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Nickolaus A. Pacione

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· The Writings Collected: Vol. Two

· 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

· Tabloid Purposes

· Collectives In A Forsaken Landscape

· Reality Check (Short story: Bite of the Spider)

Short Stories
· Il nostro mondo violentata

· Fandom Weirdness

· A Rural Weird Tale

· A Personal Stalker

· The Monster Amongst Man

· Inquistion Revisted

· Misguidance

· Spectral Exile

· The Ichabod

· Ghosts In The Tornado: The Notes

· 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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Books by Nickolaus A. Pacione
Witch's Party
By Nickolaus A. Pacione
Posted: Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Last edited: Thursday, November 03, 2011
This short story is rated "R" by the Author.
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Recent stories by Nickolaus A. Pacione
· The Cabbie Homicide: Oct 13, 1993
· I Want To See You In Black
· A Personal Stalker
· Il nostro mondo violentata
· The Statue
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· Ghosts In The Tornado: The Notes
           >> View all 73

This was wrongfully billed as a fictious story written as a non-fiction story, well this is a non-fiction story. It's been a few years since I had a freebie story on the Den. So for you guys who followed me the past eight years, I give you the true story that's been leaked before the dropped release on a magazine. Well screw them, I am giving it to the Den. Home sweet home guys. A New freebie from N.A. Pacione.......set during the time when Writings From The Grave was a fledgeling website.Reprint rights are available for this, so if you're from Reader's Digest, go for it. Dedicated to Pete Steele (1962-2010.) © 2010 by Writings From The Grave. Fuck you to the f***s who leaked the story.

