Archive for the ‘monster’ Category


The Betulha Dohrman Legacy

March 6, 2018

Debbie Menon failed to sell the house every local called the Witch’s house. The grief-stricken real estate agent set the historic brick Victorian on fire before the house became animated. The burning Witch’s house moved itself out of Wister Town, taking a chunk of crust with it from the small Wisconsin city. Since, the house has been abandoned where it had gone past the suburbs. It’s become an attraction for daredevils and a shelter for desperate animals. Debbie has since long left her real-estate agency and the house is no longer for sale.


A Janet Drays is then one day idle and she searches the Internet. Wister Town was filled with monsters, so that was nothing new. Janet was curious about the old Witch’s house in her hometown. She finds information a real estate agent would probably never know. The young woman comes to learn the legacy of this womb of aberrations. The Betulha Dohrman Legacy by Matthew Sawyer is the sequel to the novel, ‘Debbie’s Hellmouth‘, which itself had been birthed in the short story, ‘The Abandoned,’ from the collection entitled, ‘Horrid Tales of Wister Town‘.

The Betulha Dohrman Legacy ebook is available from

The paperback can be purchased at




Fondness of Monsters

February 2, 2018

Because I’m someone with a life-long fondness for monsters, I imagine someone might ask, “Why, then, do you like ordinary sparrows?”

“Well,” I tell my imaginary inquirer, “I like when they come for breakfast, and they wait for me on the stairs all bunched together.”

I know the birds instinctively approach big creatures in groups. They try to look big, but mine come together to no larger than a cat sprawled upon a stairwell – a feathered cat with a dozen beady eyes and half as many sharp beaks. It’s adorable.



A Reminder: Halloween is Coming!

September 22, 2017

There is a cemetery I know that has a clubhouse. A clubhouse, with a bar and a restaurant, like a golf course. Arcadia Green, it’s called. The clubhouse is cryptically called Gothic. The place is open to the public after six. A placard in the ceiling-to-floor window list its hours of operations until midnight, everyday except Sunday. I was there for a friend. It was his birthday. He has always enjoyed arcane places.

He went outside to smoke, as that was the law in this state. I stayed inside because I don’t. The only other person I talked to went to the restroom , so I fell into an old habit of eavesdropping. There is a couple in a booth next to our own group’s, which was in an unlit corner. The windows about us were solid dark. There are no clocks, but it is obvious the day was well past sundown.

“I lived in Los Angeles for a while, too much sun,” the young, casually adorned man said to an anxious woman. He sounded as if he made an introduction. I had the impression they were probably on a first date. Although I was not watching the couple, I did glimpse them and saw they were not sitting close.

She tells him something curiously believable. “To be honest,” she said, “Men used to chase me when I was younger. I got wise with age and I now stick close to home, deal with what I know.”

Their conversation abruptly ended. I didn’t look, but when I had glimpsed, I did see them examining menus. Their menus were not the same as our own, but we were a special occasion.

“I don’t want kids,” the young man stated with uncertainty. He sounded as if he yet contemplated his future.

“What? Why?” his date inquired. She sounded surprised instead of disappointed or dejected.

He tells her, “I don’t like how they scream when you bite into them.”

“But that’s the best part,” she told him.


Halloween is coming!



My Shitty Neighbor

June 5, 2016

(I do wonder if people have asked, “Why isn’t he writing anymore? I mean, I don’t read his crap nor do I know of anyone who gives a dog’s truffle about his myopic stories, but writing is good, yeah? He should keep writing for its own sake.” Well, I’ve been distracted, castrated. Here’s why.”)

I’ve got this long-standing feud with my upstairs neighbor. The plump, young woman snores and it gets terrible – like she’s up there in bed choking out hoarse yodels. When it gets so bad, which is often, I pound on the wall to wake the snorer. I then turn on all the fans in my apartment to drown out the noise she makes that often does not cease or occasionally is only temporarily interrupted. I imagine the sound downstairs disquiets the girl, but I don’t care. I’ve communicated the problem to her, a problem that has persisted since nearly January first, 2016, and she has done little to correct the medical condition. She sleeps in her front room if she’s so compelled, that is, if I can possibly and accurately trace her pounding footsteps.

The solution is simple, simply lie on one’s side, the left-side if gastric health is to be considered. Alone in bed, the young woman rolls over on to her back – I can hear the bed groan – and the snoring immediately begins. (By the way, therein is the answer to the question she raised in a recent argument – “Why don’t the people I sleep with complain?” Well, obviously they keep you upright while you sleep there together in sin – or they are afraid they won’t get anymore puffy nookie if they complain).

There are harder solutions, but each begins with a simple step. See, the girl drinks, smokes and she is overweight. Given that this problem with snoring didn’t begin until this past year, she might easily address one of those issues and fix herself. It’s been obvious her drinking and smoking has increased. I’ve spotted her outside smoking in the parking lot more often this year and noticed every two or three days she brings home with her a six pack of beer (SOS branded, I believe, “Save Our Shore,” it read if I had clearly seen the print.) As far as her weight goes, I haven’t monitored her dimension. I rarely look squarely at the broken woman.

