to such noises and preferred to look the other way in the traditional German manner.
Satisfied, the Dark Countess looked at the dismembered corpse of her last victim. Now it was time to provide for a conclusion. The 'bogeywoman' now woke Elisabeth from her sleep, but kept motor control over her host body. Gladly, the demonic parasite would have kept the spirit of her host fully conscious during the murders, to enjoy delicious horror, but this had not been possible without serious restrictions on the responsiveness of the occupied body.
At the sight of her dead mother and the onset of extraneous memories of the preceding butcheries, Elizabeth, with the gracious permission of the Blood Countess, went into a violent screaming fit of extreme hysteria. However, before her victim finally lost her mind, the 'bogeywoman' gleefully cut her throat with the Japanese sword.
In the last moments of her life, Elisabeth was still granted to see the shadow creature, which left her body and went on the hunt again.
Perhaps the 'bogeywoman' also visits you occasionally.
© 2021 Qayid Aljaysh Juyub
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