Stepping Stones

This is the post excerpt.


Enter the abyss of my mind.

My thoughts…



Where inner demons dwell…

Deep within crevices and lurking in the shadows…

Welcome to my playground!

They had heard of a place where demons came out to play.   A place where worlds were born and died, a place lost to time and rumored to be a trick of the light that played on the minds of those who dared to venture forward into the darkness, who dared to step into silence.   Rumors of a woman who was lost to time itself, of shelves full of musty books, tomes and scrolls, a queen-sized bed with a canopy of green curtains hanging around it and tied back with gold tassels to the four bedposts.  A desk against one wall with a comfortable chair, a fireplace and torches set within brackets along the walls providing the only light.  It was further said the place was never warm, an ethereal mist hanging low over the floors and masking all scent and sound.  Yet, it was a place that caught their attention and so they dared to trespass into a place forgotten, dared to step through forests and valleys, surrounded by mountains and past loud waterfalls that fed swift rivers as they wound deeper into nature.

Into the darkness surrounding the cave’s interior, giant twisted oak and cherry trees dotting the path to the cave.  Flickering lights of flames from torches cast shadows and pitiful patches of light that danced across their eyes, their footsteps silent upon the stone floor.  The stone walls felt close and narrow, as if they were sealing any who walked within the cave deep within their own walls.  Here it was easy for the mind to have tricks played on it and thoughts of dangers and horrors lay at the front of the mind, brought about by imagination.

Slowly the light from the cave’s entrance faded and soon thereafter the torches stopped altogether.  Now surrounded by silence and darkness, there was the faint beating of wings and out of the darkness were a pair of life-like statues, statues that resembled ravens.  Their stone eyes seemed alive, following the interlopers as they descended the stairs that opened up to a large cavernous room.  Against one wall was a large hearth with a large mantle over it.    A round rug of bear fur lay in front of it, two high-backed recliners resting near the fire.  Something moved, the flutter of wings, the patter of paws.  Out of the darkness were glowing beady black eyes and yellow eyes that flew and walked towards the interlopers.  Jackals of all sizes and ravens.  The teenagers swallowed nervously but aside from the jackals surrounding the quartet and the ravens perching on perches and the mantle itself, one flew to a chair and let out a call.

Unbiddingly, unwillingly, four sets of eyes followed the movements of the raven that alighted upon a chair near the fire.  Slowly something stood and in that moment the fire itself seemed to leap higher, the faint scratching of a quill falling silent.  Slowly the someone or something within the chair rose, a pair of slippered feet stepping on the floor and walking around.  Staring in surprise, the teens could see a woman who appeared middle-aged, perhaps in her mid forties.   Hair that was mostly a light brown but interspersed with gray, a pair of green eyes and fair youthful skin.  A knee-length brown tunic and a red ankle length skirt made out the woman’s clothing as she lifted her head and stared at the four.  The raven from the chair flew to her shoulder, one of the jackals moving to her side.  “My friends informed me there were interlopers within my grounds but I confess I thought they were getting old and imagining it.   It seems they were telling the truth.”

“Who…who are you?” questioned one teenager.

The woman stared at them quietly, a hand trailing down to rest on the jackal’s head.  Moments pass as the woman says nothing and the only sound that can be heard is the breathing of those present and the crackling flames within the large hearth.  “I have been known by different names throughout my life but you may refer to me by my chosen name, Totem.  You’ve come into my domain, whether out of curiosity or stupidity but now you’re trapped within.  Now that you’ve discovered my home I’m afraid you can’t ever leave.  Since you sought the Totem out of the abyss, then it is into the abyss you will remain for eternity.  Goodbye strangers of misfortune,” Totem said and with that she turned.

