I have the body of a pig.


So Just wanted to say that I am working on a bunch of horror shorts. I will be posting some of it here. So sorry about the long break, but I’m back.

I am very grateful for those of you who still follow this blog even if I’ve been gone for so long.

So besides writing more horror, I am going to present more content, including some vlogs, and other peoples independant short horror movies. I am working on two different horror project, one in English and one in my native language Danish. The Danish project I do with my husband who is an artist, the project is called ‘running with scissors’ and you are welcome to check it out even if you’d have to use google translate.

If you want to find me posting loads of horror stuff on Tumblr i’m here


…What if?


So I promised to write a little somthing about that creepypasta I stumbled across, called “The blanket monster”. Not so much about the creepypasta, but more about what it made me think of.

Alright so what is fear? What are you afraid of? Quite simple it’s the what if’s that is the most frightening. We all know that shapeshifters doesn’t exist, but what if they do? It’s easy to doubt your logic when you are walking down a dark wooded area.

And really it’s the same with more logical things like terrorists, if they’d only call in advance and let you know that they were gonna hijack that plane, or bomb that building, things would be fine, right? But they don’t, and we’re back to the what if’s, because what if it’s your plane? What if it’s today at your office?

That is what fear is made of, uncertainty about when something bad is gonna happen, wether they have a rifle or 3 rows of teeth.

And what is it in this creepypasta that works so well? Maybe I am all alone in thinking it’s scary? I don’t know. But have you even lain in bed and wondered if the person next to you, is the person you think it is? Or wondered if it’s really your mom in the basement, or if the familiar noises are just there to ease you down there? Or maybe felt something lay down at the footend of your cover, not wanthing to open your eyes, because what if your dog still laying on the floor?

That is what is working so well in this creepypasta, that childhood fear that we never really rid ourselves from, the fear of something “normal” suddenly becomming alien and frightening. When I was a kid I had a room upstairs, but I was afraid of staying upstairs alone, so I would make my fosterdad stand there at the bottom of the stairs while I sprintet upstairs to get some toys, he would always make fun of me and make ghost noises and growling noises to mess with me. And that was not what scared me really, what scared me was the thought of, what if it was not my fosterdad making those noises? What if that growling noise from the bottom of the stairs were suddenly mirrored right behind me? Needless to day I fucking hated fetching toys upstairs.

And when I grew older and got home late from the local youthclub, I’d have to take my bike into the garage, now my fosterparents garage was pretty oldschool, you’d have to jimmy your hand in between the door and the wall to reach the lightswitch, and flip the lock of the door to make it swing open. It was a reoccouring nightmare to me, I still remember having to stick my hand in there in the dark to turn on the lights, and on top of that it was one of those old “timed” switches, so the light would go out after a specific amount of time, like you have on the staircases of large estate buildings. So I’d wait for the lights to flicker on, it was those long tubes so it took some time for them to stop flickering, and you really did not have time to wait because then the light would go out whlie you were in there. The garage door was a huge door that was mostly like an overgrown yard door, so it swung up sideways, but because it was so big and heavy it was not held up properly and would get stuck midway. You have no idea how scared I was going into that garage, every goddamn weekend, and sometimes on weekdays. So what I did was to swing the door open before I turned on the lights, and the moment I turned on the lights I’d go in and look behind the half open garage door to see if anyone was hiding behind it, and the take my bike in, and as quick as possible, preferbly before the lights went off, slammed the garage door behind me, but if you slammed too hard, the latch would not click down, and you’d have to do that manually, ergo stick your hand into the darkness to lock it in place.

My fosterdad sometimes thought it was hillarious, if he was in the garden by night (yeah so he liked to piss in the garden by night – don’t ask) and/or was waiting for the dog to finish up outside before going to bed, to do the same thing as with the stairs when I was younger, the whole ghost/growl thing. Luckily he was never so cruel as to hide behind the garage door, or grab my hand as I stuck it in between the door and the wall. Had he done that I’m sure i’d had a hearattack, seriously.

I know it’s a theme here on this blog, the ‘what if’ things aren’t as I think they are? Very matrix’ish really. And nothing of course ever happened while i fetched toys from upstairs, or parked my bike in the garage – but what if that one time I forget to be afraid and on guard, is the time that it strikes? I might still have my childhood imagination, and I’m not sure that I as an adult would actually be brave enough to do the garage routine differently if I had to.

