Dead men can’t tell through dead man’s eyes….
Cause in dead man they see nothing….
Aleister Crowley was a famous magician. He held many secrets. They say he lived at the Louisiana bayou but for some reason, people kept disappearing. They say the dark knight of the soul finally came and got him.
As for me, I was thee survivor out of all of them.
There is a feast where the good people of the good place go. It is far and the journey is long.
Crowley used to say it straight to my face.
***
I was once in love. I was his moon he’d tell me.
Alfred was a god fearing man and he saw what he saw. It is what it is.
Back in the backyard basement, we kept a statue of Behemoth and my father was a pastor. Always preaching the word of God’s gospels.
One fateful day, he became a lunatic. Enraged by not my father or God. He worshipped my father and the gospel of God so much that he decided to make an occultist nation with me. My name was Helena Rothschild and soon we were gonna be the bayou’s bests.
He had a wife and cheated on her. One day he beat her to death and whiplashed her in the head. He then took her blood from her forehead and saith “This is the true and final blood of Behemoth.” He then sacrificed his wife with her knife and told me to join him using the words “us.”
***
Alfred had a niece. Everyday they would chop wood for a fire. He loved her so much that one day Alfred decided not to send her to his barn.
***
She had also blindly worshipped Behemoth through her uncle’s teachings and they both together had learned to be something. Always filling the chalice with blood.
My name is Alice. Alice Cobbler. I’ve never believed it was Magick. Pure, raw untamed magick. But my uncle, he believed he loved truly only the demon. Now only the demon in the backyard.
That was when I saw the bodies. Some bruised with no eyes and some cut up and bloodied. Some with cut fingers.
There lay his wife, Genevieve. He breasts were leaking blood at their tips. My uncle would chop the fellowship up if they ever got too friendly with him. He was only a magician and soon I knew I would be dead too. Because dead men tell no tales but they don’t tell lies either only cause of their marks on their bodies.
I was in love with one of the police officers. His name was Tommy Tucker. He was a spy. Always knocking on my door an’ givin me apple pies.
They started to rot and soon my uncle got caught in a fight and they arrested him and told me he was going to the good place.
Tommy looked at me; the love of my life. He looked at me like Jesus to a child and told me straight.
“Don’t say anything. Stay dead. Dead men can’t tell through dead man’s eyes….
Cause in dead man they see nothing….”
“Tommy? Marry me. Won’t ya?”
He looked at me.
“ I’m married honey. I couldn’t marry you even if I tried.”
He turned to the car. He gave me his phone number and a gun. It was a pistol and it was blackened; old but polished.
“If you decide to be; kill the right ones kid.”
He then shooed me away.
Soon I didn’t tell anyone anything about it.
I was the walking plague of sickness.
A sociopath with no boundaries and I kept coming into wards and they taught me to shoot it. I was now educated as an army brat and soon I became dead man.
No one knew me. No one saw me.
And I stood there. As dead man.
Soon I became a lesbian lover. They called me the greatest lover because I took care of all my girlfriends.
Then later on, I found a letter
“Welcome to the good place.
Join our fellowship
And learn to worship with God.
Aleister Crowley.”
I almost had a heart attack as I grabbed the phone and called the police immediately.