It was Halloween of 1997 when I was invited to a Halloween party in Naperville, Illinois, and I had no idea what was in store for me because this was an actual party helmed by Goths. I thought it was regular Halloween Party, but what I wasn’t expecting that the party was actually ran by actual witches.
      They invited me because they said, “What’s a Halloween party without a horror writer? Nick, you're going to this.”
Here I am the Christian of three years at the time this story is told. I was working as a baker at Bagel Street Cafe during this time of the party. I always loved Halloween because it was a time to capture the imagination of the things that wander in the night or the things that are crawling within the shadows. This was when I first started getting serious with writing dark fiction, and this was something that would end up inspiring me some way or another especially when I was dating a solitary witch at the time. I did a reading for a public access channel at the time so I saw a little bit of fame from this but not the money. 
        I felt like the complete outsider at this party, everyone was in long capes and dresses (The ladies resembled something from the 19th Century Gothic, or from the story Masque of The Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe.) The men were wearing a little more dressy takes in black – something I would see years later at the Metro when I did a shoot there. I felt like the odd man out because I was the one who had the blue collar take, and at the time when I was going to this party I was working as a baker. I had the vampire hours meaning I was up by 1 AM, the kind of hours that I would spend writing before I had to go to work. I started work about 2 AM, so I often took a half hour to write before leaving. 
Type O Negative blared from the speakers at the party and another would sit at the piano and play the theme for Halloween. I truly felt like Ted Nugent at a Feminist rally. I learned one thing when helming a site on FireFly. (As of writing this they've been a dead site for eleven years – I was the second generation host of the venue Shadow of Darkness. I turned it from a vampire role playing venue to a hardcore horror venue.) What I learned from there was expect the unexpected and this was something that I became very familiar with over time. 
       I will say the things people don’t have half the grapes to say or will say them so openly. When at this party, I wanted to make some remarks but I knew if I said them – the people at the party would stop what their doing and collectively say, “Fuck You!” I expected them to say it but they didn’t – everyone kept to the corner of the couch and would hold séances to see if they could communicate with DD Home. 
They didn’t pull the witchboard out until later, but I knew they were playing with things they weren’t supposed to. It wasn’t my place to do so, I was their guest. A year to the day later from doing the first ghost hunt and a month after doing the second. I started to feel a little spooked by the idea they were pulling out the Witchboard at midnight – yet it was a Halloween party full of real fucking witches, who’d fucken thought, and I felt like I actually stepped into the depths of the unknown into the pages of a Lovecraft story or someone else’s Gothic horror works.
       I sat on the couch without my binder full of the works I wrote, and the ones I did back then weren’t as epic as what I was doing in the present. I never really wrote of séances until now, but looking back there was a chill in my spine knowing what they were doing – necromancy, communication with the dead. I had this feeling I should have ran, but I didn’t because I knew if I stayed I would have a hell of a horror story to tell when I got older. Something I knew then, it was going to make a hell of a horror tale to relate – one that wasn’t made up either.
      “What the hell are you all doing with that thing?” I asked with a little concern. I knew they were opening a doorway that couldn’t be closed, but I wasn’t there to preach at them for doing so – I was a guest because I am a horror writer and the baker; I see the world as someone who worked blue collar jobs but having the education enough to see the kind of thing they were doing since I actually did a paper about D.D. Home. 
      So I had a working knowledge of the occult, but I never practiced – it was just interesting material to write about in the realm of horror, and spending the night at a witch’s party it was the thing that would be in the pages if Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark. It was a horror story waiting to be done, but it wasn’t the time to actually do it. So I just sat there silently and observed as they moved the white eye across the board, almost if they were trying to make contact with someone that night. 
       They had a sense of horror to them knowing something was summoned – something was going through the gate at the night of the witch’s party. Something was opened that night, and it was the lungs of hell breathing down everyone’s neck. I knew it at the time, but they didn’t – it wasn’t my place to preach or speak because I was their invited guest. I didn’t want to piss them off by pulling the hellfire and brimstone preacher act, living up to my Online persona GothicPreacher. I knew what they were doing was summoning powers they had no control over. The kind of thing that would be the plot of a number of horror stories in print, some of my friends actually written some of these plots. I watched and did nothing – after all, it was Devil’s Night.
       “What are you trying to summon on that thing? Does it even work?” I asked with a skeptical nature. I’ve seen some weird shit and written about it in the full length, but I won’t mention the full length here. But thinking about this almost 13 years later it still freaks me out a little bit, as much as how my former room mate who is now a Born Again Christian used to mess with the Witchboard. I stepped into an entirely different world when I was at that Halloween party – I never saw so many women wearing cloaks or had a lot of pentagrams around their neck. One of them walked off with a cross necklace I wore to the party – an actual crucifix torn off a rosary. 
I wasn't used to people walking of with things, so this was new to me. It was similar to the first ghost hunt I went on, but this was something a little more disturbing. I never actually set foot in a realm of witches before this, the only exposure to witches was my ex-fiancée who was a solitary witch. (At the time of this party, I was just started dating her. They always seem to invite the horror writer to these kind of parties.)
I called in sick at the place I was working as a baker, knowing this party would go late and it did. Some of the guests didn't leave until about three in the morning. Sitting in on a séance is an eerie thing to think about. It's about as eerie as when my mother and stepfather decided to seek out a psychic artist in the summer of 1991 they've seen on Unsolved Mysteries
That was the kind of atmosphere I stepped into when I approached this Devil's Night party. There was nothing for me to expect, and one thing I came to learn over the years is to expect the unexpected. 
       There was nothing macabre at work there, but there was a lot of weird shit going around – seeing that they were all witches and I was the only Christian there. There were no familiars being sacrificed that night (black cats or a dog,) though it was called Devil's Night. The kind of thing people expect with these parties – I heard the horror stories over the years from the church I was active with; and some of them came from people who had the occult background. 
I have this notion they have this constant fear of the dark, and the things that crawl in the shadows are the things that capture their imagination the worst. The kind of things that horror films are made of, or some warped horror writer who wants to bring someone back from the dead with the written word. I sometimes wonder if they tried communicating with the dead in those parties and if they reached anyone, when the communicated parties been a sleeping corpse for nearly centuries with the flesh rotting off their bones. Rotting away into some decayed state, with their spirits either wandering the earth or burning in the depths below.
Are you sure you're going to get someone dead, long been dead?” I asked with a bit of skepticism to my voice. I knew these things were relatively eerie with the way they have their letters, the guys of Parker Brothers don't really know what kind of powers they would unleash when they unleashed the talking board. I knew what they were trying to do, and in some ways it was giving me the chills thinking about it – necromancy. The kind of things that would end up in the pages of H.P. Lovecraft or Algernon Blackwood – occult forces. Powers they communicate but have no control over; something they try to talk to – the dead, but they find themselves unleashing the holy gates of hell. They don't even understand the dark forces that would emerge when they play around with the talking board. 
I knew what they were trying to do, sometimes people would see the fucking heart shaped eye fly across the room. I was expecting something like that to happen at this party, but didn't – there was no one getting safety pins being rammed though their hand or throat. 
       Just a few fiddling around with the theme to Halloween on the piano, and going for the green colored alcohol or the vodka straight from the bottle --- then follow the talking board! Trying to see if they can talk to the long dead or the recent rotting corpses in the ground, though they've been long dead – they wanted to see if anyone was listening as they ran the heart shaped eye over the talking board. I didn't feel comfortable with the fucking thing laying around – even when my cousin used to play with one of these. I keep thinking about what that one radio show host who'd often try to get Deicide's vocalist Glen on the air. 
(Glen actually wrote “FUCK YOU” in blood in response to that invitation. People actually becoming possessed by demons when they fuck with the Ouija board – I would watch the broadcasts early on because I knew there was inspiration for the blackened horror yarns. He cause some controversy when he said he would kill himself at 33 in honor of the song Sacrificial Suicide. I would hear the Ouija board horror stories on the air, something that I could use as some source material.)
Being at this kind of party, I actually felt like I stepped into an occult horror film. I didn't have my manuscripts with me at the time, back the I had them all in binder – that was when I was submitting to the Prairie Light Review, and one of my college buddies was the editor at one time. I still remember him and we do keep in touch, it was him who said I should submit something for it. The editors didn't want anything dark, so they kept me on a leash in that sense – going to that witch's Devil's Night party, I felt like I wasn't in their world. I was just an observer, their welcomed guest – a guest who might have some strange stories to tell about the party years later.

