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Also my first attempt at a short horror story.", "writing": "THE BIZARRE CONFESSION OF NICK CROSS\n\nBy Adam Leisemann\n\nBased on a shared universe with Christof Bernard\n\n-----\n\nFrom a private interview with a Police Closer under the pseudonym Michael Cane:\n\n“This had to be the strangest confession I ever dealt with. A ferret comes in to give information on a case that had not even been reported yet. I mean, that’s fair enough to a mutt like me, but I gotta tell you, given that lots a folks keep mum about these sorts of things until it’s been too long.. But when a man comes in teary-eyes and claiming he killed someone, that’s crazy already! Nobody comes in to confess right away unless there’s a damn good reason! It had to be looked into, so I got called to it. Again, fair enough. It’s my job. I extract confessions. And this looked to be an open-shut case right away.\n\n“Only it wasn’t so simple. It’s one of them odd stories with lust, control and some black magic for good measure, like a bad horror story.\n\n“I don’t know why you’re so interested in this case, sir, but I can give you the transcript itself of the confession, recorded right off the tapes. All I ask is that you keep me out of it. I’m still weirded out by the whole mess.”\n\n-----\n\nFrom the Transcript of the Confession, Assembled from the Dialogue for Nick Cross’ version of the events.\n\n“Officer, I’m a murderer. I murdered my wife! This is why I came here, and I cannot afford the pleasantries if justice is to be done in time. Please, hear me out, and I will tell you all there is about this case. I ask you to listen, and hear my confession. And pardon the tears, please. This is still a trouble to me.\n\n“Anne and I used to be a happily married couple. Our wedding day has been the happiest day in our lives. God, she was beautiful. She was beautiful still. I vowed that I would do anything to make her happy. Is that not the point of being a husband? To make a woman, a woman you love, as happy as you can make her for the rest of her hopefully natural life? She would argue the wife does the same for her husband. And she certainly did for me.\n\n“After the wedding, we moved to the small town of Jonson’s Rapids to live a new life together. We had a small house and were as happy as a couple in the 1950s. If anything broke from the mold, it was that Anne had the reigns of the relationship. I was fine with that. To be honest, it was actually fairly comforting to have some of your life handled for you. It gave me more time to think on the important matters and if a man loves a woman, he will do whatever he can for her. That’s true love, and that is one of the things I honestly wanted in life. Maybe it had the other men wondering if I was a true man, but that mattered not. I was happily hers.\n\n“Not anymore, though. Oh god…\n\n“W-w-we did face a problem. There was something that stressed our marriage. As you know, heat is a rough time for a woman. She gets aggressive in her expression of lust. Most species can weather it out, though. Ferrets are another story. A jill has to engage in sexual activity or else she gets very sick and probably dies. And any jill past puberty will have to invest in a vibrator, or something of similar nature, if she wants to live to be wedding age. This happens twice a year for ferrets.\n\n“This does mean that we have gotten a lot of sex, but it also means that I tired a lot. It’s not easy keeping up with heat. And the sex itself was not so much pleasant as vitally important for Anne’s health. Out of heat, the sex was fine, but when it came to those times of the year, it was busy and exhausting. And understandably so, Anne hated those times. It was the only thing in Anne’s life she could not control.\n\n“No, this was not motivated by my own sexual desires, and despite her occasional bid for control over the other things, I did not kill her for in a rage or to regain control of my own life. I was fully supportive of her desire to control her own sexual urges, and I willingly let her control me for the most part I was her husband first and foremost. I wanted to help but I knew I couldn’t. We just had to engage when the time came. \n\n“God I miss her, and it’s my fault.\n\n“We began by looking into medical texts for our information. We found the chemical solutions out of Anne’s price range, and she was too proud to rely on the so-called ‘hand-outs’ of insurance. Anne moved towards finding folk remedies. They did not work. The five years of our marriage were painful for her because of this cycle, and I couldn’t blame her. However, one day three months ago, she found a book that she was certain would help her. I didn’t know what this would involve. But I remember the look of the volume.