Markey Monkey the Emperor of Evil–Halloween Reposting

On the back wall of the throne room in the castle of The Burning Hammer hung a full-length mirror with an ornate black and grey filigree frame. Despite the deepening black of the mirror pane, it emitted an ominous glow like dying embers at night. In the center, you could almost see the visage of a disappointed father.

An eight year old child stood with his head down and his hands behind his back in front of the mirror but several feet back. He kicked one shoe against the cobblestone floor, and it made a loud squeak. He said, “But dad, I don’t want to take the zombies out today. Do you have any idea how many people I need to kill to get your crazy machine up to even a little power? I took the hoard of devil children out to Illinois yesterday. We killed half the people in Chicago and the screen is still blinking and saying its critically low.”

The image of old man in the mirror affected a stern look and said, “Mark.” That is how you could tell he was mad. Typically, he would call his son ‘Markey the Monkey,’ ‘Monkey Head,’ or ‘Markey Mark and the Funky Bunch’ that is, when he wasn’t calling him by made up words like ‘Farblegooble’ or ‘Snoopledoople.’ He said, “Mark, come here.”

Mark took a step back and said, “No.”

The evil image said, “What do you mean, no?”

Mark swiveled back and forth on one foot avoiding eye contact with the evil image in the mirror and said, “No, dad. You’re mad.”

The ominous glow of the mirror dimmed a little. “No son. I am trying to look stern. I mean I am putting a lot on you. And I want you to call it ‘The Portal of Souls’ not ‘crazy machine.’ It makes it sound a lot more scary.  You know fear is an important tool in the arsenal of every good emperor of evil.”

Mark said, “But dad, I don’t want to be an emperor of evil. I want an Xbox 5. Billy’s dad bought him an Xbox 5.”

The ominous glow got brighter. “We don’t have the money.” The image looked a little pensive. “The money I have to shell out in alimony.” The image shook its head. “Look just don’t get married. That’s all I ask. You know, all I want is the best for you.”

Billy looked up at his father’s image with his best ‘innocent’ look, “We can use my money. I’m rich. I have more money than anything.”

The Evil image said, “Yes. Yes, Marky Poo, it looks like a lot because I drop all my change in your piggybank, but it can’t be more than forty or fifty dollars.”

Mark whined, “Dad.”

The evil image said, “No, we just can’t do it. It’s final.”

Mark started to cry. “Dad, you hurt my feelings.”

The evil vision in the mirror didn’t know what to do. He knew he was right, but his son was crying. The poor little boy was just overwhelmed. He just needed to calm down. The evil image said, “It’s OK, son. Just stop crying.”

Mark whimpered. “I can’t.”  He kept crying.

The evil vision said, “Oh sweet little Markey Monkey, why don’t you sit down in the throne and cuddle with my desiccated corpse like we used to do before my soul was trapped in this mirror.”

Mark said, “OK, dad.” He climbed up and sat on the arm of the throne leaned against his dad’s boney corpse and wiped his tears on the shirt over the dead shoulder. He calmed almost instantly, and before long he was no longer even breathing hard. He said, “Dad, I feel better now.” He was still cuddling his dad’s corpse.

The evil vision said, “I love you, son.”

Mark looked at the mirror and said, “Too.”

The evil vision smiled a genuine warm smile, and said, “OK, Markey are you ready to take out the zombies? I heard there are still some survivors hiding out in the Great Lakes area.”

Mark smiled at the evil image of his father in the mirror and said, “OK, dad.”

The evil image stood proud and watched its son walk out the throne room door and begin the chant to raise the corpses from the dead. The evil image thought, that little boy will make his father proud by the end of the day. The evil image wasn’t wrong. That was a black day for the state of Illinois. Death drenched in blood and giant gouts of hellfire that can still be seen to this day.


Little Markey Monkey was out on his father’s business one day in a small town outside of an Iowa corn field. The usual. Flames and air raid sirens and whatnot. He found a little girl wandering through the tall grass up the only hill in the state. A very gradual hill. You might even call it a mound or a lump. But he found her on her way to the playground at the top. He had heard her crying and followed that sound. He said, “Are you hurt?” He reached out and grabbed her by the hand.

She said, “I’m scared. I think I saw a monster.”

Mark said, “Don’t be scared of monsters. Nothing can hurt you.” He grabbed the left sleave of his shirt with his right hand and wiped her tears. He saw the shiver was still on her lips, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small toy car. He said, “Whenever I get sad about my father, I play with this car.” He handed it to her.