Cause you just never know…

And none for the little boy 
who cries down the lane


I read an article today about this mother who was found pushing her dead toddler in a swing. Someone called the police because this lady had been pushing this swing for over 12 hours, and someone found that odd. The police got there, found the kid dead but with no trauma to it, the article says that they had to cut the toddler out of the swing, and that the mother is at a mental facility now.

It must be the saddest thing I ever read, but it still leaves me with more questions than facts, cause some witnesses say that they had seen this lady on the playground earlier that day, but it says nothing about of she was pushing her dead kid in a swing them, or of the child was alive. Also that is some seriously fast rigor mortis if they have to cut the swing down to get the kid out, assuming that the kid wasn’t dead when put in the swing.

Think I’m making this up? Read the article here & another here. & a news report here.

 But if we ignore the mothers personal trauma and tragedy for a moment, and look at the actual act. Imagine the scary story it will without a doubt turn into.  Because it really IS creepy ain’t it? Dead kids are always creepy, dead kids and playgrounds even worse, and a mother driven insane by grief is the icing on the cake.

What are little girls made of?



Do you ever have those moments when you recall a childhood fear of yours clearly, even if you had forgotten all about it? Children live in this weird ocd like world, where they believe that if they just counter the stuff that scares them, it won’t happen. Like sleeping with a favorite teddy, dreamcatchers, hide under the blanket.. and so forth.

Just the other day I was getting ready for bed, and I was struggling with my hoodie, I don’t know why but as I tangled myself more and more in it, I suddenly recalled how this had freaked me the fuck out as a kid. I swear I have not thought of this in 25+ years! I know I touched down on it before in this blog, but as a child I was deadly afraid of realizing that the world was not what I thought it was. So for instance I was afraid of when I finally got the sweater off, the room would look different. And that fear suddenly struck me those 25+ years later, and as a child I would counter this with refusing to open my eyes untill I got my glasses back on. But I am not wearing glasses no more, I wear contacts. So what to do? Well I just pulled the sweater off, but for a split second I actually was afraid to open my eyes.

I know I had a bunch of these weird rituals as a child, and I know that I talked else where about the shit I’d see and feel as a kid and early teen. And yes, I am actually quite sane. I don’t know what I expected, but sorta like a an anti-matrix or something. So I wasn’t really scared of “alternate relalities” or “revalations” as I was for the fabric of my world would be wrong. That I’d see things for what they really were, like the world I saw through my glasses was the “normal” world, and if I dared to open my eyes without, it would be perverted somehow. It is seriously hard to explain, but what comes the closest I can think of in popular culture, is a book that I read many, many years later called Twilight eyes, the kid in this book sees monsters lurking under the illusion of men. And I guess that is what I mean somehow, that I was afraid that I could see what was under everything. And if I saw it, it would know so I could never go back to being normal me. Typing it down it sounds goddamn twisted, and one wonders why I wasn’t medicated. But you have to keep in mind that I would walk into rooms and my hairs would stand, I would hear whispers and in rare ocations see shadows where no shadows was supposed to be.

One could argue that I was a very odd and lonely child, now I won’t give you a long tearjerker of a story cause it really isn’t. I think that most of my fears was created of a sense of not belonging in my foster family, and also way, WAY too much time on my own, I spent loads of time on my own and loved it. But I wonder if it can twist your head a little when you have nothing better to do.

I had rituals for all kinds of shit, like sleeping. I was like 15 when I stopped creating an imaginary cage around me, with my mind, to hold out the wolves. Seroiusly. I used to imagine bars going up around my room, and these wolf like serpents slithering around on the outside trying to get in, clawing at the bars, but they couldn’t breach it. Sometimes if I was extra freaked out I’d go over my cage several times to make sure that there was no weaknesses they could exploit. And maybe I’d still do this if I was really freaked out and in my bed. Funny I was never afraid of anything under my bed or in my closet, cause I knew nothing could get through the bars.

Maybe I was a bit extreme as a kid, but I think most children have some sort of ritual, like ‘bad things will happen if I don’t’ – But what I found the most weird was that I had honestly forgotten all about this, and it all came back because of a tangled sweater.

