The Black Zone Horror (In Four Parts)
Part One
(to ‘The Black Zone Horror’)
The Seatmate
(September, 2007) Juan Carlos Perez left Huancayo, Peru, high up in the Andes, in the Mantaro Valley, after spending several days at a booth (stall) which his aunt had set up at the San Jeronimo festival of the Avelinos. The twenty-two year old boy caught a bus, with some forty-passengers, heading down the Andes, a seven hour night ride to Lima. He put his head phones on, found a window seat in the front of the bus, and fell to sleep.
In La Oroya (about one third of the way to Lima, the bus’ destination), a miner’s town, Manuel Pablo Silva, had purchased a ticket to Lima, and became a passenger; he sat in the back of the bus, put his baggage under the seat, and sat back. Ricardo Vila and his wife Maria, sat by him, he was calm, but his reactions seemed somewhat robotic.
The bus’ journey had started at 1:00 PM, and got to La Oroya, at around 3:15 PM, where it had stopped for ten-minutes, and now was at Casapalca, a small village of miners high up in the Andes, almost at the highest point in the region. There the bus stopped to pick up more passengers, and most everyone got off the bus to stretch, buy bread and other things for the long trip. Matter of fact, Manuel had departed the bus, and was talking to one of the young woman he had seen on the bus, Ricardo and Maria nearby watching, but not assuming anything was awkward, or going to be awkward. Juan Carlos remained on the bus, tired from his long days of making and selling trout at the fiesta, one of the areas renowned foods. For the most part, the young man remained, or continued to remain obvious to his surroundings, and made no noise, consequently most of the passengers figured he was sleeping, and he was to the best of Manuel’s knowledge.
From outside, leaning against an adobe (mud brick) building, waiting for the driver to give the ok to board, Silva noticed the calm reserved lad, peacefully in slumber, and upon embarking onto the bus, he, Silva, went back to his original seat, and pulled out his sack—looking as if it was filled with cloths and travel items, and went to sit in the seat by the young man, put the sack this time above in the overhead luggage area: and waited for the bus to go.
Someone had taken Ricardo’s seat, and so he and his wife found one across from Manuel Pablo, thinking nothing of it, that it was just a seat change. In front of Perez and Silva, was a young woman, in her early twenties, she turned about looked at the two, smiled, she had talked to Silva a moment before, as they waited outside the bus, her name being, Ana Maria Zevallos, she had actually taken a liking for the so called minor.
((Interlude)(There was some kind of force that took over Silva, even his body seemed to shape change, acting more like a robot than a human, like something from outer space; nothing nature made on earth anyhow, he was made into a devil at that moment, at this juncture, a precocious monster, about to give out a terrible sight, in a way he was going to drag all those folks passengers, nameless passengers on the bus to his purpose, to inflict his doings, his gore, into their memories forever, they to him were the outsiders.))
Silva got up from his seat, no one really took notice, but then he opened up his bag, and pulled out a large butcher’s knife, one used often for cutting up lambs and pigs and so forth, especial at festivals. Ricardo Vila, saw something metallic from his peripheral vision, and as he went to turn his head to get a better view, Manuel Pablo Silva, had stabbed Juan Carlos in the chest, he moved back hard in his seat, put his arm across his wife, woke her up, then Manuel stabbed the young man again, and again, rapidly (and swiftly Ricardo jumped up, pulled his wife out of harms way), as the man continued to stab Juan Carlos Perez.
Ana Maria, heard a bloodcurdling sound behind her; from the assailant came a hissing like sound as if from a snake or rat, from Juan Carlos, a shallow and thin cry, like a whimpering, and dying cat; then louder sounds came from the young man, sounds like a child’s cry to the agony of a howling dog (the boy never knowing what really had happened, what was taking place, his murder in essence, at hand, at its most raw form; Ana Maria had turned about, choked on the scene and had made her back steps a noticeable distance from the assailant, toward the bus’ driver.