\n\n“It looked to be a leather-bound text, and the pages were all hand written, with strange images and diagrams, too terrible, too repulsive to discuss. I’m a surgeon, so I know much of the grotesque, but this was beyond even the most gut-wrenching of operations that I had performed. There was something in that book in particular that Anne looked upon. I could not be certain of it myself. The writing was rather peculiar. I have no idea how she even found that book. I do not care how she found it. I just know that she found it. And if it weren’t for that wretched, god-damned book, I swear she’d still be with us.\n\n“Over the next months, Anne had been gathering some strange things; chalks, a brass bell, a ruby-studded collar, and candles as red as blood. I did not know what she needed them for, but I knew shat as long as she needed them, I would support the need. She paid for these items, but I still found their need puzzling. Then it was tonight that I took an early retirement from the day, and I heard some noise. It was a noise like chalk on stone. I figured she was simply using the chalk. Then I smelled fire and melting wax. I assumed it was the candles. Minutes in, the bell was ringing and some strange chanting, chanting in tongues, began. I knew I had to get up and investigate. \n\n“This was simply too strange for me, but something compelled me to follow the cacophonic chant. It lead me into the basement, and upon my wife, standing in an ornate circle with cephalopodan symbols surrounding that looked to be an eye with a pentagram for a pupil. At the points where the pentagram would extend to the outer circle, the candles were mostly melted away. I looked and saw Anne about to pick up a knife, and I called out, ‘Anne! What is the meaning of this?!’\n\n“Dear Anne answered me, ‘This is what will give me full control of my body. You have come at the perfect time.’\n\n“I had no idea what she was talking about. I asked her, ‘What do you mean? Just how will this help you?’\n\n“She smiled at me with an uncanny sort of knowledge present in her eyes. ‘Upon the ritual, my life must be taken. Then, I will soon be reborn, and no longer will I face heat. We can finally have a problem-free life together, in true happiness! It will even mean immortality. Your wife, Nick, will remain forever young for you.’\n\n“That tone began to make me queasy with fear. The idea seemed to make me nauseous with terror. I pleaded, ‘Anne! Please do not take your life! There must be a better way! Y-y-you can get a hysterectomy! ’\n\n“She looked at me. Her answer to my plea was this. “Come, then, and take it for me.’\n\n“I approaches, giving an assurance I hoped would be false. And I gently took the knife out of her hands. She brought my wrist up to the position where I could slash her throat, and I began to weaken. She brought a hand to my cheek, using her other hand to hold the hand that held the knife, and then she brought her lips to mine. I was distracted, but I could not release it. My hand was squeezed tight, and I felt her skin upon the blade. I freaked out and backed away, unconsciously slashing her throat in the process, and then I saw what I had done. \n\n“Oh my god it was horrible! I saw Anne lying on the ground, bleeding from her throat. Oh my god this… this vile act I had done! I could and have washed the blood from my hands, and I changed to more presentable clothes to come down here, but, by god, there is nothing to clean the blood from my soul! Anne’s dead! There is nothing to bring her back, but at least there can be justice. I am guilty, officer. I killed my wife. I can blame that book and that ritual, but I cannot shake the fact that she died at my hands. Officer, I beg you, arrest me for this crime. Imprison me so that justice will be served. Please…”\n\nThe remainder of the confession on tape consists of Nick Cross sobbing.\n\n-----\n\nConclusion to the private interview with Michael Cane.\n\n“I called in a couple of officers to come in and read him his rights, and as we stepped out to put the guy into custody, a female ferret stepped in, wearing a ruby studded collar and holding a brown book with yellow paged. She stepped up to the ferret we had just arrested, who had begun to shake in fear, and she kissed him on the lips. She told him, ‘Nick, it worked.’\n\n“The ferret, this Nick Cross you’re so interested in, began to scream and sob, as if he was a terrified pup. His horror was evident and something seemed up. The guy insisted she was the woman he killed. In the end though, Nick got his wish to be locked up. But I imagine his cell’s padded. They all must be at the Jonson Rapids Sanitarium.\n\n“I’m afraid that’s all I can really say about this case. If you can find anything more, then more power to you. I just want to forget this and be back to my life as it used to be, with no more of this ritual occult crap.”\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "THE BIZARRE CONFESSION OF NICK CROSS