Exercise, I would recommend, that is if she didn’t consistently state I was harassing her and she would call the cops if I used dirty words like ‘shitty.’ I think she misconstrues our interactions either wantonly or because she harbors paranoia of rape faeries – you know, rapists that squeeze through cracked windows in the winter and that’s why her air conditioner must run twenty four hours a day, seven days each week. That sums up what she told me when she had moved in and when I mentioned she might open her door and windows like most anyone else does now. Sometimes I feel the vibration from the rumbling machine in my teeth and behind my eyes. And as far as that rape farce of hers goes, I have never ever touched the girl. I’ve never been close to the woman, certainly not nearly within arm’s reach. In fact, when necessary, I speak to her only when there is my screen door between us or when we are separated between the stairs. She’s knocks on my door and I never have hers. I don’t go upstairs nor do I invite her down.

Both these issues aside, the snoring and air conditioning, as my fans can potentially mask the sounds she makes, and when she plays her television too loud after the 10 PM start of “quiet hours,” the grief I have expressed to my apartment manager is that my neighbor’s water heater knocks so loud, it sounds like my own appliance directly beneath hers has rocks rolling through it. It doesn’t, of course, because it’s newer and I can pinpoint the source of the noise if I stand nearly beneath the sound of hammers and stoney clunks.

This has been a problem since March or April – it’s tough to remember dates once you’ve been denied sleep for weeks. Besides her prominent snoring, my neighbor runs her hot water excessively and starts the racket. She must use so much hot water, I think, either because she is wasteful or full of spite and knows she can be a nuisance and deny responsibility. She may be innocently masturbating with the running water, I don’t know nor do I care – it’s just something I heard young ladies might do when they are alone and in a mood. My problem is she often does so after 10 PM, or she washes dishes or clothes or does something unknown with hot water after the beginning of quiet hours, a time I choose to attempt sleep. It’s tough to sleep as it is because my bedroom window faces the apartment complex parking lot and it’s been all about the bass with drivers operating their vehicles outside. Besides these other conditions, the water heater noise has become overwhelming. It wasn’t so broken just months before.

I’ve complained about the water heater consistently for months. Since that first time, and soon after I had my own replaced during a flood in my apartment caused by the complex maintainer staff, two other water heaters in my same building have been replaced. They’ve been noisy, too, I’m sure, and one, I’m aware, generated water damage in the apartment below and adjacent to mine. It’s something I would like to avoid, again, a third time. This apartment has already flooded twice because the plumbing in the building. It seems it can’t support the newer pipe lain from the street. I’ve heard nearly a dozen dead water heater stories since the plumbing project was complete. I’ve seen their circular metal corpses standing on curbs and outside dumpsters. It’s not a stretch to imagine the one upstairs skirts its own demise.

In all cases, my apartment manager has stated my neighbor must complain about her appliance. I seemingly cannot ask for a nuisance in another unit be addressed. And I have seriously questioned my manager’s benevolence since her marriage fell apart years ago. I think she believes I ask too much and when I simply assert she needs to enforce the rules tenants agree upon with a signature before any can rent an apartment. She may now hate men, perhaps like the young woman above me whom I feel I am prejudiced to assume is one of those hardly clueful Social Justice Warriors I understand have descended from Undergraduate studies of Feminism.

Regardless, my upstairs neighbor has argued she did complain to the manager, months ago. I said I think she needs to remind the presumably menopausal woman that her appliance is broken. It’s causing tension between her and her neighbor, even the one neighbor. The young woman demanded I make a complaint, and I assured her, “I did, I do, but the only way anything will be down is through you.” The plump one did not respond and turned and stormed away. I mentioned she was being antisocial, She ignored me. I said you’re being a “shitty neighbor,” and that caught her attention and hopefully spur her to action. She shouted she would call the police if I swore at her and so I repeated myself verbatim.

You see, I picked the word carefully and for a reaction; my neighbor has a hypocritical thing about me using dirty words. She has so as long as I’ve known her and since she asked me to stop feeding my wee friends, sparrows. I declined and cited Los Angeles Municipal Code 53.06 and its subheading about feeding wild, non-predatory animals. She claimed nonsense about health hazards, about birds that poop everywhere, and I replied, “You’re talking shit. Go away.” Without recourse and unable to see the poetic connection of our remarks, and after she demanded I repeat myself so that she still didn’t “get it”, she did leave and her snoring became worst, her television got louder and the number of times she empties her rattling water heater has grown and now encroaches upon the late evening and early morning. I haven’t asked the young woman to stop showering, I only asked that she persuade the manager to install a new appliance.