The bus stopped, people started moving rapidly off the bus, not really knowing where they were, someplace between where they were and their previous last stop, about an hour from Lima, someone said Morococha, a small village close by; it was 7: 00 PM, and dark, and as one person after the other calmly disembarked the bus, Manuel dug his knife deeper into and around the neck, the collarbone, cutting through flesh and spine that linked to the neck and brain, cutting through its nervous system, and soft tissue, decapitating the young man right there and then.
The bus driver tried to get close to the assailant, but he swung swiftly the knife his way, he was now a madman looking for an escape route.
((Interlude)(We don’t know what is in the brain of the one person next to us, the stranger that is; is it filled with superstitions perhaps, transcripts of some eternal evil spirit, who at a time and place will hum to the brain to wake it up and inflict pain at its will, these terrors are of an older standing, they date beyond ones own remains, the soul is covered up in these individuals, it can’t even peep out to see the shadow’s pre-existence, before it enters the core of the brain, hidden in some vault not even he can enter. And so it would seem this was the case here, as strange and misguided as it seemed, and senseless.))
Now everyone was outside of the bus, everyone but the corpse and Manuel, who was pacing back and forth on the bus, while a truck driver gave the passengers wrenches and crowbars, to protect themselves, as well as to keep the killer at bay, and on the bus. Within the hour, several police cars were at the scene, and the media came in by helicopter. Manuel tried an attempt at escaping out of a broken window he broke, which was to his dismay, for then he was subdued by several police officers.
((Afterward)(He, Manuel, paused exhausted before he tried to make his escape, breaking the bus window; fatigued, he saw the whole group of cars, and familiar passengers outside of the bus, the media, almost in bewilderment: he knew what he did, what he had done, he was holding the young man’s head in his hands, then placed it back onto the open cavity called once a neck, onto its torso, it was actually pre meditated, he planned it, found the weakest link in the chain, Juan Carlos, and crystallized his mission with the exact moment, with no hesitation, by anointing him to be the sacrifice, he would produce fresh terror, he did do that, he who had been silent heretofore, spoke only in painful cries, while the murderer rambled on, hissed like a snake, interrupted the whole bus. There was no twin brother here to say ‘I did it, not him.’ That face, now with red eyes, that half face, the other half belonged to someone else, not man. Strange gestures, incantation culminated in his pacing back and forth on the bus, in obscure consciousness, he was in an ultimate frenzy. No one dared get too close to him. But that was all, except, not a syllable could anyone understand that he said, it was as if he was uttering another language, not Spanish, nor English, and those deafening hisses, a shattering ringing seemed to be in his head, he held it several times.))
Part Two
(to ‘The Black Zone Horror’)
The Court Case of:
Manuel Pablo Silva
Manuel is acting as his own lawyer, spokesman, and addressing the Jury, on a retrial of his case.
(Two years later) “It is true, I put six stab wounds into my seatmate’s chest on the bus, and beheaded Him, yet I wish to show you in the following statements I am not the murderer. You have called me a madman, but the jury never looked at the whole picture two years ago, now I hope they will. You need to look at the horror that was inside of me, the one Father Bruni has now expelled out of me, and this is the murderer.
“Of the two years I spent at the sanitarium, weekly the priest, Father Bruni saw me, and worked with me on ridding me of this ghastly creature whom I was servant to, and now I am freed of his infinity or credible doom.
“Therefore I plead to you, during this retrial, not to look so much at Juan Carlos Perez, who was the victim, he has been revenged, twice over, because I have served two years in jail, and now this demonic force that was in me, cannot enslave me again.
The priest has in actuality, expelled, this demonic force, and sentenced him to go back into a black zone, where he came from. I repeat, I personally was the tool for the murder of Juan Carlos, but the force in me was the murderer. In so saying, I purged myself of this horror that used me to avenge mankind.
“You must understand there are black zones and shadows, close to all our daily activities, where evil spirits lurk and seep into, searching for bodies to operate in, thus the evil spirit has now a passage once he enters his victim, and through man, he operates in the physical. In such cases man becomes possessed and has little to do with the reckoning, or consequence thereafter. He must follow and strike like a robot, lest he himself becomes consumed by the diabolical phenomenal within him.