Walking away from the quartet of humans, the woman known as Totem retreated across the stone floor and down a short hall into another chamber, a wooden door of cherry wood shutting behind her.  The jackals edged forward and the mist seemed to swirl higher, crackling light dancing between the wisps.  It was an eerie sight and the last one the quartet would ever see for they’d never be seen again among mortals. In time their lives would be forgotten, thought dead by their families.  In the place of where the humans had been were two newborn ravens and a pair of newborn jackals.    Each animal took a pair and led them away into the darkness…for those who sought out Totem and see if she was real turned into her companions….where they could gain knowledge and be among the tomes and books of the abyss for eternity.

With that short and rather eerie introduction, allow me to introduce myself and welcome you to my blog.  I am Totem, a woman who has been writing dark things for years, poetry and short stories mainly.   I am a night owl as I think and write better at night but I am also a writer, reader and author though it has been years since I have published a book and the two I have published are likely out of print by now.    I am an unknown, an unknown who writes of demons and from the eyes of a serial killer, a lover of nature and mythology.    So, welcome to my blog and if you have come here from Nano, I am terrajedi on there or stormwolves on Deviant Art.   Welcome to my mind and remember…watch your step here and keep an eye over your shoulder.

JOF Chapter Title Change 1

So, I haven’t been doing much work yet and Veil is in the field and I am not pressuring Veil for drawings so that is why there have been no new scenes or creatures.  Development within the world has been slow and it looks like I will be splitting chapter two up again as I am currently 6 pages in of Chapter 2 and 3,256 words.  So I am not entirely sure yet if the chapter will need splitting into two or not, but I will find out as I get there.  I have also changed the title of the second chapter to The Long Path while Chapter 3 is titled Seekers.  This remains to be seen whether it will remain Seekers or not.  Tomorrow I have a busy day but will try to work a bit more on The Long Path today and tomorrow…perhaps I will get it done in the next day or two and can focus on Seekers…but this also leaves me with planning which I also need to do for the fourth chapter which is as of yet untitled and unformed within my head.


Another poem from the mind of a serial killer and this is as far as I have gotten.  ©2010

Wanting to scream at the frustration of life
I watch you with eyes of fire
Wanting to get you into my bed
Cherishing your screams of fear.
I’m hungry for power
To prove my worth and my skill
I have my reasons for turning to murder
But society will never understand.
Cast out of society for being different
Bullied all my life
Abused as a child by my prostitute crack addict mother
Who sold me as a child for her drug addiction.
I can smell the taste of fear in the air
The stormy winds swirl through the trees
Making the branches shake
Tonight is the night that I’ll have you.
The clicking of heels on the asphalt alerts me to your presence
Hiding in the shadows I wait for the right moment
Then pounce on you and wrap my arm around your throat
Choking the breath out of you.
Our room is all set up
In the flea bag hotel on the outskirts of town
No one is going to miss a lowly whore
No one will come looking for your body.
“Hush.  It will all be over soon.” I say in your ear
My breath is a whisper  on the wind
Dragging you back to my car
Driving back to the hotel.
The candles are lit and the bed is covered in roses
The silk undergarments lie on the bed
I lock the door and shove you on the bed
Watching you as you undress for me.
I lick my lips and make you go down on me
Laughing at the fear in your eyes
Why are you even complaining?
You do this every night, sometimes with fifteen guys a night.
Throw you against the wall
I hear your bones crack on the impact
Lying in a crumpled heap I drag you to the bed
Beginning the penetration that will last for hours.
Barely awake and drugged up on heroin
You can’t even fight me because your so high
But I don’t need drugs or booze to get wasted
Because murder and rape are my high.
 I take a butcher knife and shove it through your heart
Over and over until you collapse
I hop in the shower and let the water run over my body
Then I go and check out leaving your corpse to rot.


Another poem from the mind of a serial killer, this is the fourth one.  ©2010

I sit along the side of the road on a bench
Pretending to be asleep
But I’m really awake and just not showing it
I’m watching for the flower.
The beautiful flower of my dreams
The wilted rose in a foreign land
Soon she’ll be mine to do with as I please
This is the best game I have devised.
Oh, little rose be wary and cautious
Little flower come to me and be aware
Run if you can faster and faster
Through the winding alleys of the night.
My flower maiden is skipping along the side of the road
She’s so gorgeous all dolled up
It makes my heart flutter in my chest
Like a crushed butterfly before its life is taken from it.
Soon she’ll be in my dungeon
Then the hunt will begin
Oh, little flower be wary and free
For soon your life will end.