And when I did recently speak to a manager at my apartment complex, that manager claimed she didn’t think my neighbor ever said a negative thing about her water heater. She asked that I call the office the next time the appliance made so much noise. She then might finally come over to my apartment and hear the torture I endure. The next day, when my upstairs neighbor apparently showered at 6 PM, I called the office but I did not reach one single office staff, just an answering machine. My neighbor then again drained her hot water and woke me at 1 AM the next morning with rumbling knocks from the associated appliance. She now denies the incident but admits to being awake and moving about. I heard her moving around in her kitchen directly above my own. I heard water running in her sink.

I assumed, if she wasn’t doing dishes or washing something needlessly important, she turned on the hot water knowingly in an effort to exert revenge, revenge because I turned on the fan in my kitchen when she presumably believed she needed to turn up the volume on her television after 10 PM that evening. I addressed the noise with brief letter in which I called her a liar based on the truths that her water heater has still not been replaced despite of her claim to have spoken to the apartment complex office, and in light that the office does not remember her. My neighbor has charged I am harassing her with my civil badgering, to which I say, “You harass me.”

“But you yell profanities at me and bang on wall,” she’s now argued. “To wake you up,” I say. She’s said, “No, when I’m awake and during the day.”

Well, I do shout, I throw things about, but the young lady must realize she is being vain, paranoid. My troubles are not all about her. I’m angry at all things in the world and I ration myself necessarily. My shitty neighbor gets only an ounce of my vinegar and bile.



He’s Not The Same Monster Anymore

September 23, 2014

Do you remember those very old horror films Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943) and House of Frankenstein (1944)? You may recall the same gimmick in The Monster Squad (1987). All these films star Universal Studio monsters. These creatures were transformed from their sources in literature and removed further from their mythological inspirations. Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker first altered their archetypes when these authors brought those same monsters into the Modern Ages.

Authors such as Stephen King and Anne Rice have been diligent and maintained the evolved fiction of these cryptids, but then there’s been Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight. Whereas the story was hugely popular, the images of vampires and werewolves were gravely injured. Granted, comic books and television had already shook the genre ragged.

Yet I reawaken Frankenstein’s monster in my story The Abhorred. I’m taking vampires and werewolves back to their roots. I’m reassembling the fabled golem – no, Frankenstein’s monster is not a zombie. And with guidance from the dead author HP Lovecraft, I pitch all these creatures against each other. This fight is not a Battle Royale nor a game. This story is the paranoid life of a professor of nuclear engineering. Professor Hebert Stock is on sabbatical here in Northern Wisconsin. It’s Thanksgiving and the man is alone. At night, he scavenges graveyards.

– Mr. Binger

The Abhorred by Mr. Binger

The Abhorred
Genre Horror
Word Count Approx. 91,758
Page Count 611


Professor Hebert Stock is a good man. This professor of nuclear engineering at the University of Wisconsin – Green Bay truly believes he is a force for good. All alone, he considers himself a mortal god. His accomplishments support his delusions – Strock here has harnessed cold fusion. He has shrunken this miraculous engine under the size of a clay pot. Not only that, he has brought the dead back to life.

Professor Strock has revived whole specimens and their amputated constituent pieces. Raw energy revives and intoxicates each of the monstrosities the man has packed with batteries and sewn back together. Each nameless creation is a step toward immortality. Yet Strock’s discoveries are not primarily for himself. He helps mankind combat a scourge of vampires.

As much as Strock’s genius, vampires and werewolves are real. Unchanged by time, these monsters now flourish in the Mack State Wildlife Area – ever since a Hellmouth had opened the earth south of Madison. The Hellmouth itself rent the earth then walked away.

The vampires in The Abhorred are immaterial, blood-sucking ghosts. They become solid when they consume blood. The master of the horde in the Mack State Wildlife Area is a pudgy, Midwestern-looking fellow. His name is Vlad Blaski. This vampire has discovered semi-permeability. All vampires need do is boil the blood they drink.

Having decimated the prey inside the Wildlife Area, the hungry ghosts eat werewolves – hairy Wild Men of Eastern European folklore. They look closer to Lon Chaney’s Wolf Man than actually wolves or upright demons. And they do not transform under a full moon. The werewolves in the Abhorred are emaciated, wildly hirsute naked men cursed at puberty. How this curse is transmitted is an unimportant mystery.

Hunger drives werewolves unto Strock’s private property – a hobby farm between Appleton, WI and Greenville, WI. These trespassers discover the professor’s secret experiments. They meet his reanimated monster – a discolored, walking corpse that calls itself Angst. The reassembled boy bleeds motor oil. And a union is made. Professor Strock, his assistant Gloria, and Angst join forces with werewolves and they fight Blaski and his vampire horde.

Printed Pocket Books of The Abhorred is available from LULU.

The Abhorred Ebooks are sold online at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, etd… but I prefer readers purchase them from Smashwords.

I hope everyone finally likes this one…

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