“Yes, it is morbid, but this evil spirit that is reclusive within a person, produces an ongoing weakness within him, which creates, in time, a secret life between him and you. At times you dismiss him as simply your imagination, because of your noticeable bizarre behavior and thoughts, despite the greater sense of right and wrong, you fall victim to him again, and march to his tune, the one who came out of the black zone, I am talking about, found an opening for him to enter and he did, namely me. He may at this point, even call you kindred, and think that he actually is. But he really is just an ancient subduer, who crumbled eons ago with his kind.
“His breath, goes into the deepest and darkest zones within your mind, spirit and soul, deceptive he is, and has in essence homesteaded your body, half-yours and half his, and he takes your half when aroused. He has become retarded from his long existence in an uncoddled world, in the black zones, which parallel ours.
“He knows the veritable code that you are made up of, and he has used it to his advantage with me: to the people of the Jury, I say with this dubious conduct he used on me, place guilt where it belongs, Judge me not for this murder, and give it to him, for you have punished me, because you cannot capture him.”
The Juries deliberated for eleven hours, in as much as they wanted to keep Manuel incarcerated, they believed his story, and Father Bruni backed it up. As a result, his case was somewhat dismissed, he was left in the care of Father Bruni, and the probation department for the following five-years, and should any criminal charges be filed against him in the meantime, he would be subject to a third trial, and most likely, be subject to the full crime of murder and its consequences, but this time with no insanity plea.
Part Three
(to ‘The Black Zone Horror’)
Poetic Justice or the Dirge
Manuel Pablo Silva, firmly believed he was dealing with an individual that had once inhabited the world long before mankind, a race you might say, of another era, who in having pseudomemories (and secrets given him from a supernatural race, even more powerful than his), who at one time inhabited the earth, and lost it, by being ostracized from it, and cast into this so called black zone.
With this entity within Manuel, it is obvious he wanted control, a priority that shows power, as all demonic imps or devils, evil spirits, want; but during the interim, they go searching window to window, creeping to see who is the most vulnerable, the weakest ling in the chain, this was how they discovered Manuel.
It is often funny I think but for every man alive, there seems to be an available woman, no matter how strange, ugly or bloodthirsty the man may be. And Manuel found this lovely Argentine girl to keep him company, down in Miraflores, a section in Lima. And they saw a lot of each other for several months. But something did take place, she got pregnant, and she got scared Manuel might go tell her parents. Not a real good reason to do what she was going to do, but often times our selections are like to like, meaning, you don’t necessary pick out a mate that would be good for you, but one to suite your fancy, and that is what Manual did, picked one to his fancy, like two peas in pod. And when he was sleeping, he was stabbed to death by his new girlfriend, she cut up his body, put the parts into a suitcase, and went downtown Lima, to the Rimac River, and left the suitcase there, until it stunk to the high heavens.
Part Four
(to ‘The Black Zone Horror’)
The Priest and the Entity
He, Manual had told the priest during one of their sessions, before he was killed, told him, Bruni, of his weird dreams, more on the order of pseudomemories of his entity. These dreams were extracted by the entity within him, who told him, he had come from the Paleozoic Age, and had hid in the underground chambers throughout the world, for 125,000-years; here he lived amongst the cyclopean masonry, and megalithic walls that had sunken with the many earthquakes throughout history.
Through his dreams, the entity, explored his path with Manual, he was taken into the same objective reality, deeper and deeper into the crust of the earth.
Around this time, the entity got curious, and Manual’s sleeplessness prevailed, inflicted by the demon, and next came impulses in his brain, the entity knew how to shut it down, almost like having a renter vacating the premises, and the black zone, with its horrors took over.