Death’s Grip

My third poem from the eyes of a serial killer. ©2010

The snow is blinding my eyes as I wait

Waiting for the one who will take my breath away

An hour passes and then another

As I sit watching and staring into nothing.

At last with a cry, I jump from the car

“Lily. How’ve you been?”

She looks at me with a curious expression in her eyes

For I know she’s never seen me before.

I play everything out like we’ve known each other for ages

“Don’t you remember me? I’m your college friend from Yale.”

With a little more probing I finally manipulate her mind

Get her to open up to me about her life.

I nod and gasp at the right moments

She’s such a delicate fragile little thing

Almost like a flower that has blown in the wind

Across the snowy landscape I deftly take her away from the suburbs

Into the country right by the sea.

We get out and I lead her to the water’s edge

Staring out at the white ice that shines under the moon’s light

“It’s OK. We’re going for a walk.”

Swiftly I grab her hand and walk across the ice with her

When we get halfway out to the sea the ice starts to break

I push her to the ground and shove her under water

She struggles desperately and almost pulls me under with her.

“Knock it off!” I scream and cuff her sharply across the head

Her head hits the ice and she loses consciousness

I watch her sink into the bottom of the sea

Now all that is left is a little blood where her head hit the ice.

The cold winter of death wraps her in its grip

I raise my head and gaze at the horizon

Then turn back and walk to my car

The snow will fall and cover my footsteps and no one will find her until spring.

By that time she’ll have been eaten by sharks or swept out to sea

Maybe no one will find her at all

“Lily,” I whisper into the night

But my words are lost on the wind.


The second poem from the mind of a serial killer, continuing from Nightfears.  ©2009

Walking up to your door in the middle of the night

Gripping the knife in my pocket and pulling my hat down over my eyes

I knock on the door and step inside looking around

The television is turned up on maximum volume.

That’s good, really good I think to myself

It will muffle out your screams

Having you all to myself

“Hello my dear.” I say with an evil gleam in my eyes.

Your mouth drops open in horror as you see the knife held high above your head

Before you can scream I wrap my fingers around your throat

I’m not going to kill you yet my pet

Just making sure you don’t alert the neighbors or the police to this location.

“Scream and it will be all over sweetie. You don’t want to make me angry.” I tell her

I can see you breathing hard and hear your heart beating hard against your chest

My fingers loosen their grip on the blade and I keep the knife at your throat as we go to your bed room

Your husband’s out at work and won’t be back until tomorrow

By that time I’ll have had my way with you and you’ll be dead.

Smiling with anticipation I pull my shirt off and shove you on your back

“Bitch if you value your life then keep your mouth shut!”

I take my knife and start cutting off her clothes

Laughing hysterically I hold you down and shove myself inside you hard.

I can see your sobs choking your throat as you fight not to scream

I lean my face close to yours and whisper in your ear how easy you are

Lick the tears from your eyes and I feel you shudder beneath me

By the end of the night you’ll be begging for me.

As the blood starts to flow out of you and my sperm mixes with the blood

I feel an invisible flow of energy coursing through my veins

I go all night and then stare down at the mess on the sheet

I take my knife and slit your throat from ear to ear.

Looking at my watch I see it’s almost six in the morning

Knowing I have to get rid of the body I wrap you in the bloody sheet and carry you outside to your car

Drive down the road into the countryside

No one is going to find you babe for a long time.

I pick up the shovel and start digging a hole

Ripping the sheet back to expose your face I give one you one final kiss and touch your cold breasts for the last time

Then toss you in the hole and cover it up.

I throw my shirt and the knife in a river a few yards away then drive your car to a cliff and stop

Put the car in neutral and shove it off the cliff

The police won’t know that you were murdered

They’ll think you took a detour and killed yourself.

