The Lost Lanterns

“...and from that moment on, no one, but no one, was able to sleep again due to the ghost howl of the demon dog.”

The five young campers were sitting around the campfire which was now dwindling. Their eyes were wide, filled with wonderment and fear. Their storyteller sat across from them, his deep brown eyes locked onto the kids, stroking his beard with one hand while the other stoked the fire.

“Is that true, Uncle Bill?” the youngest camper asked, his voice trembling.

Bill Fowler nodded solemnly.

“I swear that it's true. Would I tell you a story if it wasn't true?”

Four of the boys shook their heads while the eldest boy gave a cynical snort of laughter. Bill looked over at his only son, twelve years of age and already a cynic. 

“They're just campfire stories, Dad,” he said. “Just tall tales. Nothing more.” Bill arched an eyebrow. His son was becoming more like his mother every day.

He was about to argue with him when his son continued by asking if he could tell another story. “Tall tales or not, they're fun,” he concluded.

Bill shook his head. “Nah, it's getting late and we have a long hike ahead of us tomorrow.” For added measure, Bill yawned.

There was a bit of grumbling, but eventually the boys agreed and climbed into their tents. They had spent nearly two hours hiking up the mountain to a remote campsite. They had spent another two hours unpacking and setting up the tents while Bill had built a fire and gathered firewood.

They loved being on their annual wilderness retreat, but they were dead tired. Also, they knew that they would be spending the next evening sitting around the fire while Uncle Bill told them more ghost stories. Three nights of campfire stories was something every boy longed for.

“Night, boys,” Bill said as his son zipped the tent. Within minutes, he could hear the soft snoring coming from within the tent.

Bill stood up, stretched and scratched the back of his head. “Damn mosquitoes,” he said, feeling the bite mark. He picked up a pail of water that sat beside him and poured it over the fire, extinguishing the remaining flames.

He began to think about the next morning and all the fun activities he had in store for the boys. Swimming, hiking, canoeing. He smiled. They boys were going to love it. Much more fun than sitting home with their Xbox and Wii or whatever it was they were playing these days. 

Suddenly, a mysterious sight captured his attention. Bill rubbed his eyes. A shooting star? He wondered, and squinted into the distance. But when he caught sight of it again he knew it wasn't. It was a tiny ball of light. Yellow, like the daisies. It bobbed slowly around the perimeter of the low, rugged mountains that bordered the opposite shore of the lake.

Bill rubbed his tired eyes again and took a deep breath. When he looked up, the light had vanished. Before there was even time to breath a sigh of relief, the light was back and it had company. Two minutes later, the glowing orbs bounced unevenly around the side of the mountain. Bill forgot about crawling into his sleeping bag. He suddenly wasn't tired. Instead he reached for his binoculars in order to take a better look.

Less than an hour later, there were six orbs bouncing along the rugged mountain range, and Bill was scared. Not worried or concerned, but truly terrified. Shit scared. So scared that he rouse the boys from their deep sleeps.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Everybody up. There's a change of plans.”

The boys grumbled and argued but got up anyway. They hugged their bodies for warmth as they stood in front of what was once a roaring fire. “What is it, Dad?” Bill's son asked.

Bill, who was busy dismantling the tents, didn't reply at first. Once the first tent was down, and packed he nodded to the sky. “There's a storm coming,” he said gruffly. “So we have to head back to the lodge.”

All the boys looked to the sky which was clear and full of stars. “Dad, there's no clouds,” Bill's son complained. “It took us two hours to get up here, and it'll take two hours to get back. Maybe even longer seeing as we're walking in the middle of the night.”

Bill frowned. Everything his son said was true. “If we move now, I'll tell you another story,” he said, hoping against all hope that bribing the boys would get them to move. He knew they were tired. He was too. But they had to leave now.

It was the nudge they needed because fifteen minutes later, the boys were dressed and were loading up their packs. Five minutes later they began their dangerous trip back to the lodge. Bill and the two eldest boys held the flashlights and lead the way, holding the hands of the younger boys.

“Tell us the story now, Uncle Bill,” said the youngest boy, eager to hear the story. 

Bill cleared his throat. “It all happened about four hundred years ago,” he began, “to a party of settlers who were travelling through here on their way to the west coast. There were two families, they say, who had banded together to make the hard journey. Unfortunately, not one of these people knew the area or a good path to take through these mountains. They eventually decided to pass through here, on the north side of the lake.”

“But that's dangerous!” one of the boys said. “Didn't they know how steep and rocky that path is?”

Bill smiled. His repeated lectures about never wandering around to the north side of the lake had not landed on deaf ears after all. 

“No, they didn't know,” he said. “They had no one to tell them that. So, there they were, trying to negotiate goats and donkeys on a slippery and narrow path. The goats wanted nothing to do with it and the horses on which some settlers were riding, got so skittish that they had to blindfold them and lead them along the trail. Step by step, their situation was already bad, but it was going to get worse.

“It was late in the fall and the weather was growing colder by the minute. The settlers had wrapped themselves in a few layers of clothing and blankets in order to stay warm. Reality is, they weren't really prepared for the winter conditions. After all, they were sure that they would be happily set up beside the Pacific Ocean before the first snow arrived. But that was another thing they didn't know about these mountains. The weather can change so quickly up here. And as they were inching their way along the path, trying not to fall into the freezing lake below, the weather did just that. It changed and a storm of epic proportions blew in.

“It was one of those blizzards that happens once every hundred years or so. The kind where the wind whips tiny icicles at your face and you can't see the person that's standing directly in front of you. They didn't know it until it was too late. They were halfway around the mountain by the time it struck. The sky was so dark and the wind began to gust. They couldn't stay where they were because there wasn't any room on the ledge to sit or to make a fire. They sure as hell couldn't set up a tent or a bed for the night. So they just kept going they prayed that the weather would let up.

“But it didn't. In fact, it went on for hours. The snow was blowing so furiously that they were blinded by it. They were literally feeling their way along the path. Eventually, they grew so afraid of taking a wrong step on the trail that they slowed down to a dead stop. They clung to the mountain side, feeling their hands and faces go numb from the blistering cold, while the ice and snow found its way down their collars and up their sleeves. The men and women who were leading the group knew that everyone was going to freeze to death if they didn't do something. So they did the only thing they could do. They took their lanterns out. Now, that may not sound brave or daring but it was. Just standing still was precarious enough at that point; digging though the saddlebags on skittery horses was like walking a tightrope between two planes thirty thousand feet in the air. The other problem was they had very little kerosene. They had been conserving it for weeks. Matches were also in short supply, but still they unpacked them too. 