By Adam Leisemann

Based on a shared universe with Christof Bernard

-----

From a private interview with a Police Closer under the pseudonym Michael Cane:

“This had to be the strangest confession I ever dealt with. A ferret comes in to give information on a case that had not even been reported yet. I mean, that’s fair enough to a mutt like me, but I gotta tell you, given that lots a folks keep mum about these sorts of things until it’s been too long.. But when a man comes in teary-eyes and claiming he killed someone, that’s crazy already! Nobody comes in to confess right away unless there’s a damn good reason! It had to be looked into, so I got called to it. Again, fair enough. It’s my job. I extract confessions. And this looked to be an open-shut case right away.

“Only it wasn’t so simple. It’s one of them odd stories with lust, control and some black magic for good measure, like a bad horror story.

“I don’t know why you’re so interested in this case, sir, but I can give you the transcript itself of the confession, recorded right off the tapes. All I ask is that you keep me out of it. I’m still weirded out by the whole mess.”

-----

From the Transcript of the Confession, Assembled from the Dialogue for Nick Cross’ version of the events.

“Officer, I’m a murderer. I murdered my wife! This is why I came here, and I cannot afford the pleasantries if justice is to be done in time. Please, hear me out, and I will tell you all there is about this case. I ask you to listen, and hear my confession. And pardon the tears, please. This is still a trouble to me.

“Anne and I used to be a happily married couple. Our wedding day has been the happiest day in our lives. God, she was beautiful. She was beautiful still. I vowed that I would do anything to make her happy. Is that not the point of being a husband? To make a woman, a woman you love, as happy as you can make her for the rest of her hopefully natural life? She would argue the wife does the same for her husband. And she certainly did for me.

“After the wedding, we moved to the small town of Jonson’s Rapids to live a new life together. We had a small house and were as happy as a couple in the 1950s. If anything broke from the mold, it was that Anne had the reigns of the relationship. I was fine with that. To be honest, it was actually fairly comforting to have some of your life handled for you. It gave me more time to think on the important matters and if a man loves a woman, he will do whatever he can for her. That’s true love, and that is one of the things I honestly wanted in life. Maybe it had the other men wondering if I was a true man, but that mattered not. I was happily hers.

“Not anymore, though. Oh god…

“W-w-we did face a problem. There was something that stressed our marriage. As you know, heat is a rough time for a woman. She gets aggressive in her expression of lust. Most species can weather it out, though. Ferrets are another story. A jill has to engage in sexual activity or else she gets very sick and probably dies. And any jill past puberty will have to invest in a vibrator, or something of similar nature, if she wants to live to be wedding age. This happens twice a year for ferrets.

“This does mean that we have gotten a lot of sex, but it also means that I tired a lot. It’s not easy keeping up with heat. And the sex itself was not so much pleasant as vitally important for Anne’s health. Out of heat, the sex was fine, but when it came to those times of the year, it was busy and exhausting. And understandably so, Anne hated those times. It was the only thing in Anne’s life she could not control.

“No, this was not motivated by my own sexual desires, and despite her occasional bid for control over the other things, I did not kill her for in a rage or to regain control of my own life. I was fully supportive of her desire to control her own sexual urges, and I willingly let her control me for the most part   I was her husband first and foremost. I wanted to help but I knew I couldn’t. We just had to engage when the time came.  

“God I miss her, and it’s my fault.

“We began by looking into medical texts for our information. We found the chemical solutions out of Anne’s price range, and she was too proud to rely on the so-called ‘hand-outs’ of insurance. Anne moved towards finding folk remedies. They did not work. The five years of our marriage were painful for her because of this cycle, and I couldn’t blame her. However, one day three months ago, she found a book that she was certain would help her. I didn’t know what this would involve. But I remember the look of the volume.