The sun warms my back as I walk off to a cottage where my car is hidden behind a group of trees

Fall back on the bed and shut my eyes

Planning my next move, and picking my next victim

I already know what I’m going to do to the next bitch I meet.


The next few poems  I will be posting are dark in nature, captured from the mind of a serial killer.  I posted these on Open Diary, back before it changed, and was told in one comment that I capture the mind of a serial killer quite well.   Read at your own risk but enjoy all the same a different view into how dark I can become. ©2009

Staring through a pair of binoculars in the twilight

I smile as I watch your form appear in the window

The blinds halfway down obscuring your body I let out a low whistle

Licking my lips in anticipation of the hunt.

The hunt that I cherish each passing night

My heart beats hard against my chest pumping the blood up to my brain

A cigarette dangles from my mouth as the blood boils in my veins

Biting my lip and running my fingers over the smooth sharp blade of my 12 inch knife in  my pocket.

You lift up the blinds as night falls thinking no one is watching you

Unaware of the predator that sits across the street from you

As your naked form stops at the open window

A cold breeze flows around you tossing your hair about your face.

My blood starts to boil with hunger as I see the goosebumps appear on

your breasts and I swallow as your nipples go hard from the cold

Completely unaware of what I’m planning to do to you later on in the night

I sit enjoying the free entertainment as I can feel the changes in my body

A show so enthralling and the best part is I don’t need to pay money for it.

You don’t know what’s about to occur but I do

Having set up secret cameras in your bedroom and bathroom without your knowledge.

I know your entire schedule and had been planning this night for months

I barely feel the cold never taking my eyes off your perky breasts as my mouth waters at what I’d like to do to you.

You never knew of the rejection I felt, and alas will never know

As I set my sights on the hunt that is to come

Can’t wait for your screams to start

For the blood to start flowing not only from your throat but from secret places that you flaunt so easily like a cheap whore on the street.

Your darkest fear is yet to come true

If only you realized  all the hurt I’d suffered

Then I might  have spared you.

Uninvited Guests

 I wrote this short story when I was in eighth grade during English class.   ©2001

He found himself at the bottom of the stairs. Where was he? How did he get there? He blinked at the bright light that a nearby lamp cast. Then in a rush it all came back to him. The police. The gun on the bed. The body of the girl on the floor. The blood staining the carpet a crimson red. He had run for his life.

He stood and stretched his arms above his head. Sighing he walked into the kitchen and got out a Coke and a sandwich from the previous night. He sat down at the table. The sun was shining through the window warming his back and casting a warm golden light on the kitchen floor.  He was sixteen years old. His name was Victor. He had come to this house to hide out. He had wanted to be a writer. Instead he was a killer.

Victor opened the Coke and took a sip.  He pulled his shirt off and tossed it on the floor. He threw the can in the trash and walked upstairs to his bedroom. The house he lived in was abandoned.  He took a shower and let the hot water turn his back red. When the water finally ran cold he got out and wrapped a towel around his waist before going into the bedroom and pulling on a new change of clothes.

Victor collapsed on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. That girl that kept running through his head every night wasn’t the first person he had killed. There were other people who haunted his dreams and even his waking days, people who he had killed after he had run away from home at fourteen.  He sank into a deep sleep.

It was sunset when he woke up. Victor walked over to the dresser and pulled out his .40 Glock. He stared at it and ran his fingers over the shiny black barrel. He glanced out the window at the distant horizon and decided he’d go for a walk. Victor slipped the gun in the waistband of his jeans and walked outside.

As he was walking along thoughts of his sister pushed into the front of his mind.  Anna had been ten years old when she had died at the hands of his father.  Victor brushed the tears from his eyes and continued walking.  But no matter what he did the images continued to flood his mind of that fateful day.