Part One: The Seatmate
Part Two: The Court Case
Part Three: The Dirge (Or poetic Justice)
Part Four: The Priest and Entity
Written August 1, 2008© Dlsiluk
Part One
(to ‘The Black Zone Horror’)
The Seatmate
(September, 2007) Juan Carlos Perez left Huancayo, Peru, high up in the Andes, in the Mantaro Valley, after spending several days at a booth (stall) which his aunt had set up at the San Jeronimo festival of the Avelinos. The twenty-two year old boy caught a bus, with some forty-passengers, heading down the Andes, a seven hour night ride to Lima. He put his head phones on, found a window seat in the front of the bus, and fell to sleep.
In La Oroya (about one third of the way to Lima, the bus’ destination), a miner’s town, Manuel Pablo Silva, had purchased a ticket to Lima, and became a passenger; he sat in the back of the bus, put his baggage under the seat, and sat back. Ricardo Vila and his wife Maria, sat by him, he was calm, but his reactions seemed somewhat robotic.
The bus’ journey had started at 1:00 PM, and got to La Oroya, at around 3:15 PM, where it had stopped for ten-minutes, and now was at Casapalca, a small village of miners high up in the Andes, almost at the highest point in the region. There the bus stopped to pick up more passengers, and most everyone got off the bus to stretch, buy bread and other things for the long trip. Matter of fact, Manuel had departed the bus, and was talking to one of the young woman he had seen on the bus, Ricardo and Maria nearby watching, but not assuming anything was awkward, or going to be awkward. Juan Carlos remained on the bus, tired from his long days of making and selling trout at the fiesta, one of the areas renowned foods. For the most part, the young man remained, or continued to remain obvious to his surroundings, and made no noise, consequently most of the passengers figured he was sleeping, and he was to the best of Manuel’s knowledge.
From outside, leaning against an adobe (mud brick) building, waiting for the driver to give the ok to board, Silva noticed the calm reserved lad, peacefully in slumber, and upon embarking onto the bus, he, Silva, went back to his original seat, and pulled out his sack—looking as if it was filled with cloths and travel items, and went to sit in the seat by the young man, put the sack this time above in the overhead luggage area: and waited for the bus to go.
Someone had taken Ricardo’s seat, and so he and his wife found one across from Manuel Pablo, thinking nothing of it, that it was just a seat change. In front of Perez and Silva, was a young woman, in her early twenties, she turned about looked at the two, smiled, she had talked to Silva a moment before, as they waited outside the bus, her name being, Ana Maria Zevallos, she had actually taken a liking for the so called minor.
((Interlude)(There was some kind of force that took over Silva, even his body seemed to shape change, acting more like a robot than a human, like something from outer space; nothing nature made on earth anyhow, he was made into a devil at that moment, at this juncture, a precocious monster, about to give out a terrible sight, in a way he was going to drag all those folks passengers, nameless passengers on the bus to his purpose, to inflict his doings, his gore, into their memories forever, they to him were the outsiders.))
Silva got up from his seat, no one really took notice, but then he opened up his bag, and pulled out a large butcher’s knife, one used often for cutting up lambs and pigs and so forth, especial at festivals. Ricardo Vila, saw something metallic from his peripheral vision, and as he went to turn his head to get a better view, Manuel Pablo Silva, had stabbed Juan Carlos in the chest, he moved back hard in his seat, put his arm across his wife, woke her up, then Manuel stabbed the young man again, and again, rapidly (and swiftly Ricardo jumped up, pulled his wife out of harms way), as the man continued to stab Juan Carlos Perez.
Ana Maria, heard a bloodcurdling sound behind her; from the assailant came a hissing like sound as if from a snake or rat, from Juan Carlos, a shallow and thin cry, like a whimpering, and dying cat; then louder sounds came from the young man, sounds like a child’s cry to the agony of a howling dog (the boy never knowing what really had happened, what was taking place, his murder in essence, at hand, at its most raw form; Ana Maria had turned about, choked on the scene and had made her back steps a noticeable distance from the assailant, toward the bus’ driver.
