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Nickolaus A. Pacione

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· Nickolaus Albert Pacione Delivers: A Library Of Unknown Horrors

· Emanations

· Dirty Black Winter

· An Eye In Shadows

· The Ethereal Gazette: Issue Five

· Quakes and Storms: A Natural Disaster Anthology

· Norwood's Discovery

· Stories of the Apparitions

· Halloween On Camera

· Tabloid Purposes

Short Stories
· Il nostro mondo è violentata

· Fandom Weirdness

· A Rural Weird Tale

· A Personal Stalker

· The Monster Amongst Man

· Inquistion Revisted

· Witch's Party

· Misguidance

· Spectral Exile

· The Ichabod

· Examining The Blogosphere

· Gothic Tinged Memoir Anthology Call

· Gothicism on Trial


· The Aftermath: 2 Days of Darkness

· Review: The Tooth Fairy

· review: The Garden

· The Author Speaks

· Hammerhead: SHARK FRENZY

· Writing The Fossil

· Desolated Oblivian

· Gates Of Charon

· Stonehenge

· Feburary Forlorn

· A Morpheus Sleep

· untitled

· eternal judgement

· Birthed In Ashes....

· Passing Judgement

· In Memoriam...

         More poetry...
· Magazine Submission Guidelines

· Gothic Extreme Horror

· Flying Cigars gets accepted..

· Story will be slated to appear in Insomnia Magazine

· Colaboration gets accepted -- then a sequel is available

· Lake Fossil II is live as a downloadable story

· In the Hospital.. got accepted on The Writers Post Journal

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Cerebral Threshold
By Nickolaus A. Pacione
Posted: Saturday, November 29, 2003
Last edited: Wednesday, August 18, 2004
This short story is rated "PG13" by the Author.

