Because all good things must end…

Hello Travelers,

The coffin is closed, and as such, we must say good bye. I’ve chosen the winner for this tour, one Lori Parker, though I regret not being able to give something to each and every one of you.

However, I’ve opted to share the rest of The Silence in my Smile with you, as you all seemed very interested in this piece, so perhaps I am giving you all something. Enjoy, friends!


It was a night like any other for me. I wandered the dark streets, with so many homes filled with families that were not aware of my presence, cold and alone. Not a single house light could be seen, but after all, 2 A.M. was not an hour in which most people were awake. The night sky was black and the darkness unbroken, except by a few defiant stars. The frigid wind blew through my chest, but no cold nor isolation could ever compare to the hollow emptiness inside me.

On more than one occasion, my friends had attempted to pry me from my shell with invitations to parties, drinking games at the local bar, or other such menial delights. On all occasions, I responded in the negative. One of my few remaining friends, Donovan, brought me aside on such a night.

“Look, I know you’re hurt. I know that you must be going through some really dark times, but you have to get out and live just a little.”

“Why should I?” My voice was cold and dead.

“Because we want to know you’re ok, but we have no way of telling whether or not you really are. Ever since… that day… we haven’t heard you laugh. You don’t do anything anymore, and we haven’t even seen you smile. We would know you’re okay if you could just give us one damn smile. It’s rough seeing such a great guy so miserable.”

Well what did they know? I stalked through the night like a wounded animal- desperate for attention, yet ready to snap at anyone who came close. I soon noticed I was coming close to my street, Darnell Court. I didn’t want to return home yet, so I took the sharp left onto Way Street, as if ready to face the creeping memory of death. I tried hard to repress the memories that ripped at my mind, so I shook my head and continued my somber sauntering.

Unfortunately for me, I soon happened upon the town park. I stopped by a thick birch tree, my head suddenly swimming as memories flooded my mind. I fought this, but I could not stop the cruel images from playing in my mind. The colors and sounds mocked me with their unrelenting progression.

I saw the same park, only it was day time. I remembered this scene from just a few months ago; I was pushing my dearest daughter, Emily, on the swings. She had a bright yellow sundress on, and her soft voice was laughing with childish delight. She begged me to push her higher and higher, and soon leapt from the swing, sailing across the playset and landing triumphantly. I couldn’t help but admire her brave spirit. She was always trying to prove she was as mature and as bold as any adult. Sometimes, she actually was, and would prove her bravado despite any danger it might pose to her.

Turning on her feet, she ran suddenly and jumped back onto the swing. Using it like a fulcrum, she swung and leapt once more, this time tackling my chest. I laughed, stumbling, but caught her. She had wrapped her arms tightly around my torso, her narrow arms squeezing tight.

“I love you, daddy!”

That was it. My heart once again shook with pain; my body tensed as I struggled to hold back tears. How cruel must nature be, that I am always reminded of how badly I have suffered? I wrapped my arms tight around myself, praying the other memories would not return as I sprinted for home, unwilling to walk Memory Lane any longer.

My footsteps were loud, echoing through the streets, but I did not care. I shut my eyes, but behind them I saw the darkness in even greater detail. All I could think of was getting home before any other thoughts chose to break my heart again. It almost worked, but I had the growing sense that I could not outrun the pain of my past. I sprinted fast, then faster still, nearly breaking down my door as I slammed into it, but the memory returned regardless.

It had been another bright and warm day. The sun shone brilliantly, with warm air gusting through the streets. Birds chirped merrily, and I smiled up at the pleasant day. Emily and my wife, Elizabeth, had just been out to the supermarket. I couldn’t wait to see them, even though they’d only been gone a short time. I loved them both, and Emily was the spitting image of her mother. They both had wavy, golden hair, a smooth complexion, and an honest, kind, but witty personality. Every day with them was like a day at an amusement park- and Emily had a habit of making up elaborate fantasies, so it could certainly get amusing!

I waited eagerly on my front steps to help them bring the groceries in. I squinted down the road and saw their car driving up Way Street. The bright blue paint sparkled in the sunlight, and I could just make out Emily’s smile from the other side of the windshield. I smiled, stood, and waved to them. I saw Elizabeth laugh as Emily waved back. The joyous expressions were still in place when a black sedan crumpled the driver’s side of their car.

Metal twisted and screeched as my family’s car spun out of control. The driver’s door was so badly damaged, that it could not possibly be opened. Their car wrapped around a telephone pole, a thunderous bang echoing through the neighborhood. Smoke billowed from under the hood. It happened so fast, that I knew they were going to die before I had even stopped smiling.