He had been sitting up in his bedroom working on fractions when he heard the unmistakable sound of his father’s footsteps on the stairs. He had been beaten the previous night for not coming home on time for dinner.  His mother had been drinking since she had a miscarriage when he was nine.  And his father had become different after he had lost his job as a director and they had been forced to leave their home in Las Vegas, Nevada and drive halfway across the country to Fort Worth, Indiana.

He heard a scream from his sister’s room. Victor had run towards her but his father had locked the door.  Terrified Victor had pounded on the door but his father hadn’t opened it. He had listened to his sister’s terrified cries for help and her pleas for mercy.  Five hours later the door had opened and his father smiled and walked past him. Victor had rushed through the doorway and found his sister raped and dead on the bed. Anna had been so full of life.

Victor blamed himself for his sister’s death. He kept thinking he should have taken her away from the abuse and she would have been safe.  Shortly after he had turned fourteen Victor had run away from home and started killing. Victor looked up and saw that he had come to an old factory on the outskirts of town. He fingered the gun.

No it’s not worth it. The cops won’t find me here and I don’t want to run away again. Oh Anna I’m so sorry.

Victor turned around and walked home.  A loud sound jerked him from his thoughts. Without thinking he whipped the gun out and fired a shot. He heard a yelp and slowly walked toward the intruder. There was a dog lying on the ground. Victor knelt by the dog and placed his hand on the dog’s head. He could see that the bullet had punctured the dog’s lungs. He put the gun to the dog’s head and fired another shot. Instantly the dog went limp. Its eyes closed.

Victor wiped the blood off his shirt and hurried home. As he approached he saw that all the lights were on and the blinds were going up and down by themselves. Funny. I was sure I turned the lights off.  It’s almost like a haunted house.  He blinked his eyes and at once everything stopped.

A cold chill went through Victor’s spine.  He rubbed his eyes and went into the house.  He threw the shirt in the washer and then collapsed on the couch. Victor shut his eyes and pulled the gun out. He let it fall to the floor.

“Victor help me! Daddy no! Don’t hurt me! Daddy please!” Anna screamed.

Victor found himself back in his old house shouting and pounding on his sister’s bedroom door. He struggled desperately to get the door open but it wouldn’t budge. He could hear his father laughing and heard the unmistakable sounds of his father raping his sister.  “Anna!  No daddy don’t hurt her!  Anna hang on!”

His throat was hoarse from crying and screaming.  His hands were getting sore from pounding on the door. Victor struggled to stay awake but exhaustion took over and he fell asleep. He woke up five hours later. He couldn’t hear anything from his sister’s room. His father came out and cuffed him roughly across the head before heading downstairs. Victor ran into Anna’s room and saw her broken body lying on the bed. There was a pool of blood on the sheets.


He sat up with a cry.  Victor looked and saw it was morning. He was covered in a cold sweat.  He must have rolled off the couch in the middle of the night.  His voice was hoarse.  Victor started the washer again and poured himself a cup of coffee. He started the water to take a bath.  It was just a dream. That’s all it was.  Victor turned off the water and climbed in the tub. An hour later Victor got out and threw his shirt in the dryer.  Victor put some money in his pocket and went out to get some breakfast.  He ate his breakfast and then went for a walk.  The sun warmed his back.

He thought back to the girl he had murdered.  He hadn’t meant to kill her.  He had been hiding out in the girl’s house when she had come into her bedroom and opened the door. She had started screaming and he had snapped. The gun had fired and she had fallen to the floor. Shocked Victor dropped the gun on the bed and knelt down by the dead girl. He had felt for a pulse and had found none. Terrified he heard the sound of police sirens in the distance and had jumped out the window and took off. He’d been in hiding ever since.

He was watching television when he heard a sound. He shut the television off and looked around. His eyes found a small door in the wall. He had never gone near the door because he wasn’t sure if it was safe or why it was there. On a whim he started walking towards the door and crawled inside. It was dark.

Suddenly the door shut with a loud bang.  Victor turned around and tried pushing open the door to no avail. Guess the only way out is forward.  Victor started crawling on his hands and knees in the pitch blackness. It was some time before he felt a draft and felt dirt under his hands.