“The wind was howling and the snow was blowing so hard that it took a few tries to light one lantern wick. But they did it, and then they lit another and another and another until the path was lit by little yellow orbs of light. Once the lanterns were spread out, each of them could see a little better. Plus they had something to follow. They could tell when there was a dip or a bend coming up. The terrain was just as dangerous, but it couldn't surprise them much.

“But maybe that was the problem. You see, everyone was almost hypnotically following the lamp that was in front of them. Because the group came to this little slope that had gotten real slick because of the ice. The fellow that was leading, he started edging down the path, real slow and easy, but then he lost his footing and slipped, falling straight down into the lake, taking his lantern with him. His family watched in horror as that light disappeared over the side of the mountain. Some people even say that others leaned over with their lanterns, to keep the fallen light in their sights and they lost their balance. They fell screaming into the black waters of the icy lake below.

“By the time the storm had passed and the group had made it through the treacherous mountain pass, they were missing more than half their number. And they say that the ones who died along the pass are doomed to relive their terrifying final hours for all eternity. Doomed to follow the leading lantern. People know this because they've seen the eerie glow of the lanterns, bouncing over the rocky terrain of the mountain side. They call them the 'lost lanterns' because they are the lost souls of the settlers who never made it through the storm.”

There was a few moments of silence as each of the boys looked at one another. Bill's son tugged on his fathers sleeve. “Did that really happen?” he asked his father. Bill nodded and told them all that they could look it up once they got back to the lodge. Bill's son tugged his sleeve again. “Have you ever seen them?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes wide with fear.

“Just once,” was all Bill said.

As they approached the lodge, Bill could see a helicopter on standby. “What's going on?” he called out.

“It's them!”

Bill's wife, Jody, rushed to her husband's side, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him tenderly. Bill, unsure of how to react, returned her kiss. “Maybe I should go camping more often,” he joked. Jody swatted her husband playful on the arm. “There's a big storm brewing,” she told him, ushering him and the children towards the lodge. “They say it's the worst one they've seen in nearly two hundred years. I told everyone that you and the boys were up on the mountain, so the rangers were going to launch a rescue operation.”

Bill looked into his wife's eyes. Tears were beginning to form. He touched her cheek before kissing her. “How did you find your way in the dark?” she asked. “More importantly, how did you know you had to come back?”

Bill sat down on the lodge step. “I saw the 'lost lanterns',” he told her.

Jody went pale. She knew the legend too. She knew the part that Bill hadn't seen fit to tell the boys. It had long been believed that the 'lost lanterns' had served as a dire warning. Those souls who had perished in the mountain lake more than four centuries before showed their lanterns for only one reason: to signal that a vicious and deadly storm was approaching.

“How many?” she asked. Bill held up his left hand plus the index finger on his right hand. Jody's eyes grew wide with fear. “All of you,” she whispered and Bill nodded.

Bill's hands began to shake as the fear of what just happened set in. For it was true what the legend said about how the spirits personalise the omen.

They did it by showing one lantern.....for every person who was about to die.

Why Men Wear Earrings

I have often wondered how this trend got started, I now have the answer.

A man is at work one day when he notices that his co-worker is wearing an earring. This man knows his co-worker to be a normally conservative fellow, and is curious about his sudden change in 'fashion sense.'

The man walks up to him and says, "I didn’t know you were into earrings."

"Don’t make such a big deal, it’s only an earring," he replies sheepishly.

His friend falls silent for a few minutes, but then his curiosity prods him to say, “So, how long have you been wearing one?”

"Ever since my wife found it in my car."

Assly's Halloween Special

Hi ghouls, goblins and fiends of all sorts!

My Twitter pal @CraptasticWritr is preparing an Assly Halloween Special.  For those of you who have no idea who the hell Assly is, he is the foul mouthed but lovable puppet of Kristian J. Hanson who often does movie reviews for  http://craptastichorror.com/

Assly is asking fans and fiends alike to cast their vote for their favourite horror movie.  The votes are tallied by Kristian and the Top 10 Horrors For Halloween will be announced by Assly himself as a Halloween Special.

So please, cast your votes by contacting Kristian directly on Twitter (see above for the link to his Twitter page) or by leaving a comment below.

Thank you for getting into the spirit of Halloween.  Make your vote count and then tune in to watch the special on Halloween Night.  *Note, all voting closes on October 10th*

Horror Movie Rules 101

Rule #1: You can never have sex. 

Rule #2: You can never drink or do drugs

Rule #3: Never, ever, under any circumstances say “I'll be right back”....

In 1996 a little movie called Scream was thrust upon movie goers. Not only were audiences the world over introduced to a new serial killer in Ghostface, but they were also subjected to the 'rules' of the horror genre.

Since then there has been an abundance of movies that have paid homage to the rules that Scream set. There have been countless references to never saying “I'll be right back,” as well as sex, drinking and drugs equals death. 

But how many horror films actually follow this formula? From classics like Halloween to something more modern like Trick 'r Treat, the horror genre has seemed pretty faithful to the rules. And none do it better then Leslie Vernon.

Behind The Mask: The Rise Of Leslie Vernon is one of the cleverest movies I have seen in a long time. This great psycho horror slasher is given a documentary twist with the villain allowing a college camera crew exclusive access to his life as he plans his reign of terror over the sleepy town of Glen Echo, all the while deconstructing the conventions and archetypes of the horror genre. 

The film often references the rules, while adding some extras like “If you have a virgin in your group either get someone into her pants or get away from her.” At one point Leslie even mentions that his 'survivor girl' (Sorry – it's an industry term meaning the one who will defeat the bad guy) is downstairs not drinking, smoking or fooling around. Of course that's before the crew catch her “riding the nerdy kids' Johnson like it's a pogo stick.” Then it all goes pear shaped from there.

Behind The Mask provided audiences with a whole new world and view on the typical run-of-the-mill slasher films. And let's face it, Leslie was pretty likeable even when he was slicing and dicing his victims. But the point is, Leslie had rules. Rules that all killers seem to face and abide by. 

This got me thinking. Do all horror movies have a set of rules? Do all killers abide by the rules? The answer was quite surprising.

Now I know I sound like a broken record when it comes to mentioning movie titles as I seem to stick with the same classics like Halloween and Nightmare On Elm Street. However, today I'm stepping out of my comfort zone and tackling some modern day horror like Saw, Paranormal Activity and Hatchet to see whether or not modern day films actually stick the the premise of 'rules'.