I raced from my porch, frantically dialing 9-1-1, knowing it would not save my family, but trying nonetheless. I reached the crushed blue van to find my wife slumped upon the steering wheel, her once-vibrant green eyes were now dulled and lifeless. She died on impact. Looking past her, past the blood that coated her, and past the steel that pierced her torso, I saw Emily. She was barely breathing, a large, jagged piece of metal having gouged open her side. She was bleeding badly, but her eyes still locked on me.

I rushed to the other side of the car. Though the thick pole blocked my access to the door, I could see into the gap where the window used to be. She was rasping, blood trickling from the corner’s of her mouth. I heard a desperate sob escape my lips as I pried at the other doors, but the automatic locking system had engaged and my little girl was trapped. My precious Emily was dying, and I couldn’t help her. My heart throbbed in agony as I ran back to the window.

“Emily, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok. Daddy is right here and we’re going to get you to the hospital, ok?” My voice shook, but I didn’t want to let her know how scared I was. I strengthened my resolve, in hopes that fear wouldn’t plague my voice.

“Daddy… It’s ok daddy.”

“Yes baby, it’s going to be ok. You’re going to be ok.” I was praying, no, begging for God’s salvation to shine on my daughter.

“Don’t cry daddy.” Damn, I couldn’t even appear strong for her! “You have to smile.”

“What was that baby?” Smile? I must have misheard her.

“If you don’t smile, then the darkness will get you, and you’ll be all alone. You’ll be sad and scared. Just smile daddy. Smiles say everything.” She pushed her cheeks up in a forced, childish, yet almost surreal grin, and collapsed. Her limp form never stirred again, and my heart broke. I turned with all the fires of hell in my eyes upon the people who had done this to me. God could not have saved them.

Unfortunately, the police could, as they had just showed up and proceeded to restrain me. The driver was 17, dropping acid, and drunk. His BAC was .24 and he had taken nearly enough drugs to kill himself. He was unharmed, as were his five passengers, who were all high. They laughed all the way to the precinct, and I doubted they would remember what had happened. It did not matter. My family had been taken from me, and my happiness went with them.

“Well, you were right baby. I don’t smile anymore, and I’m sure not happy anymore. I’m all alone, with no one left to smile for.” I sobbed to the empty sky, creaked the door open, and collapsed into my bed. I allowed exhaustion to carry me away, my dreams as black as midnight.


I awoke the next day feeling odd. Standing, I noticed my mouth would not open to yawn. I thought this to be a simple thing; I had fallen asleep on my stomach, so perhaps my chin had been pressed into the bedding to hard. I reached up to stretch my jaw by force, but my hand did not meet my chin. It met a hot, thick and burning substance. It slowly dawned on me that it not only hurt to touch, but burned the skin around my face, as if it were eating me away. My heart leapt into my throat, and my body could barely keep up with my feet as I ran to my bathroom. I looked upon my reflection with horror to see that a majority of my mouth, chin and cheeks were gone. In their place was a hideous black fungus that bubbled and seethed with a mind of its own. I felt it had eaten away my mouth, and I pressed my tongue to the front of my mouth, noticing I no longer had lips. In place of them, acidic mush greeted my tongue. The taste of copper blood filled my mouth. Whatever this thing was, it was devouring me.

I looked up at my mirror and tried to dispell this horror with my reflection. I watched the seething mass on my face, wondering what arcane and demonic force had chosen to reap its pain upon me. Then I considered this situation; this had to be a dream or some form of hallucination. I shut my eyes as tight as I could.

This isn’t real, it can’t be… It’s all going to be gone in one… two… three.

I opened my eyes and found a vision even more shocking then my own appearance- my wife and daughter stood behind me. I stared into the mirror, unwilling to believe it was real. They appeared as real as they ever had, Emily’s green eyes gazing eagerly at me. Elizabeth smiled gently, as she always had. I looked back at Emily’s reflection, who pushed her fingers up against her cheeks, just as she had done the day… the day she died. Elizabeth’s image reached over to mine and gave my cheek a soft kiss.

I felt that kiss. I whirled around to grasp my family, to beg their help, to just see them again, but no one was there. Tears rolled down my cheeks as my misery returned, even stronger then before, and caressed the outer edge of the thing that engulfed my face.

I looked back at my reflection, crying with terror and regret, as anyone would. I noticed the fungus had begun to creep outwards. It spread down my chin and across my face, and I could feel it eat and burn my flesh. It was growing, feeding off my body to fuel its own! Pain seared and radiated from every inch that this thing covered, and my breath came in ragged gasps as terror filled me. Worse still, it was attempting to block my nostrils and suffocate me. I smelt an acrid, burnt odor, and soon understood that my facial hair had been burned away by the fungus.