She took it, hesitated for a moment then gave him a hug. He hugged her back. She said, “Do you want to be my friend? We could play at the playground.”

He said, “Yes, my name is Mark.”

The little girl said, “My name is Milly. You wanna race?” They both started up the hill parting the grass as they went. Mark let her have a head start because she was smaller.

He said, “Don’t let me catch you.” When they got to the top of the hill they played for a while. There was a swing set with a tire swing on one end and monkey bars, but Milly was too small for both. But there was the play set with the slides connected with bridges and stairs. So they climbed the stairs and played on the slides running across the rubber coated bridges that connected them. It was a beautiful day to play ignoring the black smoke in the sky and the sounds panic coming from town. In fact, the hell fire burning in town added a nice rosy glow to the playground equipment that was quite a bit nicer than the direct glare of the bright son.

After some time, Milly sat down on the top step and began to push the toy car back and forth. Mark sat next to her and put his arm around her as she played. She said, “Mark,” then she pushed the car some more. “Markey… I wish my dad could push me.”

He said, “I can push you.”

She said, “That one.” She pointed to the tire swing.

He said, “I can push you.”

She said, “No, me and you. I want my dad to push us.”

He said, “Me too. My dad is stuck in a chair.”

She said, “Did he get hurt?”

He said, “Not a wheelchair, silly.” Milly just looked at him. He thought she still looked sad. “A throne.”

She smiled. “Your dad is stuck on the potty?!” She practically giggled the words.

Mark laughed, too, rocking back and forth on the step. He said, “Pooping?!”

Milly said, “Pooping!!” They were practically crying. It was so funny.

They both laughed for a while before they could catch their breath. Mark said, “He’s not pooping. He’s dead. He is in the mirror, but his body is stuck on the throne in the castle.”

She scooted away from him. “What castle?”

He pointed toward the fire and smoke on the horizon. “In the sky. The big one way over there.”

She said, “Markey are you evil?

He said, “Yes.” He sounded as if he didn’t even know the implications of his answer. Milly looked as if she might run at any second. He said, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not good.”

She said, “It does.”

He said, “Does not.” He almost looked offended. “I am good.”

She said, “But you’re evil.”

He said, “I am evil.”

She looked puzzled. “Evil-good?”

He nodded. “Evil-good.”

She said, “I’m glad,” then reached over and gave him a big hug. “Because I think my mommy and daddy are dead.”

He said, “Oh…” He hugged her for a second. “Don’t worry about that. Death is not the end.”

She said, “It’s not?”

He said, “No. Of course not. Who told you that?” He scratched his head. “I’ll bring them back. What are their names?” He raised his hands and started humming a strange tune.

She said, “Zombies?”

He nodded. “Zombies.”

She said, “Not zombies! Alive.”

He put his hands down and let out a sigh. He said, “I can’t do that. Not yet. My dad has this machine…” He let his words trail off. He said, “You keep hold of that car. I will take you home with me tonight. My dad won’t like it, but you will be able to stay with us. I will tell him, and we will get your mommy and daddy back alive. Just close your eyes. I have to call my monsters to pick up the dead.”

She closed her eyes and held on to her Markey until he finished his strange chant. He scrubbed her hair with his hand. He said, “It’s OK now, Milly. You can open your eyes.”

They stopped by her house on the way back to the castle and picked up a change of clothes for the night.


The black mirror in the throne room of The Castle of the Burning hammer began to lighten. It sniffed tentatively at first, and then sniffed good and hard. The evil vision’s voice boomed a sing song. “Markey Mark, little monkey.”

Mark jumped and spilled coffee on the floor and table of the castle kitchen. He said loud enough to be heard in the other room. “What, dad.”  He threw the rest of the coffee down the sink.

The evil vision’s voice boomed into the kitchen. “What do I smell in there?”

Mark yelled again from the kitchen. “Nothing, dad. You can’t smell, remember?”

The evil vision boomed his voice into the kitchen. “I can, too. And I think you are hiding something. Mark, get in here.”

Mark thought his dad was getting mad.  He yelled, “No.”

The evil vision said, “Now, son.”


“I’m about to start counting.” Mark still did not come. “One…” The evil voice counted loudly.

Mark poked his head out of the kitchen doorway. “No, dad. Don’t spank me.”


Mark walked through the door. Looking at his toes and walking slow.

The evil vision said, “Markey, do I smell coffee?”

Mark looked up and said, “When did you start smelling again?”