The bus stopped, people started moving rapidly off the bus, not really knowing where they were, someplace between where they were and their previous last stop, about an hour from Lima, someone said Morococha, a small village close by; it was 7: 00 PM, and dark, and as one person after the other calmly disembarked the bus, Manuel dug his knife deeper into and around the neck, the collarbone, cutting through flesh and spine that linked to the neck and brain, cutting through its nervous system, and soft tissue, decapitating the young man right there and then.
The bus driver tried to get close to the assailant, but he swung swiftly the knife his way, he was now a madman looking for an escape route.
((Interlude)(We don’t know what is in the brain of the one person next to us, the stranger that is; is it filled with superstitions perhaps, transcripts of some eternal evil spirit, who at a time and place will hum to the brain to wake it up and inflict pain at its will, these terrors are of an older standing, they date beyond ones own remains, the soul is covered up in these individuals, it can’t even peep out to see the shadow’s pre-existence, before it enters the core of the brain, hidden in some vault not even he can enter. And so it would seem this was the case here, as strange and misguided as it seemed, and senseless.))
Now everyone was outside of the bus, everyone but the corpse and Manuel, who was pacing back and forth on the bus, while a truck driver gave the passengers wrenches and crowbars, to protect themselves, as well as to keep the killer at bay, and on the bus. Within the hour, several police cars were at the scene, and the media came in by helicopter. Manuel tried an attempt at escaping out of a broken window he broke, which was to his dismay, for then he was subdued by several police officers.
((Afterward)(He, Manuel, paused exhausted before he tried to make his escape, breaking the bus window; fatigued, he saw the whole group of cars, and familiar passengers outside of the bus, the media, almost in bewilderment: he knew what he did, what he had done, he was holding the young man’s head in his hands, then placed it back onto the open cavity called once a neck, onto its torso, it was actually pre meditated, he planned it, found the weakest link in the chain, Juan Carlos, and crystallized his mission with the exact moment, with no hesitation, by anointing him to be the sacrifice, he would produce fresh terror, he did do that, he who had been silent heretofore, spoke only in painful cries, while the murderer rambled on, hissed like a snake, interrupted the whole bus. There was no twin brother here to say ‘I did it, not him.’ That face, now with red eyes, that half face, the other half belonged to someone else, not man. Strange gestures, incantation culminated in his pacing back and forth on the bus, in obscure consciousness, he was in an ultimate frenzy. No one dared get too close to him. But that was all, except, not a syllable could anyone understand that he said, it was as if he was uttering another language, not Spanish, nor English, and those deafening hisses, a shattering ringing seemed to be in his head, he held it several times.))
Part Two
(to ‘The Black Zone Horror’)
The Court Case of:
Manuel Pablo Silva
Manuel is acting as his own lawyer, spokesman, and addressing the Jury, on a retrial of his case.
(Two years later) “It is true, I put six stab wounds into my seatmate’s chest on the bus, and beheaded Him, yet I wish to show you in the following statements I am not the murderer. You have called me a madman, but the jury never looked at the whole picture two years ago, now I hope they will. You need to look at the horror that was inside of me, the one Father Bruni has now expelled out of me, and this is the murderer.
“Of the two years I spent at the sanitarium, weekly the priest, Father Bruni saw me, and worked with me on ridding me of this ghastly creature whom I was servant to, and now I am freed of his infinity or credible doom.
“Therefore I plead to you, during this retrial, not to look so much at Juan Carlos Perez, who was the victim, he has been revenged, twice over, because I have served two years in jail, and now this demonic force that was in me, cannot enslave me again.
The priest has in actuality, expelled, this demonic force, and sentenced him to go back into a black zone, where he came from. I repeat, I personally was the tool for the murder of Juan Carlos, but the force in me was the murderer. In so saying, I purged myself of this horror that used me to avenge mankind.
“You must understand there are black zones and shadows, close to all our daily activities, where evil spirits lurk and seep into, searching for bodies to operate in, thus the evil spirit has now a passage once he enters his victim, and through man, he operates in the physical. In such cases man becomes possessed and has little to do with the reckoning, or consequence thereafter. He must follow and strike like a robot, lest he himself becomes consumed by the diabolical phenomenal within him.