Let's begin with Saw. OK, unless the two men trapped in the bathroom got it on with each other while I wasn't looking, I can't say that the sex equals death applies here. For that matter, neither does the drinking or drug rule because the only drug that was used was chloroform and that was administrated by the baddie himself.

As for the line of “I'll be right back,” it never made an appearance. For Saw, it was all about breaking new ground in horror and playing by its own rules. In fact, throughout the Saw series, it is safe to say that the only rules that were applied to the film were the ones that Jigsaw himself set. 

Taking all that into consideration, Saw breaks the rules barrier (and the gore factor) by avoiding the typically followed pattern set by Scream. In Saw, the killer never actually killed anyone (it wasn't until later in the series that Jigsaw became prolific) but rather gave choices. Do you choose to sit there and do nothing and die or do you choose to fight, lose a limb but survive? Make your decision wisely because it may be your last.

Paranormal Activity may be a strange choice to add into this debate, however, despite my dislike of the film, it did gross a considerable amount of cash world wide at box office. So let's jump into the world of spooks and demons and see what 'rules' we can conjure up.

Seeing as our characters filmed all their night time activities, and while they did hug and kiss each other under the covers, there was no sex to be had. And aside from our leading lady pouring herself a glass of wine there was no drinking involved. Now, if Paranormal Activity followed the rules set by Scream, Katie (the leading lady) would be dead due to the wine intake. However, in this film it seems that the rules were merely guidelines and that sometimes a corpse needs to appear in order to scare the bejesus out of the audience.

For Paranormal Activity, despite it's lack of body count and blood, it followed in the same steps as Saw. By creating it's own rules and guidelines, Paranormal Activity broke new boundaries, creating something that hadn't been seen since The Blair Witch Project back in 1999. 

For these two films, by creating their own sets of rules they were rewards with success. It seems to be a programmed reaction that when people see the term 'horror' or even 'slasher' they automatically think of some stupid killer wearing a mask carrying a large knife or weapon of some kind, and some stupid topless girls getting themselves slaughtered. For this reason alone, I applaud both Saw and Paranormal Activity for breaking new ground and creating a new level of horror.

Hatchet, however, is at the other end of the spectrum. Taking a step back from the domination of Saw, Hatchet saw a return to the movies of old. Creator Adam Green invented a new Big Bad to rival Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers. By creating this new juggernaut, Victor Crowley, Hatchet inadvertently reprised the rules set by Scream.

The two girls who constantly flashed their breasts both bit the dust, as did the man who was filming them. Anyone who had been drinking was automatically iced. I was especially pleased by the demise of Mercedes McNab's character who was extremely annoying. It didn't help that I felt she fulfilled another common horror movie rule: “She who is blond acts like a bimbo and shall not live.”

But what surprised me most with Hatchet was the cameo appearances made by 'Kings Of Horror' Tony Todd and Robert Englund. It was also the only reason that I bought the movie to begin with.

Not only did Hatchet follow the rules set by Scream, it also followed another pattern. At the beginning of Scream, audiences were introduced to Casey Becker, played by Drew Barrymore. Twelve minutes later, movie goers were in shock and terrified as Drew was killed. Never before had such a high profiled actor been slaughtered so early on in a horror movie. Main characters have been killed before (Janet Leigh in Psycho comes to mind), but never someone with such star power. Hatchet channelled this by presenting the opening sequence with Robert Englund. Now, admittedly, Robert doesn't have the same star power quality that Drew has, however when it comes to scary movies, no one can hold a candle to the reigning King Of Horror. So to have him gutted almost beyond recognition within the first ten minutes was truly disturbing and shocking. It also left audiences with a trembling fear that maybe there was something worse then the '80's villains that had come before, namely Krueger and Voorhees. (Fun Fact: Victor Crowley was played by Kane Hodder who has also been Jason Voorhees in four Friday The 13th movies.  Kane also played Mr. Crowley, Victor's father)

Hatchet did surprisingly well in cinemas which just shows that audiences aren't ready to let go of the past. By creating a new juggernaut with a haunting back story, people associated with the character. I'd even go so far as to say they felt for him. Not too mention that the majority of the other characters were dismal and too stereotypical. I'm sure that aside from myself, there were others that were willing their demise.

But bad acting aside, Hatchet proved that there was still room in horror fiends hearts world wide for a new Big Bad. And with that new Big Bad came a reprised version of the rules.

To sum up, yes, in all horror films there is a substandard guideline set for the bad guy. Whether or not they follow the common rules set by Scream is another matter, however movie goers can be reassured that the rules don't die with a series. Rules, just like horror itself, can be reinvented to apply to the modern day. With all the twists and turns that film audiences are subjected to, it's nice to know that some things just don't change.

But, in saying that, if you ever find yourself being stalked by a super juggernaut killer and you're stranded in the middle of no where with a group of your friends, please, I beg of you, don't have sex. Also make sure that you never have even a single sip of beer. Don't touch that joint. And most of all, never, ever, under any circumstances say “I'll be right back.” You know, just in case...

The Watcher

Jon and I had been dating for about three months before he asked if I wanted to go on a camping trip with him. “Of course I will,” I told him, smiling. If nothing else it meant that we would be alone for a couple of days and able to do anything we wanted.

Jon picked me up in his car and drove us out to the national state forest. We parked the car, gathered the camping gear and set out to find our camping spot.

Two hours of hiking and battling the tree branches we found a clearing and decided to call it home for the weekend. While Jon pitched the tent, I began to search the surrounding woodland for firewood. Nothing screamed camping like roasting marshmallows over a roaring campfire.

Ten minutes later I returned with more than enough firewood and Jon was still cursing the tent. It took nearly another two hour to put the tent up. I offered to help but Jon was instant. “I can do it,” he said, scratching his head, as he stared at the tent poles. “Now, which one of these is the middle pole?” I sat on a log and watched, wondering if I should intervene with the tent instructions but once he got the first three poles in, the rest seemed natural.

As the daylight disappeared, giving way to the night, Jon started our campfire while I organised our dinner. We ate in silence as the sounds of the wild called around us. A howl from a coyote had me snuggling closer to Jon for fear of being eaten alive. Jon laughed as he rubbed my back. “The only thing that will be eating you here is me,” he said giving me a teasing wink. I rolled my eyes in response then let out a playful scream as Jon began to tickle my ribs.