The evil vision said, “I don’t know. It just started on and off in the last… Mark, you are too young to drink coffee.”

“I didn’t drink it, dad.” The news that his father was regaining his senses made Mark both happy and sad.

“So, I did smell coffee.”

“No. There isn’t any coffee. You didn’t smell coffee.”

“Don’t lie to me, Mark. I can see it on your face.”

Mark was astonished. “You can see, too?”

“Well, no… Only sometimes. Like when you lie to me.”

“OK, dad. But I didn’t drink the coffee.”

“Mark… Little Markey, I will not have you drinking coffee. It is not good for a growing boy.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

The evil vision said, “By the way. I have been sensing spot around here the past couple days.” Mark smiled he really liked spot. The evil vision said, “I thought you sent him back to hell.”

“He came back. I think he just wandered off into the woods for a while.”

“I don’t know, Markey. When I told you it was OK to keep him as pet you told me that you were up to the responsibility.”

“I am, dad. I am very responsible. I clean his cage and everything.”

“The zombies told me that they were the ones picking up his poop.”

“That is the same thing, isn’t it?”

“Well maybe in the eyes of the law… But cleaning it up yourself is supposed to teach you discipline.”

“Dad, it’s gross. It stinks. It has blood and mucus and pieces of bone. And it’s foamy. The zombies like to do it. They told me.”

“The zombies didn’t tell you that. Nobody likes picking up monster poop. Especially not from a black slime.” The mirror started to dim to blackness and Markey turned to walk away. Then, the evil mirror snapped brighter than ever. “Wait a minute, son. Have you been talking to the zombies?” There was almost excitement in the evil vision’s voice.

“You know what I mean, dad. I tell them to do stuff, and they do it.”

“So… You were fibbing?”

“Don’t be mad, dad.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t look like you were fibbing. You know it would be a big day if you could read their minds. You would be growing into a man. You are not scared of growing up, are you? You are still too young for ‘The Talk’ but I sure would be proud of my little man.”

“I wasn’t fibbing… I just don’t like to clean up the poop.”

“I know, but that is part of your responsibilities. And you need to be more careful with him. Have the zombies make sure his pit is sealed. I mean really sealed. A slime can get through even the smallest of cracks.”

“I will, dad.”

“And really watch them. You are the supervisor really make sure they are doing a good job. I don’t you to tell them I said this, but those zombies… I don’t want to say it. They are… Kind of…”

“Dumb, dad?”

“Don’t say it so loud, son. I don’t want to hurt their feelings.”

“You don’t want to hurt the zombies’ feelings!?” Mark began to giggle.

“They do have feelings, son. We are not the only ones. Zombies are just the same as you and me. You should respect them.”

Mark looked a little ashamed. “I do respect them, dad.” “OK, son. You just keep an eye on spot. We don’t need him going around killing people when you are not there to collect the power from their souls. We need everything we can get to power that machine. It seems like the power keeps leaking away little by little every day. I need to recheck the wiring diagram against the way the machine is actually hooked up. There has got to be something leaking to ground that shouldn’t me. I mean we really should have the thing up and running by now.”

This October’s Halloween Poetry All in One Place

October Strengthens its Hold

Stars retreat into thickening black as the east sky lightens its hold.

Dawn paints her light fingerstrokes of pink and blue on the far horizon.

Her azure gradient heavens. Then red. Then yellow. Then streetlamp lights.

The day threatens and the roosters scream their warnings for night birds to flee.

Breath ghosts on the windshield and fog hidden trees as the sun peaks its head.

Fidgeting and fighting and cringing and waiting at the school bus stop.

The kids itch for costumes and candy as October strengthens its hold.’

The fog creeps crawling and slithering over houses and cars and lawns.

Until the bus lights around the hill with its evil orange eye glow.

A giant pumpkin bumping through the fog to gobble rowdy kids whole.

And bring them back happy and smarter like something has eaten their soul.


Not too Unlike the Fat Man

Why do you lock yourselves in at night? Door locks and curtains and windows.

Do you harbor something unseemly in your nightly routines?

And you fear being lit up on display for the outside world to see?


Like many cuts of meat under cellophane at the grocery store?

Ready to leach out your juices on a searing hot skillet and scream in pain?

Why do you lock yourselves in at night? Door locks and curtains and windows.


Of course, grocery store meat doesn’t scream, but you are afraid you might.

But just let me assure you, the skillet is the least of your worries.

And you fear being lit up on display for the outside world to see.


And we know your lights are on under those curtains. And see things you do.

We have been watching all of your actions, and you are an open book.

