Hello once again  Midnight Fears and fans of demented entertainment. You have, each one of you, provided me with the courage to continue my path. This one is the fourth and perhaps the darkest thus far. You have been warned.

Yes it is just me your candid CV in another town, another place, and, another coffee shop. I keep a close eye on the parking lot and my car as it would be extremely bad if any locals were to take a look in my boot; Or do you yanks it call a trunk? Oh I almost gave away my origin! I mustn’t ever do that again.

This pink meth revenge story takes place where potatoes grow the very best, or so that is my understanding. I have not noticed any huge difference in these or any tubers grown here. No matter, that only plays a small part in my mission statement.

Ah the lovely mid-west, the sod here is as black as pitch. It is a shame the coffee is not as strongly made. I am swiping through some wonderful images. I feel even the dark’s of my eyes increase as they flash. I cannot help but laugh watching and reading the comments the perverts left trying to figure out my game. Screw them, they killed not just my sister but a part of what made us a family. Marsha…once more…this is all for you.

This guy, called himself, “Playah69_666” He even mentioned he had it as a tattoo on his inner thigh. I won’t reveal his real name. Even I am not that wicked, as he does have children. They are innocent, even if he is not. Did I mention he is clergy? He is part of something dastardly called, “conversion therapy”, which is a stupid idea that if one fancies the same sex they can be taught not to make that choice via the powers of some divine antediluvian notions. Yet, he is a right sinister prick behind close doors, and hiding behind a computer screen. Playah, yes, he was the one who sent  photos of Marsha to church members after she refused to do crush porn for them.

We exchanged emails and I told him my daughter thinks she might be gay and was far out of control. I sent him a few photos of me dressed in flannel shirts and thongs, with my face etched out of course. My Mr. Playah was so willing to save a soul, and he had no idea I’d seen the photos of the children he posted to his pink meth degenerates. My sister Marsha might have been the only over 18 person he toyed with. This wasn’t just for her, it was for them too. I couldn’t let another innocent end a life, no way.

When I arrived at the camp, by taxi, I tipped the driver handsomely to pick me back up on a certain day and time. I knew he would be more than glad to get a return fare. I walked about a half a kilometer down a pot hole covered drive. I was greeted in the dusk light by a scrawny man and his burly counter point woman. They had bibles in hand and gin on the breath. I gave them my fake name and told them how much I did not want to be at this place and there was nothing wrong with me. They kept telling me I was confused and the power could fix me. I kept my laughter at bay, and then my tears as I saw young men and women peeking in dim lit windows in our direction.

I was first taken to an office I saw Playah setting there leaning on his index fingers. He told me the first 48 hours I would be isolated from the others. He then handed me a paper cup with water and he called them vitamins. I pulled my breasts close together as I knew that is where his eyes would go so I could fake taking this pills. For all I know they might still be on the window sill.  I tried explaining I was not gay, or bi, and I wasn’t even sexually active! He wasn’t listening.

The room smelled like old bread and sweat. A thin yoga mat was in the corner. Before shutting the door I saw hash marks on the walls. Or were they scratches from desperate people? My mind started roaming and the shelter became as black as their ground. What I can only guess was the next day the door opened, and Playah told me to follow him to one on one bible training. I was getting scared this might be the undoing of me, your candid vigilante, then I recalled his weakness from his posts. He liked feet, that’s right feet.

I told him how they hurt and while he read could I please remove my shoes to rub them. As he glanced over his aviator glasses and smiled he gave a single finger point to indicate it was ok. I rolled those white socks slowly down my legs one at a time. I untied the laces like a stripper. He said he no longer needed to read but could recite from memory.

Playah came from around his side and set on the edge of the grey metal desk. He was saying something about the wages of sin is death…all while watching my toes crinkle. Then I heard a scream from outside. When he ran out I took a chance and looked at the label on those pills, just as I thought, they were ones to induce vomiting. These poor kids were tricked into thinking the unpure thoughts were making them ill. I was shattered and knew then he had no mercy coming.

He came back in flushed and wet stains on that powder blue shirt. I asked what happened and I was told that the isolation chamber would be occupied that night. I had a choice of a tent out side with a “helping watchful staff”, or a cot there with him. I choose the inside.

Night fell and we were alone. I was told to kneel on uncooked rice and pray, it hurt Midnight, it hurt a lot. My tears of pain were genuine, but the out loud repentance’s were complete fabrications. I said I had thoughts from drinking, smoking, and they went on and on. I then said I had a secret which I wanted my arches rubbed. He called it a break through. Playah said the washing of feet was a ritual God would approve of, and poured a bowl of cold water. He told me to get up and set on the edge of his chair with my shoes and socks removed. I said, “Wait my Mother will be proud of the work you do, here, :Can you please allow me to take some photos for her using your phone?” He paid no attention at all to me as I snapped images and put them up for his pink meth degenerates. I included his real name, the address of the camp, as I knew, oh yes I knew this would put a for sale sign up quicker than anything! I knocked him over the head with his named plate from the desk and maced his eyes and shoved my sock inside his mouth. I used one of his zip ties from the wall to strap his wrists to the screwed down cot. I ran to the corner and grabbed my duffel bag. I took out my white cv labeled hat. I said, “You close this place, you set these kids free, PLAYAH69_666 and tell your mates. I’m coming for them. You killed my sister, be glad I don’t end your miserable existence you sorry excuse of a man.”

I ran back through the woods, the cab was there, he took me to my bus. The bus took me to my rented car. Now here I am Midnight. But where is that…..can’t say r e a l l y


By Granny Monster

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