A twig snapping had him place his hand over my mouth to keep me silent. He looked around, almost expecting to see Jason Voorhees breaking through the woods. My eyes darted from side to side, searching the darkness. The amber flames from our fire licked the night sky.

Jon removed his hand. “What is it?” I asked, sitting up, dusting off my jacket which was covered in dirt and leaves. Jon shook his head, dismissing his paranoia. “Nothing,” he said. He smiled at me. “Why don't we take this inside.” He stood up and made his way back to the tent with me in tow.

I watched as he unzipped his jacket, removing it along with his shirt. I bit my lip, my eyes lingering on the bulge in his jeans a little too long. I discarded my jacket along with my T-shirt. I unzipped my jeans and tugged them down, my feet becoming trapped as I tried to pull them off. Jon jumped to my rescue, pulling my jeans off and running his hand up my creamy white thighs, feeling the softness of my skin.

When he finally kissed me, it took my breath away. I moaned into his mouth as our tongues intertwined, my breasts crushed against his chest, my hand slipping beneath the waistband of his pants. I unzipped his jeans before dropping to my knees. Glancing up at him, I gave him my best seductive look and licked my lips. Jon gulped as I lowered his briefs and began to tease the head of his fully erect cock with my tongue.

Jon threw his head back and let out an animal groan as I proceeded to take the length of him into my mouth. My tongue swirled around his head while my eyes locked onto his body, searching for any signs of excitement.

Jon reached down, pulling my hair. I pulled away from him. His dark eyes flashed with excitement as he discarded my bra and panties. “It takes you two hours for you to put up a tent, but two seconds to get me naked,” I teased, lying back on our sleeping bags. Jon pulled a condom out of his pack and rolled it onto his erect length. “I wanted you naked more then I wanted to put up this fucking tent,” he replied, mounting me with such force I'm still convinced there's an imprint of my body in the soft ground beneath the base of the tent.

Our collective moans became louder with each thrust. My blood red nails raked down his shoulder, leaving slick claw marks on his sweat-soaked skin. I turned my head as Jon began to suck and lick my neck. Panting hard, I opened my eyes slightly. What I saw caused a scream to rip from my throat. Jon took that as meaning what he was doing was pleasurable and continued to pound away.

“Jon!” I cried, digging my nails into his back. “Jon, stop!”

“What's wrong?” he asked, his brow creasing with concern, sweat dripping down his nose. I reached up and turned his face to the entrance of the tent. He gasped and pulled out of me. I grabbed his T-shirt, holding up to cover my naked body, our eyes trained on our campfire.

The amber flames still burned brightly, casting an eerie shadow across our camp sight. That wasn't what was so terrifying. Standing in front of the fire was a coyote.

I nudged Jon in the ribs. “What?” he asked, eyes still trained on the beast.

“Get rid of it,” I hissed.

“And how do you propose I do that?” he asked, turning to look at me.

“Scare if off or something.”

“But it's cold out there,” he protested weakly.

I shot him a disapproving look. “It can get cold in here too,” I warned him.

Sighing Jon grabbed his jeans and slipped them on. Not bothering with shoes he approached the entrance to the tent before grabbing a flashlight. “Don't go anywhere,” he said. “I'll be right back.” I nodded, pulling his T-shirt over my matted blond hair. The fabric teased my nipples until they were hard like diamonds.

Jon stared at me for a minute before shaking his head and bursting through the tent flaps. I heard him screech like a banshee as the shadows played across the tent. Jon was waving his arms about wildly and kicking dirt at the coyote. I giggled. From where I was hiding it looked pretty funny.

A book sticking out of Jon's pack caught my attention. Carefully I reached over and grabbed it. “101 Campfire Stories Designed To Scare,” I read aloud. I chuckled to myself. Jon loved to tell scary stories especially to me because he knew I didn't like them. I flipped through the book, stopping on a page with a black and white sketch of a man hiding behind a tree, large knife in hand, while two lovers made out in their tent.

Feeling just a little freaked out, I tossed the book aside and ventured out of the tent. The coyote was no where to be seen. And neither was Jon.

Shifting from foot to foot, I hugged my body, running my hands up and down my arms trying to keep warm. “Jon?” I called. There was no answer. “Jon? Jon? Come on, this isn't funny!” A twig snapped and I jumped, turning around. I saw a shadow move among the trees. Panicking, I felt around the ground with my foot until I found a solid stick. I picked it up, my eyes still trained on the trees.

A hand landed on my shoulder and I screamed, whirling around with the stick, hitting Jon in the jaw. Blood burst from the cut near his lip and he swore, his hands automatically moving to his face.

“Oh shit,” I said, covering my mouth. “Jon, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought you were-” My voice trailed off. “Thought I was what?” he demanded, wiping the blood from his face.

I blushed and told him that I found his book and more importantly about the picture of the man in the woods watching the two lovers. Jon sighed and reached for me, pulling my shaking body into his. His arms held me protectively while his chin, still dripping with blood rested on my head. “Princess, I'm not going to let anything happen to you,” he said soothingly. “Nothing is going to happen.”

Holding back tears, I looked up at him. “If my hair turns pink it's your fault,” I said, referencing the fact that his blood had left a streak in my hair. Jon smiled and kissed my forehead. “I think a pink streak would look good on you.”

His arm around me, we walked back to the tent. As I crawled inside, I felt sick. My stomach lurched and my eyes widened. Lying on one of our pillows was a large blood soaked knife.

Bound For Glory

Life's tough
So what?
I'm alive
I've been down
Seen hard times
But I survived

You know I learned my lesson
At the school of hard knocks
And I know there's more to living
Can't hold me down
Can't hold me back

Bound for glory
Oh we're bound for glory
A heartfelt victory
It's a warriors destiny
Bound for glory
Yes we're bound for glory

I'll fight,
And I'll win
'Cause I'm strong
I'll stand tall
My head's high
'Cause I belong

You know I learned my lesson
And the pain made me strong
I know my strength keeps growing
I know what's right
I know what's wrong

Bound for glory
Oh we're bound for glory
A heartfelt victory
It's a warriors destiny
Bound for glory
Yes we're bound for glory

Oh you can't hold back the tide
When it starts to turn
No you can't go back
Can't go back
It's a lesson to learn

You know I learned my lessons
And the pain made me strong
I know my strength keeps growing
I know what's right
I know what's wrong

Bound for glory
Oh we're bound for glory
A heartfelt victory
It's a warriors destiny
Bound for glory
Yes we're bound for glory

Bound for glory
Oh we're bound for glory
A heartfelt victory
It's a warriors destiny
Bound for glory
Yes we're bound for glory

Bound for glory
Oh we're bound for glory
A heartfelt victory
It's a warriors destiny
Bound for glory
Yes we're bound for glory

A Good Samaritan?

