Freakshow Magazine Online!

    (The story so far: Psykosity has been effectively kidnapped by his younger brother Mike, under the pretense of going to a “Biker” gathering on the spur of the moment. AGAINST HIS WILL, Psykosity has been force-fed copious amounts of alcohol and substances, both legal and illegal in most states. The truck that Mike is driving is little more than a rolling death machine: Nothing on the dash board works but the radio, the passenger door has fallen off, the exhaust is held onto the bottom of the vehicle by wires, and there is a constant smell of smoke, burnt wires and…sauerkraut??? We pick up the story as our intrepid adventurers arrive at the gathering. The event is being held in a gravel pit. Things look grim…) Mike parked the truck and shut off the motor. For the first time in a little over an hour, I didn’t have to scream over the metal-on-metal screeching of the motor and the contemptible sounding radio turned up full blast. Mike opened up the vial and soaked a handkerchief wi

(Editors Note: We have received this communication from Psykosity’s wife: "Due to some unforeseen side effects from changes in his medications, Psykosity is in the middle of what can only be described as a ‘fit’. He is sitting in his lift chair, looking forward, hardly blinking, gripping the armrests and occasionally screaming about “Hottentots”. Thank goodness the godawful drooling seems to have stopped. At one point, he shoved a thumb drive across the table at me and just said the words: “Free lunch, final wisdom, total coverage”. I checked out the thumb drive and found a sound file on it, probably recorded on his phone. I assumed he wanted me to transcribe it, which was difficult; with all the screaming, the wind sounds, and the distorted music, it was hard to figure out what was being said. I did the best I could and send it to you now. P.S. thank you for the blowgun and the tranquilizer darts. They came in handy two nights before when he decided to shoot bottle rockets at the

It is sometimes said that when evil appears at your door, you almost always can recognize the knock. In my case, I could hear it coming from half a mile away while home, sitting in my office... It was a horrible, anxiety inspiring noise, almost revolting in it’s way; the metal grinding against metal  sound of the gears changing, the coughing and burping of the engine, the loud, rhythmic, window-rattling thump of the exhaust, the occasional gun-like ‘CRACK’ of the backfire…lurching down the country road like some poor, lumbering metal animal in desperate need of a misery ending bullet between the headlights, getting closer and closer and then turning and clambering up my driveway… I thought to myself, in the immortal words of the late, great Bette Davis: “What fresh hell is this?” Whatever mechanical monstrosity that had deposited itself on my doorstep emitted a tailpipe shuddering, bolt rattling gasp, and then there was silence. Everything will be fine, I thought, as long as I do

  (Ed. note: The following was published in real time on the social media site Gab.com, as it happened.  Raul is still missing...)   6:00 P.M. I'm drinking Maker's Mark and water. Well, not so much water; more like dew had landed gently on the glass. Situation: From "Iffy" to "ridiculous". Some people came early, like my sister and her husband. My sister is “helping” my wife…which is good for my wife as she can always use the help…but this doesn’t bode well for the night. Plan of Action: More drink, followed by extreme weirdness. Mood: Pessimistically optimistic.   7:00P.M. Situation: Damp. The river that runs through town is in danger of overflowing its banks because of three days of heavy rain. This is no lie. Plan of action: Checked on the neighbors, everyone OK. MORE DRINK. Mood: Watery.   8:00 P.M. Situation: Rains have stopped. I am in my chair, nursing my drink, playing loud music for the guests. Strange feeling; sudden p