I, said the Sparrow, with my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin.

 The Justice department actually states that one out of five child murders are committed by other children. Give yourself a minute to think about that one.

I am not a believer of Freuds phasetheory, well not in it’s purest form at least. I have problems with most of what modern day childpsychology thinks is the holy grail. Why? Because you take a theory like Daniel Sterns theory about the layered self. Has a very small test group and he based his entire thesis on the backs of middleclass American women, with nothing better to do than to look after their children. This does not apply to most mothers, most of us have to work, and it’s only a selected few who has the money and time to just stay home and chill with their kids. Never the less this theory on how the child developes is forced upon all children from all social layers. And in my oppinion that is setting it up for failure.

I don’t recall what childpsychologist who said ‘there is loving too little, there is loving too much, and then there is loving wrong.’ (or something like that, don’t recall the quote exactly) Basically it means that smothering your child is another form of neglect, but none the less neglect. You might not neglect the childs basic needs, like a couple of meth-heads in a trailer, but you are robbing the child of the most basic social skills if you fight all their battles, and keeps them locked up in a bubble where they are the king/queen of the world. That is just as wrong as letting the child fend for themselves. It sounds rough I know. But if you look at it from above, what having a child is all about is; having a baby, teaching it how to behave in the world, and hope they come out as fairly unscratched adults, who can manage a good job and have a good life.

But if you fail to teach the child how to behave for whatever reason, how is that child going to manuver in the world? A tyrant child is set up for failure. No one wants to play with that kid who throws tantrums when they don’t get it their way. And the parents would be in a constant state of denial, and defence because other adults would question their parenting.

Sadly I have seen more than one example of children where the parents took a backburner, and basically older siblings were the ones who took care of everything. Those children are a different form of tyrant child, because they might know boundraies, but it’s all the wrong boundraies, because those who tought them, also was never tought decent ones. An example is that a 6 year old child is still out playing at ten in the evening, their peers have been to bed for two hours. They are not more trusting than other children, but they would be easier targets for someone with sinister intentions. Why is that? If you ask me then besides the obvious of an unattended child late at night, then these type children are mature above their age, because they have to be, and they will rely on their own judgement of any given situation. But they are still just children, and children mostly see the world as black and white. Safe and dangerous.

So every child learned about stranger-danger, but what if that stranger is another child? Would you still feel threathned?

There are of course different types of reasons when children kill children, sometimes (luckily most of the time) it’s accidents, like a loaded gun they didn’t know were loaded, a dare that ends bad or something like that. But sometimes it’s something like Mary Bell, or those two kids who killed James Bulger. Those are the cases that we do not understand. Do they do it just to see what it’s like? Do they even grasp the concept of what they did? I’d say yes, cause they have to be aware that their victim is not exactly enjoying themselves, without going into detail cause that wigs even me out. I am sure these kids knew what they were doing. But why they did it is a whole other story.

Squalor is the devils playground.


I don’t know if anyone reading this knows that I am doing a collaborate story with a friend of mine, using the sims2 as a story telling media. Why that? Because it’s fun 😉

Anyway I was reading up on something related to that story, and I stumbled across this.  

I usually don’t really talk about myself in this blog, because it’s not relevant, or interesting. But something about that slideshow made me think of this place my mum and her boyfriend lived at one time. It was a horrible house, it was not their doing, it was horrid as they movied in. It should have been condemned, and it would have been had anyone known what it was like. It was huge though, but really cold and damp, they had this huge fernis out in the barn which ran on hay. This would warm up all the heaters in the house. But it so happened that they drank a lot in that time, so no one bought the hay needed for the fernis, and for a while the only heating was the gasoven in the kitchen. I swear there were frost ‘flowers’ on the inside of the windows.

Now my mum did a lot of things, she never did live in a garbage heap though. I knew this clairvoyant woman once, and she told me that the devil hides in squalor. And as an adult I think she might be right, but not in the literal sense of course.