Terrified and in agony, I sprinted down the stairs to my living room. Of course, no one was home to help me, and I didn’t dare go outside. Though my blinds were closed, some slits revealed the sunlight to be blinding. I put my hand in the path of the sunshine only to feel it scald my wrist in seconds! I could not leave my home, and the fungus was spreading into my sinuses. My situation appeared hopeless, but I couldn’t just let this thing win. I picked up a phone and dialed 9-1-1, but of course, I could only attempt to speak. No sound came from me. The thing slowly made its way into me; I had no choice but to dash to the kitchen. I grabbed a knife and stared at the reflection of my blackened, bubbling and terrified face in the blade. I prepared myself for any further pain.

I thought back to the day that fate chose to take my family from me. I remembered the way my daughter gave me one last smile, her face still so innocent and beautiful, despite being matted with dirt and blood from the accident.
“If you don’t smile, then the darkness will get you, and you’ll be all alone. You’ll be sad and scared. Just smile daddy.”

Had she done this? In some point of her life, did my daughter manage to become some dark prophet? Either way, I had to be free of this, so I dragged the knife across my cheek, but found the sharp blade only became stuck within the seething mass. I managed to wrench it free, and knew I had little time. My head began to swim as I lost oxygen, and it had already engulfed half of my torso. My vision shook and began to fade as I thought back to my daughter.

Okay baby, you want daddy to smile? I’m going to give you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. I thought.

I brought the knife down upon my face, severing portions of my nose. Parts of it dropped to the floor, cartilage attached to the bloody chunks of flesh, and as I sucked in air through the hole, I knew this was the only way. I continued my macabre home surgery, my daughter’s voice echoing in my ears…


Clearview Mental Facility- patient report.
Patient 1842930; Joesph L. Johnson
Patient admitted: 4/12/09
Diagnosis: Severe psychotic break with manic tendencies.
WARNING: Masochistic tendencies. Placed on suicide watch.

Mr. Johnson was admitted to our facility pending an emergency phone call from the patient’s home. A scream was heard, and it was thought he was being attacked. When the police found him, he was laughing in a deranged manner, and continuously slashed at himself with a butcher’s knife. It is unclear who reported the incident, as the patient was far too delusional to do so, but the patient carved off his own nose, lips, cheeks and portions of his chin and neck. He was also alone, and no traces of hallucinogenic or toxins drugs were found in his body.

Mr. Johnson recently lost his wife and child in a traffic collision. The stress of this is undoubtedly what took such a drastic toll on his mind, causing this episode. Fortuntely, the police were able to restrain him and stop the bleeding, preventing his death. Too much damage had been done for skin grafts, so the patient’s physical condition is scarred and gruesome.

Patient is non-responsive, does not answer or even look at those who speak, call his name, or even strike the patient. Patient does not become better or worse with medication. Patient does not engage in any activity, alone or otherwise. The only action indicating this patient has brain function is that the peculiar expression he displays upon the remnants of his face.

It appears to be a smile



Hello Travelers,

Earlier today I had the pleasure of reading a post on Regret. I recommend you check it out, because it’s quite insightful, and even though I’m about to talk about regret too, I’ll never tell you that I have all the answers or that you’re better off following my path than someone else’s.

But as far as I’m concerned, I have few regrets. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I’m bound to make a lot more, but so far, I can name on one hand the times where I look back and say, “I shouldn’t have done this.”

The fact is that if you’re sitting here today as an accomplished professional in any field, you’re here both in spite and because of those mistakes. If you’re wishing that you had done more, then that’s because your mistakes have taught you you’re capable of a lot that you haven’t done yet. Either way, it’s never too late to start (or continue) down the road you’ve always dreamt of walking.

Take me, for example. Five years ago, I was utterly alone, clinically depressed, and trapped in an abusive relationship. I wrote for myself, in what spare time I had, and even though I always said to myself, “I want to be a writer,” I never got around to actually trying to be one.

A little over one year ago, I sat back in my chair and thought, “What a life I’ve lead, and who knows about it? What have I got to show for all that I’ve been through? Those naysayers who said I wouldn’t be a writer… am I going to sit back and let myself prove them right?”

So I began seeking publishing. Before I continue: if you’re just setting out as a writer and have yet to receive any acceptances, keep in mind that my story, while a little more common now in the days of the independent press, is still rare.

It only took me a few weeks for one particularly great publication company to write me back and say, “You know what? We liked this piece and want it in our August ezine” (Not an exact quote, but that’s the spirit of it). Since then I’ve published over a dozen short stories, am working to revise my first novel (which has a tentative “Yes pending revisions” for publishing), am currently writing my second (and more shorts in the down time) and that’s not to mention what editing work I do here and there.