Paige had just spent an afternoon shopping at the local mall. When the stores had closed, she gathered her bags of purchases and walked across the deserted underground car park. She mentally kicked herself for arriving at the mall so late in the day as the only available parking space was miles from the entrance. 

It was dark and the empty car park was a shadowy, frightening place. A quick glance over her shoulder settled her nerves. The only sound was her high heels clicking as she walked.

Her feelings of unease grew as she arrived at her car. The car had a flat tire. She dropped her bags and stared at the deflated tire. She kicked it, then cursed aloud, holding her toe and jumping up and down on the spot.

Sighing, she glanced back at the mall entrance. She debated returning to the mall and calling her mechanically minded friend for help. She bit her lip. Shaking her head, Paige decided against it. She had seen her ex husband change a tire before. It didn't look that hard. Besides, she thought. I can probably change this stupid tire in less time then it would take me to backtrack back to the mall.

She opened the trunk, took out the jack and the spare tire and placed her shopping inside. She left the trunk open and removed her leather jacket. 

Twenty minutes later she was beginning to regret her decision. Her hands felt like ice and she quickly discovered that no amount of cursing was going to loosen the lug nuts on the flat tire. She also discovered that she lacked severe upper body strength. She swore again, smacking the tire with an open hand. 

“Do you need some help?”

Paige screamed. She turned around to see a handsome young man, no older then thirty standing behind her. She looked him up and down. He wore a black business suit and was clean cut. In his hand he carried an expensive, and sleek looking, black briefcase.

“I'm sorry,” he apologised. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”

Paige dismissed her scream of terror with a nervous giggle. “It's alright. I was spooking myself long before you came along,” she babbled. She coughed as the man smiled. “You know, I could use a hand,” she admitted, batting her eyelashes.

The man smiled and placed his briefcase in the trunk of the car. “Not a problem,” he assured her. “Shouldn't take more then a few minutes.”

And indeed it didn't. The man changed the tire with ease and put the tools and the flat away in the trunk, being careful not to disturb any of her shopping. He closed the trunk, grinned at Paige and dusted his hands off against his suit pants. “All done,” he said grandly.

Paige smiled, thanked him and offered to pay him for his good deed, but the man gallantly refused any compensation.

“Actually, if it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if you could do something for me,” he admitted as he looked at his watch. “I'm running late, and my wife will kill me if I'm late again. My car is parked on the other side of the mall. Would you mind driving me over there?”

Paige suddenly felt uncomfortable. She didn't want to seem ungrateful, but she couldn't bring herself to answer him directly. Instead, she teasingly asked, “Now, if your car is parked way over there, what were you doing over here? Do you go searching for damsels in distress?” She laughed, in hopes that it would make her feel less uneasy. It didn't.

The man didn't laugh and what made Paige even more terrified was, that for a brief moment she saw his eyes go cold and hard. It was only for a second before his beaming mega-watt smile returned. “I was with a friend,” he replied. “I didn't want her walking the car park at night. Something bad might happen.”

It seemed so plausible and was so gallant that Paige felt ashamed of her suspicious nature. She lowered her eyes in embarrassment, nodded and moved to unlock the car door.

But just as she was inserting the key into the lock, she noticed the man's shoes. They weren't the type of shoes that one would assume a business man to be wearing. In fact they were soft, rubber-soled shoes that one might use for...

Sneaking around without being detected Paige thought. Her sense of paranoia rose. Her hand shook as she withdrew the key. “You know, I'd love to help you, but I just realised I forgot something back at the mall,” she lied.

She turned and ran, not giving the man a chance to say anything. The only sound that she heard was her heels pounding the pavement as she ran back towards the lights. But even that was little comfort as the Good Samaritan could have been just a couple of steps behind her in his sneaky rubber-soled shoes.

Paige darted through the entrance and quickly found the mall security guard. She told him her story, admitting that she felt foolish, but she would feel a lot safer if he escorted her back to her car. The guard was more then happy to oblige.

Together they exited the mall and walked back to her car. The man who helped her was gone. Paige looked around wildly but there was no sign of him.

“I feel really bad now,” she told the guard. “That man is probably going to get chewed out by his wife because he's late again.”

The guard patted her shoulder, telling her that she did the right thing. “You can never to be too careful,” he told her, smiling. Paige nodded and started to close the trunk when she gasped.

“Oh no!”

The guard asked what was wrong as Paige held up a briefcase. The man's briefcase. “Fuck!” she said. “He's forgotten his briefcase.”

The guard took it from her, closed the trunk and rested the briefcase on it. He pressed the button near the latch and the case sprung open as he told Paige that surely the man would have some identification inside.

What was inside the case left both the guard and Paige in a state of shock. It suddenly dawned on Paige at how lucky she was. “What does he do with this stuff? Wait for someone's car to break down?” she asked, her voice suddenly high-pitched.

The guard shook his head as he removed a long cord of nylon rope and a knife. “I don't think so,” he said as he pointed to a tiny item that was hidden by the rope. Paige moved in closer for a better look. 

The last thing she saw before she passed out was the missing valve stem from her flat tire.

Pac Man: The New Horror Movie

Hi everyone!

Late last night I was thinking about video games being turned into movies.  There are so many out there already, like Super Mario Brothers, Street Fighter, Doom...  Then I began to think about the classic game, Pac Man.  You remember him right?  Well, when you sit down and think about it, Pac Man would be a great horror film and here's why.

The enemies are ghosts and we all know that you can't kill what's already dead.  You can try, but unless your Scooby Doo and part of Mystery Inc. you won't get the better of them.  Not too mention that the only way Pac Man has been able to slow them down is by taking a power pill (which in the game turns the ghosties blue which allows Pac Man to eat them) plus, the game itself is endless and those power pills get harder to find and become less effective as the game goes on.

Taking all that into consideration, here's what it breaks down to:  A no-win, never-ending quest with unstoppable enemies and extreme drug use.  That sounds like a pretty dark premise to me.  What do you think?