“Yes, it is morbid, but this evil spirit that is reclusive within a person, produces an ongoing weakness within him, which creates, in time, a secret life between him and you. At times you dismiss him as simply your imagination, because of your noticeable bizarre behavior and thoughts, despite the greater sense of right and wrong, you fall victim to him again, and march to his tune, the one who came out of the black zone, I am talking about, found an opening for him to enter and he did, namely me. He may at this point, even call you kindred, and think that he actually is. But he really is just an ancient subduer, who crumbled eons ago with his kind.
“His breath, goes into the deepest and darkest zones within your mind, spirit and soul, deceptive he is, and has in essence homesteaded your body, half-yours and half his, and he takes your half when aroused. He has become retarded from his long existence in an uncoddled world, in the black zones, which parallel ours.
“He knows the veritable code that you are made up of, and he has used it to his advantage with me: to the people of the Jury, I say with this dubious conduct he used on me, place guilt where it belongs, Judge me not for this murder, and give it to him, for you have punished me, because you cannot capture him.”
The Juries deliberated for eleven hours, in as much as they wanted to keep Manuel incarcerated, they believed his story, and Father Bruni backed it up. As a result, his case was somewhat dismissed, he was left in the care of Father Bruni, and the probation department for the following five-years, and should any criminal charges be filed against him in the meantime, he would be subject to a third trial, and most likely, be subject to the full crime of murder and its consequences, but this time with no insanity plea.
Part Three
(to ‘The Black Zone Horror’)
Poetic Justice or the Dirge
Manuel Pablo Silva, firmly believed he was dealing with an individual that had once inhabited the world long before mankind, a race you might say, of another era, who in having pseudomemories (and secrets given him from a supernatural race, even more powerful than his), who at one time inhabited the earth, and lost it, by being ostracized from it, and cast into this so called black zone.
With this entity within Manuel, it is obvious he wanted control, a priority that shows power, as all demonic imps or devils, evil spirits, want; but during the interim, they go searching window to window, creeping to see who is the most vulnerable, the weakest ling in the chain, this was how they discovered Manuel.
It is often funny I think but for every man alive, there seems to be an available woman, no matter how strange, ugly or bloodthirsty the man may be. And Manuel found this lovely Argentine girl to keep him company, down in Miraflores, a section in Lima. And they saw a lot of each other for several months. But something did take place, she got pregnant, and she got scared Manuel might go tell her parents. Not a real good reason to do what she was going to do, but often times our selections are like to like, meaning, you don’t necessary pick out a mate that would be good for you, but one to suite your fancy, and that is what Manual did, picked one to his fancy, like two peas in pod. And when he was sleeping, he was stabbed to death by his new girlfriend, she cut up his body, put the parts into a suitcase, and went downtown Lima, to the Rimac River, and left the suitcase there, until it stunk to the high heavens.
Part Four
(to ‘The Black Zone Horror’)
The Priest and the Entity
He, Manual had told the priest during one of their sessions, before he was killed, told him, Bruni, of his weird dreams, more on the order of pseudomemories of his entity. These dreams were extracted by the entity within him, who told him, he had come from the Paleozoic Age, and had hid in the underground chambers throughout the world, for 125,000-years; here he lived amongst the cyclopean masonry, and megalithic walls that had sunken with the many earthquakes throughout history.
Through his dreams, the entity, explored his path with Manual, he was taken into the same objective reality, deeper and deeper into the crust of the earth.
Around this time, the entity got curious, and Manual’s sleeplessness prevailed, inflicted by the demon, and next came impulses in his brain, the entity knew how to shut it down, almost like having a renter vacating the premises, and the black zone, with its horrors took over.
Part One: The Seatmate
Part Two: The Court Case
Part Three: The Dirge (Or poetic Justice)
Part Four: The Priest and Entity
Written August 1, 2008© Dlsiluk
Labels: Dr. Dennis L. Siluk, Poeta Laureado
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 11:23 AM
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