I do, to put it simply, a damn lot of things. I have an advantage of not really having a job, so I do have a lot more time than many, but even an hour of writing a day will eventually yield a novel.

I may go through periods of moody rumination over what I’ve done or let people do to me, but looking back on my past year- on the decisions I’ve made for myself, on the things I’ve done that I know were right- I’ve turned those mistakes into fuel. I’ve made every wrong decision worth it.

I’ve made every wrong decision right.

So remember, Travelers, that life really is what you make of it. No matter how twisted it is, you can always prove the master of the path you take (and all that walking is great exercise). You can’t always choose not to make a mistake, but you can choose not to regret.

Make the most of what you have, because being miserable isn’t going to make things any better.

May the wind be at your back,

A. Chase

My Love Hate Relationship with Film (Part one of many)

Hello Travelers,

Today I came across this video. Be warned that there’s a spoiler alert below, so you may want to see it first (it’s only a minute).

The good: This is an example high-impact psychological horror. A dark ambiance and haunting surreality make this more than worth the viewing. Maybe not 100% original, but it’s on the right track.

The bad: There are already traces of Hollywood horror corruption visible in this filmmaker.

It isn’t horror or even horrifying to have something lurch out and scream as the camera changes angles. It’s surprising at best and, what’s more,  distracting because the viewer is actively threatened by the image, causing them to be thrown headlong back into reality as their brain checks them over, making sure all systems are go.

Please, if you’re a budding artist of the visual medium, think about this: would it be scary on paper? Consider the following.

Jason crept down a deserted hallway, feeling a bead of his cold sweat drip down his spine. The flashlight his brother Jerry had insisted he take began to flicker, and for an instant, he thought about the beeping of the heart rate monitor, and the instant his father had flat lined. He heard a creak and turned back, only for a hideous demon to jut into his view, screaming. 

Did that scare you, Traveler? I doubt it. So why is it ‘scary’ in film? Because the writers and directors feel shock value and an adrenaline spike are worth more than genuinely terrifying creatures and scenarios.

I’m not saying these films aren’t worth their salt, to certain crowds and for certain reasons, but consider Saw- one of the reasons I really enjoyed the antagonist here isn’t because he leapt out of a closet with a Chucky mask and a bloody knife, but because he single-handedly outsmarted everyone in the movie and was so confident he could do so (spoiler!) that he laid on the floor right in front of his victims, then got up and left at the end without a second thought.

Or, if mental horror is not your speed, consider Jacob’s Ladder, which was terrifying simply because you had no idea what was going on and couldn’t really trust the protagonist. Hell, for a while, it looks like he’s the bad guy.

Dracula (the book) was horrifying because it was almost impossible to kill the eponymous vampire and he was getting stronger every day. He had few concerns and didn’t bother trying to kill the protagonists that were trying to kill him because, for the most part, no human posed a threat to him.

Or Frankenstein (Again, book), which held the scare-inducing notion of a man defying god to raise the dead, and that undead specimen then trying to kill his own father because humanity itself was one giant, heartless monster that drove the creation mad.

Perhaps I’m ranting and raving, but I consider myself a bit of an old soul, and I don’t believe that true fear will ever be inspired by loud noises and sudden screen flickers. Disagree with me if you want, or hate me for bashing your beloved slasher films, but I prefer quality terror to cheap jerks and jolts every day of the week.

Comment, share, and do what you will with my diatribe, Travelers, just be sure to send a tweet my way if you appreciate where I’m coming from. It’d be nice to know I’m not alone on this road.

May the wind be at your back, no matter where you turn your eyes,

A. Chase

If Comedy Has No Lady Problem, Why Am I Getting So Many Rape Threats? By Lindy West

Hello Travelers,

With a somewhat legendary second-post-of-the-day, I come to you with the disturbing but, tragically, not very surprising news that yet another woman is being threatened and insulted for speaking out against rape. The act alone is atrocious, but despite the plethora of evidence, I find myself in a state of stunned disbelief that some have the audacity to effectively support rapists by demeaning victims and those who act on their behalf.

There is little I can do to prevent this trend from spreading, aside from blogging about it (at least, for now…), so I am doing what is within my power. Remember: even if the only thing you can do is tweet in protest, that is still thousands of times better than staying silent. Please take a moment to view the link below and stand against the bigotry that allows this to occur.

Sincerest regards,
Alex Chase

If Comedy Has No Lady Problem, Why Am I Getting So Many Rape Threats?.