“It looked to be a leather-bound text, and the pages were all hand written, with strange images and diagrams, too terrible, too repulsive to discuss. I’m a surgeon, so I know much of the grotesque, but this was beyond even the most gut-wrenching of operations that I had performed. There was something in that book in particular that Anne looked upon. I could not be certain of it myself. The writing was rather peculiar. I have no idea how she even found that book. I do not care how she found it. I just know that she found it. And if it weren’t for that wretched, god-damned book, I swear she’d still be with us.

“Over the next months, Anne had been gathering some strange things; chalks, a brass bell, a ruby-studded collar, and candles as red as blood. I did not know what she needed them for, but I knew shat as long as she needed them, I would support the need. She paid for these items, but I still found their need puzzling. Then it was tonight that I took an early retirement from the day, and I heard some noise. It was a noise like chalk on stone. I figured she was simply using the chalk. Then I smelled fire and melting wax. I assumed it was the candles. Minutes in, the bell was ringing and some strange chanting, chanting in tongues, began. I knew I had to get up and investigate.

“This was simply too strange for me, but something compelled me to follow the cacophonic chant. It lead me into the basement, and upon my wife, standing in an ornate circle with cephalopodan symbols surrounding that looked to be an eye with a pentagram for a pupil. At the points where the pentagram would extend to the outer circle, the candles were mostly melted away. I looked and saw Anne about to pick up a knife, and I called out, ‘Anne! What is the meaning of this?!’

“Dear Anne answered me, ‘This is what will give me full control of my body. You have come at the perfect time.’

“I had no idea what she was talking about. I asked her, ‘What do you mean? Just how will this help you?’

“She smiled at me with an uncanny sort of knowledge present in her eyes. ‘Upon the ritual, my life must be taken. Then, I will soon be reborn, and no longer will I face heat. We can finally have a problem-free life together, in true happiness! It will even mean immortality. Your wife, Nick, will remain forever young for you.’

“That tone began to make me queasy with fear. The idea seemed to make me nauseous with terror. I pleaded, ‘Anne! Please do not take your life! There must be a better way! Y-y-you can get a hysterectomy! ’

“She looked at me. Her answer to my plea was this. “Come, then, and take it for me.’

“I approaches, giving an assurance I hoped would be false. And I gently took the knife out of her hands. She brought my wrist up to the position where I could slash her throat, and I began to weaken. She brought a hand to my cheek, using her other hand to hold the hand that held the knife, and then she brought her lips to mine. I was distracted, but I could not release it. My hand was squeezed tight, and I felt her skin upon the blade. I freaked out and backed away, unconsciously slashing her throat in the process, and then I saw what I had done.

“Oh my god it was horrible! I saw Anne lying on the ground, bleeding from her throat. Oh my god this… this vile act I had done! I could and have washed the blood from my hands, and I changed to more presentable clothes to come down here, but, by god, there is nothing to clean the blood from my soul! Anne’s dead! There is nothing to bring her back, but at least there can be justice. I am guilty, officer. I killed my wife. I can blame that book and that ritual, but I cannot shake the fact that she died at my hands. Officer, I beg you, arrest me for this crime. Imprison me so that justice will be served. Please…”

The remainder of the confession on tape consists of Nick Cross sobbing.

-----

Conclusion to the private interview with Michael Cane.

“I called in a couple of officers to come in and read him his rights, and as we stepped out to put the guy into custody, a female ferret stepped in, wearing a ruby studded collar and holding a brown book with yellow paged. She stepped up to the ferret we had just arrested, who had begun to shake in fear, and she kissed him on the lips. She told him, ‘Nick, it worked.’

“The ferret, this Nick Cross you’re so interested in, began to scream and sob, as if he was a terrified pup. His horror was evident and something seemed up. The guy insisted she was the woman he killed. In the end though, Nick got his wish to be locked up. But I imagine his cell’s padded. They all must be at the Jonson Rapids Sanitarium.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can really say about this case. If you can find anything more, then more power to you. I just want to forget this and be back to my life as it used to be, with no more of this ritual occult crap.”

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