I don’t know man, I have a limited insight into psychology, but I don’t think that heaps of trash, and hoarding is the same thing. As I said on LJ once, no one hoards dogshit. I wouldn’t just write the poor sods off as filthy swine either, I think it’s a question of caring. And that is the paradox innit? Way I see it, then real hoarders tend to hoard the back of their property first, and then keep a place of their house as an open space untill that too is swallowed up in boxes of crap they bought of the tv shopping network or at the thrift store. But they seems to me like they usually buy stuff they think is worth something, or can be given as gifts, or stuff that they might need – such as clothes, pots and pans.
Like if you bought 10 vacumcleaners on a sale, you’d stick them in the bedroom till you figured out what to do with them, and who to give them to. And what if before you made up your mind, you stumbled on this super sale on coffee machines? they would be piled on top of the vacumcleaners, and so forth untill you just have to close the door to your bedroom because it ended up as storage.

People who live in trash, they make a pile of trash around themselves where ever they sit the most, like in the living room, and then they move back in the house, as were they trying to find a clean spot to occupy till there are no more clean spots. Or maybe they build a wall of trash around them? I don’t know. But I’d see it much like your computer desk, it quickly fills up with trash if you don’t throw it out. Candy wrapping, cups, plates, ashtrays, and stuff you aren’t even sure why it’s there. Imagine if you just never cleaned that up, and instead of doing that, just migrated to your dining table when your desk got too gross. It’s not like you don’t know your gross desk is there, but you chose not to deal with it.

I believe in clutter blindness to some extend. If you ever met anyone who live in trash and crap you know that they hate guests, most will most likely have all social life elsewhere, and keep their house like their dirty secret. My point is that they ‘know’ that it’s not socially acceptable and still they don’t act upon the impulse to do anything about it. I admit that I think that most of these places where someone lives in kneedeep shit with children and pets, it’s most likely addicts or severely mentally ill people.

The same clairvoyant who told me about the devil in squalor, also told me that your mental state is mirrored in your enviroment. So what should we deduct from that? that there people feel like shit so they live in shit? Or that something robbed them of the ability to care for themselves, because way I see it, living in extreme squalor is self destructive like fuck. I refuse to believe that anyone likes living like that, in the back of everyones mind would be haunted by the knowledge that it’s not normal, and that it should stop, but they lack the energy or support to get cracking on it the right way. And nothing is easier than to ignore a problem, but as we all know it doesn’t go away because you want it to, it just festers.

So yes, the devil lives in squalor. And so does people who can’t deal with life, and therefor tries to distance themselves from it any way possible, be it they hide in a cave of junk, or be it a drug haze and stuff just never gets picked up. (substance abusers aren’t the most domestic people I ever met) – But as long as the trash stays so does the inability to suit up and get shit done.

It’s simple psycology that when we feel unsettled or unsafe, we seek back to where we feel the most safe. Wherever that be.  But what is the place you felt most safe, was also the root of your pain? And you don’t even have someone to blame other than you. Well most trash collectors or hoarders or whatever, blames everyone else, but that is all a defence mechanism. It’s pretty easy to see that they don’t -really- think that, but they can’t deal with their own failure.

To most of us it sounds appaling to read that ‘the children played in heaps of trash’ and it is! But really then I don’t think that the most horrifying is the trash. It is that the parent(s) apparently have the empathic insight of a wooden log. They are robbing their children of a childhood, a normal one that is. No one wants to play with the kid that smells of piss, or who looks dirty. Odds are that the few that will, is told not to by their parents. Their clothes are filthy and old fashioned, they can’t have friends over. Outsiders are judgemental of the lifestyle that the parent(s) are pretending to be normal. And the last thing someone like that want is to feel judged or pursecuted.

When you live in a forest of crap, it’s not gonna be your only problem, that much is true. I am not sure if I believe that the ‘trash-hoarders’ in lack of other words, suffer the OCD traits that regular ‘collector-hoarders’ do. I think it’s mostly about giving up and letting go, which spreads like ripples in water. I would imagine that it has a lot to do with shame, and that is why they don’t ask for the helping hand that I am pretty sure that they know they need.
What I am not entirely sure of, is what type of shame it is. Are they ashamed because they know their living conditions are deplorable? Are they ashamed because of how it reflects on them as a person, and afraid of people reacting with ‘clean your house cause that’s just nasty’? Or are they more afraid of being found out and forced to deal with their demons?

(Picture ‘the nightmare’ by Henry Fuseli)