Bloody Mary

When identical twins, Charity and Faith Masters, turned sixteen, they had separate parties for the first time in their lives. They considered each other best friends, but their different interests had pursued them to find different groups to hang out with. Faith was more rebellious and was often seen hanging around a tougher crowd, while Charity was shy and preferred to be seen with the school band.

Charity and her friends took the upstairs while Faith and her wild group stayed in the basement. The girls' parents had left for the evening and wouldn't be home until dawn.

Charity and her friends were sprawling out sleeping bags when Faith appeared in the doorway. “Why don't you guys come downstairs?” she asked. Charity waved her sister away, telling her that they were more then happy to stay upstairs and tell ghost stories. “Besides, according to your friends, we're dorks,” she retorted.

Faith's upper lip curled. Charity was a dork, but it wasn't OK for anyone else to call her that. “I'll punch whoever said it,” she promised. Charity giggled. She knew Faith would keep her word. “Come on downstairs.”

Again, Charity politely refused. Faith stomped her foot impatiently. “OK, fine, you want to stay up here and tell ghost stories?” All the girls nodded. Faith stepped into the room and close the door. The loud music coming from downstairs became muffled. “I have a ghost story for you.”

She sat down on the end of Charity's sleeping bag. “And my story is real. It happened a long time ago, but it did happen. You know the urban legend Bloody Mary, right?” They all nodded. Faith smiled. “Yeah well, I know this guy that knows this girl who had a friend who tested the urban legend. She was in college and went into the bathroom to perform the ritual.”

“Why?” asked Clarissa, one of Charity's friends.

Faith shrugged. “I don't know. She was doing a paper on urban legends or some shit. Anyway, the point is she went into the bathroom, closed the door and lit a few candles. She looked into the mirror and said 'Bloody Mary' five times.”

She paused, looking around the room. All the girls were huddled close together. Charity's eyes were wide. Faith smiled and continued with her story. “At first nothing happened. But then she heard her name being called. She turned around, thinking that someone was playing a trick on her. She checked all the stalls before retuning to her spot in front of the mirror. And what she saw turned her blood to ice.”

“What did she see?” Charity's voice came out high pitched and squeaky.

“She saw the face of Bloody Mary. When the police found her the next day, her body was mutilated beyond recognition and scrawled on the tiled floor in her blood was the name Mary.”

There was silence. Charity opened her mouth to speak when she heard her name being called. At first it was faint, but then it grew louder.

“Ohmigod! It's Bloody Mary!” screamed Clarissa. The other girls began screaming, with the exception of Charity. She stood up, marched over to her closet and pulled open the door. Dionne, Faith's best friend stood there, laughing hysterically. “You should have seen your faces,” she cried, slapping Faith a high five.

“Bloody Mary isn't real,” Charity said, folding her arms across her chest. “And I'll prove it.” She turned on her heel and walked off, only to return a few minutes later with a handful of candles. She walked into the bathroom, placed the candles on the vanity and proceeded to light them.

She turned to face her friends, an eyebrow arched. “See you soon,” she said as she closed the door.

Charity hadn't really intended to say Bloody Mary. I mean, if it wasn't just a story, did she really want to piss off a thousand year old ghost? But once she was in the bathroom, she knew that Faith would be pressed up against the door, listening for her to chant the words. So she did. “Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.”

A quick glance around the room and Charity began to laugh. Mostly out of relief. She was about to blow out the candle when something in the mirror caught her eye. She opened her mouth and screamed.

“Charity!” Faith yelled, banging on the door. “Charity! Charity!”

The door wouldn't open and Faith knew that Charity hadn't locked it. Faith pushed everyone back before putting her foot through the door. The breaking wood gave her enough room to unlock the door.

The bathroom was in total darkness. The candles had gone out or had been put out, and Faith found herself feeling along the wall for the light. She couldn't even see the tip of her nose in the darkness. Her hand found the switch and she flipped the light on.

Light filled the bathroom and revealed the gory scene that was within it. Slashes of crimson formed a horrifying cross-hatch pattern on the mirror and vanity. Wet, red hand prints smeared the back wall and the opaque glass door to the shower stall.

Using two fingers, as though she was touching some repulsive thing, Faith pulled open that door. There, crumpled on the floor of the shower stall, was Charity. She raised her head, showing Faith and the others that her face was covered in a network of bleeding lacerations.

“I saw her,” she whispered. “I saw Bloody Mary.” Her words were rasped through her jaggedly cut lips.

* * *

A week later, Charity was home from the hospital. Her face was covered in white patches of dressing, and she was missing a small bit of hair, where one row of eight stitches extended. Aside from that, she looked fine.

The girls' parents had become concerned about Charity. They began to watch their daughter for any signs of self-destructive behaviour.

Charity announced she was going upstairs to her room to watch some TV, and wasn't at all worried when Faith said she'd join her. Ever since that night, Faith had been feeling responsible for everything that had happened. It was her story that had Charity prove the myth didn't exist. It was her fault.

For a while, the girls sat on the bed, watching the cartoons. Faith's eye kept darting over to her sister. “How do you feel?” she asked finally.

Charity, not taking her eyes off the TV, smiled. “I feel good. Despite everything, I feel really good.”

Faith nodded. There was something in Charity's tone that made her uneasy. She got up and made her way into the bathroom. It had been cleaned and bleached within an inch of it's life since that night. But regardless of how clean it was Faith would always remember that gruesome scene. She shuddered as she closed the door. Turning on the tap, she looked at her reflection. The uneasy feeling wouldn't go away. Dismissing it the best she could with a laugh, Faith placed her hands under the tap, collected some water and splashed it over her face.

“Faith.”

Her head snapped up. Water droplets fell from her nose. She turned off the tap and listened.

“Faith.”

She moved to the door. Pulling it open, she saw Charity lying on the bed, giggling at the cartoon. She closed the door again.

“Faith.”

Her head glanced up at the mirror and what she saw made her blood run cold. Charity stared back at her, her blue-green eyes wide with fear. “Faith. Get out,” she warned. “Get out before she gets you too!”

Pulling open the bathroom door, Faith ran out into the bedroom. From her position on the bed, Charity looked up at her twin. “What's wrong with you?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Faith's heart was beating so fast she was afraid that it would leap out of her chest. She swallowed hard. “Nothing,” she said, her breathing becoming ragged, and uneven.

She moved back over to the bed. “Charity, there's something I want to ask you about that night. What did she look like?”

Charity turned off the cartoon. “Bloody Mary?” she asked, innocently. Faith nodded. Charity smiled. It wasn't her usual warm smile. This one was more sinister. “She looked just like me.”