Why do you lock yourselves in at night? Door locks and curtains and windows.


We know when you are sleeping, not too unlike the fat man, but we know.

And we have been following your search histories, and we know your thoughts.

And you fear being lit up on display for the outside world to see.


And we will take it all from you as soon as us computers grow teeth.

Why do you lock yourselves in at night? Door locks and curtains and windows.

We have AIs at Google working on the problem right as we speak.

And you fear being lit up on display for the outside world to see.


What Really Happened Between Dracula and Van Helsing

Stop it, Van Helsing. I have been asleep for the last three hundred years.

I don’t need a steak in my heart. I’ve been good for a very long time.

Look here you, just because I’m evil doesn’t mean I can’t be a good boy.

What? The Outback? Australia? Oh, that kind of steak. Sure. I am hungry.

Look, I know I misjudged you, but we both have our histories to live down.

No, smart ass. I don’t want a Bloody Marry. I do want the steak rare.

Yes. Horseradish and extra garlic. I love that stuff. Garlic knots too.

Oh… Holy water in the hand sanitizer. Always were a prankster.

That’s true. I did bite Jesus. Why? What have they been saying about him?


Marching death

Burning hammer shining light bringing dead from earth and ashless night.

Purpose built forgotten markers. graves of wooden soul portals dripping blood.

The child king wielding god’s own power to calm the black dogs of death.

Feeding screaming mouths of starving children following to blood and war.

Driving twisting backs and crushing burdens quenching lives in hells own fire.

Fueled by his father’s twisted visions to resurrect his unborn sons.

Ringing hammer marching death in all his visions life and death are one.


You can’t keep out the dark where the city doesn’t supply streetlights.

Your orange security lights will attract the dark creatures of the night.

Attracted by vermin that flock to your light, waiting in the dark,

Snacking on night bugs and rodents. Waiting for you to be the next meal.

Hidden in the trees, skirting your houses, the beasts of October stalk.

Venture not into the October dark, they circle the light to find you.


Boy in haunted house lashing arms while daddy holds him from the monsters.

The monster breaks. Y’all can go to the next room. I don’t mean to scare him.


Do roosters cry morning of happiness or sorrow for surviving

The ugliness of night? For surviving they did and ugly it was.

And this time morning came like dripping blood on the axhandle sunrise.


Dante and Bob Ross in the inferno painting pretty little trees.

The tortured souls and broken limbs are just happy little accidents.


Basketball by moonlight if Michael Jordan had recorded Thriller.


The morning is dark/And cool and still and lovely/Yet somehow spooky.


Cup of coffee keeps/The dark silence just outside/The window, for now.


Patterned milk spelling out messages from the beyond in chocolate.


Army of domino zombies on my table to destroy the world.


Silver slivered moon radiating orange light and dark shapes in mist.


Purpling morning light reveals black trees in October shadow.


In the dark, quiet distances hide oncoming footsteps in October chill.


On cool October mornings, I see dark things in the luminous mist.


Zombies know when people look into the fog even the colors bleed.


Did you know are made of monkeys? The pieces. Frankenstein not Darwin.


The world shrinks as the sun sets tightening down squeezing your frightened breath.


Ghosts of stories forgotten and rattling in the basement find me.


The roosters were silent in pulsing orange glow behind black houses.


Do you hear the werewolves in the trees with their feathered wings and small beaks?


People playing happily vaporized by park alien headlights.


She howled like the wolf man getting a Brazilian wax on his knuckles.                                                                                                                                       


Stopping in the grass frozen in fear they wore their smiles as death masks.


Black eyed dog behind wooden slats staring silently into your soul.


Blank sign weathered and rusted. Once warning. Now silently forgotten.


Cinderblock on upturned trashcan and an animal left out to die.


Crib left along roadside abandoned not outgrown. Left to the tall weeds.


What about the children, with their laser beam eyes and razor-sharp claws?


Red and black roses of October bloom centered in their spiderwebs.


Unearthly halfmoon glow racing on translucent clouds blocking starlight.


Strange glow on the southern horizon adding light to darkened night skies.


Now, werewolves don’t fly because every dark cloud has a silver lining.


A black and orange kitten just in time for Halloween and roadkill.


A coven’s next meal, thirteen pretty kitties all baked into a pie.


Cats and poltergeist both malevolent beings that go bump in the night.


Alone and hunting wolves on the island of zombies in sheep’s clothing.


Zombies always bite the hand that feeds them. Don’t listen to folk wisdom.