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|  | | The Happy Hour
A detailed account of Toronto's only serial murderer whose exploits have not, at least until now, been known or ever publicized. This is the veritable account of a man named Armstrong, who, even now, as he once remained behind bars, waits to be let loose. This man of madness is about to be set free, to be released upon the streets of Toronto if not every city, town and village of this universe. The man named Armstrong remains among us waiting to be set free, waiting for his time to kill.
The man of absolute judgment, the Paraclete of Unholy Destruction bears the weapon held righteously above his head. The blade of purification descends down, as it once did, upon the unsuspecting heads and innocent streets of a city named Toronto. The city has now as it once did become awash with the blood of victims chosen by 'The Machete Murderer' to suffer the pains of their iniquity. Women of this clean and upstanding city are made to pay for their sins and to endure the passion of this man's perversity. The Machete Murderer comes with a blade that is sharpened now furbished, now sent force | |  | | The House of Triblinkus: The Abominable Suitor
This is a true account based upon the facts related to me by the citizens of a small northern Ontario town concerning the character of one man, named George Triblinkus, along with his profile and his profession as the town's only mortician. It seems this man named Triblinkus, quite literally, loves his work to death.
A young college student is murdered in this usually quiet, quaint and uneventful town. Her death is nothing less than a sad and somewhat shocking mystery to all her friends and family and of course the townsfolk of this resort town, except of course to the man who murdered her. The man responsible for her unexpected demise is the man who shall now bury her; but first, in his very own house, the undertaker shall love her before Tracy, the victim, is buried forever.
My name is Tracy Harris. I am granted but a few moments of breathless existence to speak of this house and its master. Avoid this domicile of the dead, I implore you!
Oh God! I have mere seconds before he arrives - before he breathes the rankness of his vile upon me! Soon the footsteps of this treacherous beast creep closer to my lifeless form, and my sleep interrupted by the foulest deeds of a man most foul!
Although in life our paths have never crossed, I am made to dream of this man, who now forces me to sleep among the dead. Now I am left all alone to dream the lifeless reverie of |
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The Survivors
by T. Weber
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 A young mother dreams of bringing back a world lost to catastrophic climate change, but is thrust into a nightmare beyond her imagining. |
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