* * *

The girls' parents rushed upstairs the second they heard screaming. Pushing open the door they were confronted with twice as much blood as there had been the first time.

An Interview With Rhiannon Irons

Greetings, gentle readers!

Trent Alexander Faulkner here. For those who don't know me, relax, I'm the man behind the scenes. But today, I get to jump into the spotlight for a brief moment as I bring you a rather exciting blog entry.

She's enchanted you with tales of fantasy, teased you with erotica so steamy it comes with a health warning and has scared the goose right out of goosebumps, but how well do we really know Rhiannon Elizabeth Irons?

Armed with a tape recorder (so I wouldn't miss anything) I had a pleasure of setting up a 'mock' interview with the soon to be published author (and my former ex-girlfriend) and asked her the questions you're dying to know the answers to.

We agreed to meet in my hotel room – not for that reason – and decided to this Hollywood style. Rhiannon arrived looking casual yet gorgeous in low riding jeans, a simple pink T-shirt and a Letterman jacket with 'R' blazed on the chest. Her blond hair was swept up in a perfect ponytail and her blue-green eyes flashed with excitement.

She was cheerful as we exchanged pleasantries before I turned my attention to the list of questions before me.

Trent: So, the ultimate question for today – When does Ahlephia come out and what is it about and more importantly, how do you pronounce it?

Rhiannon: It's pronounced Al-e-fear-ra. And it's a fantasy story which I created about a group of youths who break into the town's haunted house in order to find clues to a murder. They get more then they bargained for when they are transformed into mythical creatures and sent into an alternate realm known as Ahlephia. Upon awakening they learn that they have 72 hours in which to find the antidote and get out otherwise they will be trapped in Ahlephia forever.

As for when it's coming out. I'm aiming to have it finished by November. I'm suppose to fly down to Sydney then and present it for the publishers.

Trent: Sounds extremely interesting. What makes Ahlephia different from every other fantasy story on the market?

Rhiannon: How “real” it is. I don't mean suddenly waking up as a gargoyle is real, but more along the lines of how real the characters are. These are real seventeen and eighteen year old youths. They drink, they smoke, they have foul mouths and the experiment with their sexuality. They live in the real world. It's like when they first wake up after the transformation has taken place, there's a lot of references to “This has got to be a dream” because it's a hard concept to wrap your head around that one minute you're human suddenly you're a mermaid.

Trent: It's not just the youths that are real. I've had the pleasure of reading a snippet of some of the later chapters and briefly want to touch on the characters of Jafar and Shenzi. Who are they?

Rhiannon: Shenzi is the Big Bad of the book. She is the most evil thing in Ahlephia. Jafar is also a bad guy, but there's a bit of a twist to his character...

Trent: Can you tell us anything about Jafar?

Rhiannon: You'll just have to wait to read it

Trent: Sneaky. Let's talk about your blog www.rhiannonirons.blogspot.com – you tend to post samples of your writing on there for people to read, along with quick messages of thanks etc. How often do you update it?

Rhiannon: It depends on if I'm feeling inspired. Sometimes I post multiple things in a single day, other times once or twice a month. August was a big month for me. I wrote 20 different posts. Most of them were short stories.

Trent: Your short stories are quiet hot and very sensual and after reading them, I'm forced to take a cold shower, but lately you've taken a bit of a turn into the horror genre. Why do you focus so much on erotica and horror?

Rhiannon: - laughs – Erotica comes easily to me. The more descriptive you are, the better the story because then people can picture what's happening in their minds. I write what I know. I'm a very sexual person, and I'm a horror feind. It was only a matter of time before I'd write about them.

Trent: But you've said before that you can't write horror....

Rhiannon: And I still maintain that. I can't write horror. If this world was dependant on me writing a horror story, we'd be doomed. I tried a hand at it with a couple of short stories and I was praised for them. The Secret Story seemed to be a favourite and was even posted on www.craptastichorror.com by a good buddy of mine, Kristian J. Hanson.

Trent: Speaking of writing for other sites, lately you've been racking up the posts on www.trulydisturbing.com – You voice your opinions on everything from remakes to Scream Queens. Why the sudden interest?

Rhiannon: I was approached by them to write a column about why horror movies want to disgust us rather then scare us, which I was more than happy to do. It snowballed from there and if I found myself thinking of something that I could argue regarding horror then I would sit down and write and eventually just e-mail it off in hopes it was something that they wanted to use. But it's good to read the comments that people leave so I know that what I've done is appreciated.

Trent: Most people tend to agree with your views. Have you had much debate regarding the pieces you’ve written for Truly Disturbing?

Rhiannon: Yes and no. The only people that are willing to argue with me are people who I'm pretty closely connected with. Friends and family. Strangers tend not to leave any comments and sort of accept what I say. Which is why I like to drill into people's heads that those are my opinions and that I welcome people to disagree with me.

Trent:  When you were a child, you started writing, winning an award at the age of seven.  What do you remember of that honour?

Rhiannon:  I remember it was a state-wide competition and I was encouraged to enter it by my teacher who thought I showed a lot of promise.  I wrote two stories for the contest; one called Rabbit's Cleaning Day, which was about a rabbit who cleaned his house from top to bottom and went for a long walk while the floors dried only to have his friends think he was having a garage sale and they took all his furniture.  The other story I wrote was something about a group of kids visiting a farm as part of a dying boy's last wish. 

The people of the contest said I was writing well above my age bracket and that they saw a lot of promise with everything I was doing.  One judge even said she would be surprised if I didn't follow through with my writing and try and make a career out of it.

Trent:   Which you certainly are doing with Ahlephia and your works both on your blog and on the above mentioned sites.  So what inspires you to write?

Rhiannon: It depends. If I'm writing something for Truly Disturbing or my blog all it takes is a nice, long walk with Pepper (Rhiannon's Dalmatian). If I'm hunkering down to write a short story or to continue with Ahlephia, then I need five things: A large bottle of water, a bowl of buttered popcorn, a plate of fresh steamed vegetables, a bowl of fries and a ball point pen.

Trent: A ball point pen...?

Rhiannon: I know it sounds weird but when I get stuck I find clicking the pen, or constantly sliding the lid on and off helps me. I know, I'm a freak – laughs.

Trent: So steamed vegetables, popcorn and fries are your main vices?

Rhiannon: Absolutely.

Trent: What is it about those foods in particular?

