Real Life Horror: Video of Simi Valley Sherri, Manson Family Member

“You do something, you do it, it’s done… Y’know, what can you do? [laughs] It’s done.
Y’know, sniffle about it another five years? What can you say? I’m sorry, [laughs] y’know, big deal.”

Excerpt: “Annabelle”, a Horror Story

I never really loved that child.

I mean, she was an easy birth. And when she got a little older, and I could start putting little bows and ribbons and things on her, she was cute enough.

But I knew right from the start she was evil.

It wasn’t one of those things you could see easily. Hell, I had a hard enough time seeing it myself.

When we’d go out to the market, she’d be sweet as pie. All the old women would come over and tug on those blonde ringlets. They’d caw like ravens and pinch at her cheeks. She’s got these dimples, see, that make the little grannies just about weep with adoration.

I used to tell those biddies they could take her home with them, if they loved her so much. They always giggled from behind their dentures and shook their smiling heads. I wish, just once, that one of them had realized I wasn’t kidding.

I caught the first hints of the demon in her when she’d cry out in the night. Most children, see, they wail. Their little chests suck in all the air they can hold and force it back out, loud as a foghorn through the darkness. Annabelle was different. She hissed. It sounded like a basketful of snakes let loose in her room.

I started turning down the baby monitor. Then I shut it off. Before long, I was closing her door and sleeping with a pillow over my head.

Of course I took her to the doctor; what kind of mother do you think I am? He checked her front and back and upside down and said there wasn’t a damned thing wrong with her. I wanted her to startle at his touch, to cry out so he could hear what I’d heard. She sat there instead, half a hand shoved in her mouth, and the doctor didn’t suspect a thing.

So I bundled her up against the Fall wind and wheeled her back home in her stroller. The strangers we passed all cooed at her. I think that was part of her witchcraft, being able to fool them all like that. They didn’t feel what I felt…

There’s something different about Annabelle. Something unsettling. Something…demonic.
Mommy’s little monster is here.

Annabelle, short horror from Stefanie N Snider

Available now at Amazon

Hancock Family Art

I did this comic a few years ago for an arts magazine Missy and I, along with a few friends, were producing. Unfortunately the comic isn’t very funny and it’s even a little confusing. There is something about it that I do like. It makes a point that I think we often forget. Our monsters have to be invited into our lives. One of the biggest monsters I can think of is fear, particularly unnecessary fear. Fear does a lot to destroy our lives. It can control every decision we make, cause us to live alone, cause us to fight unnecessary battles with self generated enemies. It can even cause us to freak out and inflict harm onto others, or to lose all hope and end our own life. Fear is a huge monster, but it has to have our permission to come in. It has no control over us that we…

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Zombie Weather!

The fog outside is ridiculous! Fog is my favourite weather, by far. When it’s as thick as it is tonight, it’s hard not to expect the lurching undead to creep out of the wisps, arms extended, questing for brains…

Really I think I love it because it’s so uncommon. A good fog, a real fog, like the one tonight, happens here maybe once a year. It’s so heavy that I can barely see the house across the street.

It gets the cogs in my mind going, picturing all the dastardly deeds that could be happening right beside you, muffled and hidden…

(photo by my dude)

It Pays to Be Nice.

I like to think karma works.

I went to Michael’s today; I had a 40%-off coupon that was ready to expire. I found myself wandering the aisles: knitting needles? Canvas? Frames? This isn’t my regular Michael’s (God help me, I have a “regular”), so when I stumbled across the clearance section it was a surprise.

They had these fantastic stretched-canvas prints, regularly $34, on for $10. C and I were just talking about adding some new decorations to the house, so it was perfect timing. I found a great little piece for the kitchen:

We tend to seek happiness

when happiness is actually a choice

Since it was on clearance, I couldn’t use my coupon, which expires tomorrow. So on my way to the checkout, I offered it to a couple of women who were still shopping. It made me feel nice, and that alone would have made my afternoon a little brighter.


I got to the checkout and the cashier scanned the canvas. “That’ll be one cent.”


She turned the screen so I could see it. “One cent.”

I asked her a couple of times if that was right. She even re-scanned it, just in case. It came up the same every time.

The funny bit is that I never carry cash, and I literally had no money on me. I had to ask her to tuck it behind the register and hold it while I went to rummage through the car.

I got back inside and waited in line again, already getting the sinking feeling that the other cashier had probably spoken up after I left. Would I bother to argue if she quoted me the ten-dollar price I’d expected?

I approached the till. The cashier had a big smile by this point. “One cent, please.”

I plopped a single penny in her palm, and she handed me my receipt.

I like to think it was good karma for doing a small kindness for someone. The new picture looks great under the martini in the kitchen…

…and now when I look at it I’ll smile, since it comes with its own story.

Bonus ZoeyBomb:

PS – When she handed me the receipt, the register had printed another 40%-off coupon. Double score!