Web Site: The Ethereal Gazette: Issue 10  

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Reviewed by Stinky Cat 6/26/2014
While this story greatly falls apart at the end it is the best thing you've ever written. There are many problems though, as I'm sure you're aware. The biggest one is nothing happens (see Tom's review below). This is very frustrating for the reader. You really lose it at the end and are all over the place. If you were to rewrite this or add to it, these are the points that were good that you may want to hold onto:

1) Your writing isn't as bad as when you try to write honestly, which it appears you mostly did (although no idea what happenned at the end).

2) The image of you sitting on a couch at a Halloween party concerned you hadn't brought your manuscripts in the binder, possibly like a talisman, is poignant. It speaks of the outcast kid (now an adult) who gets invited to a Halloween party where witches will be at, as a horror writer without stories, and is still an outcast whose voice is not heard. Your identity is defined by the stories you do not have to prove who you are.

3) Comical the horror writer is scared of the Ouija board and witches. Whether intentional or not I liked the set-up.

4) I liked the part where you called into work ahead time and said you were sick, expecting the party to run late. Not that I think it is good to blow off responsibility, but it did sound like an honest narration. greatly falls apart. I'm guessing nothing flew around, and that's why you could describe it. At this point you needed to ever make the rest fiction or keep it humbly at the truth. One can also easily make those things fly, so perhaps you saw something.

There is no horror in it, the way you have it written now.
Reviewed by Tim Willard 7/21/2010
So what is the point of this story? Apparently the narrator just huddled on the end of the couch and watched the party happen around him.

Nothing went on, except for a vague reference to the pointer flying around. There is no conflict, no plot, no characterization, no descriptions of anything of any value.

I rate this story a flat zero out of 10, as it fails all the of the creative writing litmus tests that one learns about in JR High.

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