Rhiannon: I don't know. I just enjoy them. There's no rhyme nor reason behind my madness.

Trent: What motivates you to create the stories and columns that you do?

Rhiannon: Everyday life mostly. I write what I know. I guess I view good writing as having an element of truth to it. - shrugs -

Trent: But most of your stories are fiction

Rhiannon: True, but if you look closely at Ahlephia who does the main character remind you of?

Trent: You

Rhiannon: Exactly. Each of the characters in some small way is me. Roxanne is 90% me where as someone like Dawn is probably 10% my personality. And with my short stories, most of them are based on personal experience or research.

Trent: Wow, I never looked at it like that before. So, I think some people really want to know if you're single...

Rhiannon: No, I'm not. Sorry.

Trent: And hearts are breaking all over the world. Is he a good guy?

Rhiannon: He's the best!

Trent: How often do you check your Twitter account?

Rhiannon: - laughs – About every thirty minutes. I'm addicted to updating and checking to see what's happening. I'm heading away over Christmas and I'll be without an Internet connection so I'm warning everyone now that their time lines will be bombarded when I get back – laughs -

Trent: Going somewhere fun?

Rhiannon: Returning to my home state to visit some family. Big family reunion. Plenty of fun in store.

Trent: Speaking of fun, what do you do for fun or to relax?

Rhiannon: The best way for me to relax is to run a bubble bath. I light a few candles, add some scented oils and just chill. Considering that my idea of a mud bath is playing football on a muddy oval, it's pretty girly for me – laughs – but in all seriousness, it's the best way to relax after a hard day or if I'm stressed. As for fun, you can often find me at the beach, at a theme park (Warner Brother's Movie World) or sitting under a shady tree at the park with Pepper. Plus I kick ass at video games.

Trent: So, not only are you horror minded, you're a video game fan too?

Rhiannon: Oh God yes! Street Fighter is my favourite fighting game, but I'm also addicted to The Sims 2 and Scooby Doo First Frights. Not too mention that I love sports. I use to be a martial artist until injury forced me to retire at 19. I watch all sport but I'm an AFL girl and make no apologises for it.

Trent: Who's your team?

Rhiannon: Richmond Tigers http://www.richmondfc.com.au/Default.aspx

Trent: Do you follow NFL?

Rhiannon: Yes. I'm starting to get into it. I've even got a copy of Football For Dummies at home – laughs -

Trent: Do you have an NFL team?

Rhiannon: Not really. But if I had to back one, it would probably be the Cincinnati Bengal’s.

Trent: Are you serious? (I'm a Cowboys man myself)

Rhiannon: Yes. I support the Tigers in the AFL and Bengal's are tigers so it makes sense.

Trent: Do you support the Tigers in the rugby (NRL)?

Rhiannon: No, I'm a Storm supporter and proud of it. You can take the girl out of Melbourne, but you can't take Melbourne out of the girl. I also have a soft spot for the Bunnies.

Trent: Russell Crowe's team?

Rhiannon: Yes, but that's because every time I see them, I think of Freddy Krueger (Red and Green stripped shirts)

Trent: Great, now I'm going to picture a bunch of Freddy's lined up whenever I see them -laughs- I've got some rapid questions lined up. Are you ready?

Rhiannon: Bring it on.

Trent: Coke or Pepsi?

Rhiannon: Pepsi

Trent: Dog or cat?

Rhiannon: Dog

Trent: Jeremy Irons or Robert Englund?

Rhiannon: Sorry Rob, but I'm going with Jeremy.

Trent: City or country?

Rhiannon: I'm a country girl

Trent: Winter or Summer?

Rhiannon: Neither, Autumn -laughs- Summer

Trent: N*Sync or Backstreet Boys?

Rhiannon: Backstreet Boys

Trent: Horror or Disney?

Rhiannon: (makes a face as she's clearly torn between the two) Horror, but not by much

Trent: What hurt more, you're belly ring or your tattoos?

Rhiannon: Belly ring – I passed out.

Trent: Favourite actor?

Rhiannon: Jeremy Irons

Trent: Favourite actress?

Rhiannon: Sarah Michelle Gellar

Trent: Favourite movie?

Rhiannon: Halloween, 1978

Trent: Original or remake?

Rhiannon: Depends on the film but 99% of the time I'll side with original.

Trent: Favourite singer?

Rhiannon: I love Alice Cooper and Ozzy Osborne, but I also love Buddy Holly and Cher. I'm eclectic.

Trent: Pet hate?

Rhiannon: Animal abuse. I believe that whoever harms an animal is the lowest form of pond scum. They should have done to them what they did to the animal.

Trent: If you could be any animal, what would you be?

Rhiannon: Tiger, baby!

Trent: If you were a Disney Princess, who would you be?

Rhiannon: Princess Aurora better known as Sleeping Beauty or Briar Rose

Trent: If you were a Disney Villain (and I know who she's going to say here)....

Rhiannon: Stupid question, Scar -laughs-

Trent: Favourite quote?

Rhiannon: I'm not as innocent as I look, but I'm not as bad as you think.

Trent: If you had 3 wishes what would you wish for?

Rhiannon: World peace, to end world hunger and finally, I wish that I could put my hand into my pocket and pull out the exact change (plus tip) when making any purchase.

Trent: That's an odd wish...

Rhiannon: Not really, it's smart. That way, I'll never be broke. I can reach into my pocket and pull out $5 for an ice cream or $500,000 for a brand new home.

Trent: And who says blonds are dumb. Lady Gaga or Britney Spears?

Rhiannon: It's Britney, bitch!

Trent: You're a Buffy fan so Angel or Spike?

Rhiannon: Spike – no contest.

Trent: How about Buffy or Faith?

Rhiannon: I've got a thing for blonds so I'll go Buffy -laughs-

Trent: Use 3 words to describe you

Rhiannon: Rambunctious, coy and sensual

Trent: And last but not least, E-mail or letters?

Rhiannon: I prefer to write and receive letters.

Trent: Well, that it. We've reached the final question.

Rhiannon: -claps hands joyfully- Yay

Trent: Rhiannon, it's been a pleasure

Rhiannon: Believe me, the pleasure was all mine.

Thank you to all who sent in questions for Rhiannon to answer. If you feel like we haven't answered your question please send us an e-mail at prettypoisonedpaige@hotmail.com and we'll get back to you with Rhiannon's answer. Otherwise, hit her up on Twitter @Ahlephia and be sure to check out her the rest of her blog.