I must be underground now. But where does this tunnel lead?  Victor saw a flickering light in the distance and soon came to an earthen passage where he could stand up. Brushing the dirt off his knees he grabbed a torch and started walking.  As the tunnel wound its way downward he lost all sense of time.

Finally he heard a voice and thought he saw a young child sitting on the path in front of him. “Hello?” He called out.  The child didn’t answer and instead continued to draw in the dirt. As he approached the child turned and ran off into the darkness.  “Wait!”  He shouted but his voice was lost in the depths of the tunnel.

He lowered the torch to peer down at the drawing. It was of a skull with a rose through the top with thorns protruding out of the mouth.  He felt another shiver of fear but continued walking. Presently he came to a door and opened it.  There was a shorter passage that instantly came to a dead end.  He turned around and saw another tunnel on his left. It was too narrow to walk through.

Victor set the torch down and began to crawl. Presently he came to another door and opened it. Inside was a circular room made of stones with strange intricate drawings on the walls. For reasons he couldn’t comprehend being in the room gave him a sense of foreboding.

“Is anyone here?”

Silence. It seemed like the silence lasted an eternity before he heard a couple of voices. He peered into the corners and screamed as the figures appeared out of midair.  Other supernatural beings were appearing all around him.  They formed a tight circle and he was startled that he could see through them. At once the temperature in the room plummeted to below freezing despite the torches in the room.

“What are you?!” He cried.

They continued to stare blankly at him. Finally a man stepped forward and there was sadness in his eyes.

“Hello Victor. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Who are you? How do you know my name?”

“My name is Manner.  I am one of the people you killed. We are ghosts.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.  Let me out!” He screamed and ran for the door.

“NO! Not until you hear us out.” Manner nodded to a few of the others and they grabbed him and threw him back into the middle of the circle. Victor’s eyes were wild with fright.

“This isn’t real. I’m dreaming.”

“No you are not dreaming.  We’ve been wondering when you would go through the door. We cannot rest until you die or turn yourself into the police. We have been wandering the world for three years and came here to think of a way to get you. When we saw the door and went through the tunnel we knew this was the perfect place to put our plan into motion.”

“What plan? What is this place?”

“You are standing in an old ritual sacrifice chamber.  Witches used to practice devil worshiping here. These designs on the walls are symbols of their alliance to the devil. Our plan is to either kill you or make you see the horrors that you did to us.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“Well there’s someone you might remember. Bess come here a minute child.”

As he stared a young girl appeared in front of him. There was a hole in her chest and he realized that it was the girl he had accidently killed. She gazed at him with reproach in her eyes.

“NO! It… It can’t be!”

“Yes Victor I’m here as well. Did you think that a child who is killed doesn’t stay on Earth?  How silly of you to think that.  Why did you kill me?”

“I didn’t mean to kill you. It was an accident. I swear to God it was an accident.”

“Was it an accident when you killed all these other people?”

“I was scared. I didn’t want to go home. I couldn’t live with myself after what happened to Anna.”

“That’s no excuse!”  Bess shouted.

All at once all the murders he had committed started acting out in front of him.  Victor screamed and tried to turn away but his feet were frozen to the floor. It was like someone was possessing him and he didn’t have control over his own body.

“NO! God please forgive me. I never meant to kill any of you. Let me go!”

With a wild dash he ran for the door and crashed through it. The ghosts pursued him. The door at the end of the short passage flew open as he approached and he ran down the path his feet pounding on the dirt. When he glanced down he saw that the floor was littered with human bones. “NO!” He cried and ran on.

His heart was beating hard in his chest. He didn’t dare look behind him but the images he had been forced to watch flashed across his eyes. He heard the voices behind him getting fainter.  Victor fell out of the passage into the living room and ran out of the house. As he turned to look back the house burst into flames and disappeared. Victor was half mad. Slipping on the rain soaked sidewalk he flew into the police station and confessed to everything he had done.