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Recent stories by Nickolaus A. Pacione
· The Cabbie Homicide: Oct 13, 1993
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           >> View all 73
Dreams from stranger aeons manifest themselves within an Illinois town. That it would be from the nightmares as they are taken from the authors journal that they describe from them.
Words cannot be thing enough to describe the dream that  I had from the prior night. As from the thoughts of horror come from the fingers, the words I draw from the dream -- appear on an eerie glow of a word processor.  In the sense of where it would be the sense of one's mind while it is written in the pages. Where the duration of them lasted in the frame of four hours,  and the place which the dream which was set within the town of Glen Ellyn, Illinois. Being that a town like Glen Ellyn, Illinois, would carry a mysticism which that go in similarity to Ireland. Time which brings to the description appeared from a period era,  but what was there were people that resembled the Amish but they were without faces.  One is not sure of how to begin describing the dream as it is there, and the duration of this would become of the infinite cycle.  Knowing from the faceless where they hold the bibles in hand; without the faces they preach.  Where they said if I got rid of my face would be the only way into heaven. Time ticks further into the circle of dust that is seen from my own eyes --  and the voices of the faceless were those saying, "Turn to God and He would heal you."
          Horror is what was the look in my eyes when they continued their way toward me.  In some senses it echoed a dream that I had in March of 1999,  a few weeks before the events of Columbine had taken place.  In years when I lived around the area,  one would not begin to describe something of this nature because of a place with influence like the college which was the next town over.   As from where the mind as the sleep from a hibernated thought gathers,  while it comes in the written  page of a eerie glow of a computer screen it would sit there as a crow on a street sign.  Staring.  It would sit there staring like it knows what is inside the soul of the person looking back at them.
         Where they were coming closer,  they were reciting something which resembled the inquisition.  In the ways and form it came to be --  the horror that would be invoked around the time of the Columbine tragedy would be the echoed of years.   Those years to come would be the shadow of a new inquisition,  becoming that would come in the paradise lost growing from the shadow of the other side.  Drawn again from the inquisition as written from pages before them --  in years drawn from periods of time when the witch hunt of Salem would be the thing that comes to mind.  In which it comes as they were that comes from the hibernated sleep.   From a hibernation, the dreams which become are what go without the words to describe them. In the detail that I put into words here one cannot describe the details in a rational thought. It is without the ration of mind that comes in the description as I pen to here, any sign of rational thought had been lost here. In the years of having similar dreams of this nature -- to what I describe here is haunting beyond human comprehension.  
          Sanity as it gathers within a circle of dreams; the varying subject of the lost when they are in the waking moments.   In which it is from there -- I would not be able to make some rational thought from the becoming irrational.  Where it was from the sight of which I cannot stop from screaming,  knowing of what was there was a horror beyond any kind of horror one was able to describe.  Where it appears among the unnatural thought,  as what dwindles in the shadows of the faith that one once had.  Where they become of the shadow of the crawling chaos without the warning or sound,  nor what could be said of what dwells in the cycle of dreams.  As what I describe of Glen Ellyn, Illinois,  one of the old towns in Illinois which has the resemblance of a town in New England.  From the nightmares,  Glen Ellyn would have a charm to it that bares the home of a vampire --  which she as a city would be described for that of a vampire short story.  Yet it would be from the gathering of the faceless congregations walking the streets that leave the echo inside.  From the chilling description of the faceless congregation which they are clad in black as the places which the Amish dwell.  In a description that comes where everything of the rational thought was left for moth and rust.  Drawn deeper within the nightmare inquisition as what dwells of words cannot describe what I see here.
          Between what is written from dreams can tell of the words spoken from Gods and mortals,  but in the nightmares which are written before them would be among the questions of their very mortality.  When they continue to walk closer reciting,  "Come to Him and be healed" beneath their faceless appearance.  That drawn from a various cycle of the threshold telling of what cannot be described by human rational thought. Where they had their hands out wanting to lay them on me,  the look of horror was the overwhelming sense to run. Telling from what is seen before the sense of them before the times before eras or years as they were written from pages of writers from the pulp eras. In obscure patterns dwelling from the hibernated state of sleep,  that the imagination during a power outage --  and the nightmare cycle which is told from a pattern of what,  of no telling….."Follow us."  They all said in a uniformed nature,  in a perversion of logic that comes with the sense of their appearance.   Where they all said in a uniformed, ghoulish tone,  "the crawling chaos is waiting for you."   From the thoughts hibernated in the mind which waits,  and patterns of which dwell -- no where in time which can describe the dream as it was there.    Where the fountain that would be along Crescent Blvd used to be, now stands the statue of the being with the head resembling a squid.
          Deep from the gathered sense of my mind,  something tells me inside,  "run you dumb bastard."  Tried to scream once again, nothing but silence  -- where the faceless crowd came in closer,  "Come to God. He is the only one who can heal you.  Give your faith to the blind idiot god."    
         The louder in horror that I tried to scream,  still nothing came out - it was nothing but a silent voice of utter silence that dwelled from there.   In every attempt that was there,  knowing all that was around was deaf to what was going on around them.  In the open air is where the claustrophobic horror draws in as the faceless crowd comes closer….still closer beyond what can be narrated of them.   In the clear grayish blue skies which come from the Midwestern evening,  that it would be the shadow of the entity that looks on from the vast heavens. That it would appear from a November sky as the setting of the dream was.  As from where it would bring back from a time that I had been to the place once before -- from the different stages of a nightmare's threshold.   That it would be in the description of a perverse form of an Amish community that it was in the faceless congregation dressed in black. From the duration as the period telling in varied stages the dream  would take in what becomes from a dark that is devoid of light as one sees the statue.  As heard from the silence came the earthquake of the sky,  a form of thunder that left a sound that would shatter the ears of even the deafest of people.  Even as louder the thunder got,  the closer the faceless congregation came -- walking as they were like aimless zombies; so as they appeared as that -- zombies which had no faces and dressed like they were from an Amish community.  So as they resembled but without their faces,  it carried a ghoulish description that came with them.  Or they had the appearance of this,  to what I describe from the dream as the hibernated sleep brought in the hours that lead into another hour into the next - as the nightmare became more horrific as time lead on. Beneath the hibernated sleep becomes the years of the threshing floor, and the threshold which tells of fate as the dream becomes the echo of the horrors of centuries before.  A falling threshold in the described sense of the being in dwells the thought and horror within. That all that falls among the congregation without faces looking at me.   
        From the hibernated phases of the dreams that become,  as what describes of them becoming from the ornate details that would gather around the old Illinois town.   Which is drawn into the near winter; that become the echo of the dream as recorded here,  that I put into a nervous hand typing them to the word processor.  From the fingers that run across the keys of the thing become the details that echo the dream that lead from the hibernated state; and within that sleeping phase of the transcending hours.  The knowing is drawn from the sleep as I type the dream out as much as from memory as one could remember them.  Where the sleep wound travel across the threshold of memory that becomes the cycle that paints the picture within the theater of one's own nightmares. Horror.  In the mind which stares at one while in the sense they are in a hibernated dream  --  horrors that see within the passages that cross the shadow of darkness,  in the places that draw the echo of a threshold.   As from the dream I heard them chanting to the stars as the ears of the blind idiot god was able to hear them,  the chants of the faceless congregation. 
        In the mental instability, that draws from them which become the echoes of dreams unwritten as the fingers run the thoughts across a glowing screen.  In the description that draws from the dream within the mind as it is written -- from the horror in memory which it is somewhere in time that a faceless congregation stares on.  Within that sleeping state I saw how Glen Ellyn's landscape glimmering with a shadow of darkness from the skies. With the fingers that scramble the keyboard and staring at the eerie glow of the computer screen.   I knew that this had to be written.  That in the dream which was there would been the echo of old nightmares, and the thing that I read of the unclassified sea life that was found from the waters below.   That brings from the dreams which I awoke from that in the mind would be the madness that dwelled,  as in the dream which described the things that should not be.   In which it looking back from the time which is never seen as the sleep brings the echo of fate following the years without dreams.  
         When I woke it was to the realization of the unreality of the dream that was there, but from the horror it was to the sense of it appearing so real.   From the darkness glimmering from the light of the computer screen it was that it needed to be penned,  and from the eerie glow that the dream would be the surfacing thing in the mind.  The dream which drawn upon the inquisition of the threshold,  and the nightmares as they were in the eyes of the threshing floor.   Where in the dream that it awakens me in a glowing green ember,  which it was from the screen that it pulls me into everything that was written before my eyes.   Where I awaken it is from the mind that I would see the signs of the elder etched into the walls of the train station in Glen Ellyn.  Of everything within the dream as I write here appeared so real,  but at the same time it appeared so unreal --  from it would be among the threshold that I describe all of this.   The details of which bring about the haunting notions of unreality.   From the glow of the screen it is all there from the silent hibernated lucidity,  that from the narrative which is here staring back at the eyes of the one who nervously types it out.   In the places known as the threshold of unreality.

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Reviewed by Terry Vinson 8/6/2004

NOBODY can capture the horrors of a nightmare dreamscape like you. A vividly mapped out horrorshow of the subconscious.

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Nickolaus A. Pacione

An Eye In Shadows

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The Ethereal Gazette: Issue Five

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Nickolaus Albert Pacione Delivers: A Library Of Unknown Horrors

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Tabloid Purposes

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Dirty Black Winter

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