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screamhole · 3 years

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MY DATE WITH DEATH: A TRUE MEMORY & STORY

Did I ever tell you about my date with Death? Well, it’s a pretty horrible day where I’m at, so what better way to kill it than by spinning up one of my famous stories? And let me tell you, this one spins like a Beyblade in Hell on acid!

Folks, let me tell you about the time I died, and all the fun I had along the way.

It all started in the bathroom, as so many classics do. I was brushing my teeth in the shower, as I am wont to do (note to reader: this means ‘as I want to do’; it looks dumb written out, but it’s actually smart as hell). Shower-brushing is a small time-saving trick of mine, which I never fail to apply on the daily. This day was no exception. I was all over those holy molars of mine when suddenly, I lost my footing on a bar of soap that I stand on (another of my time-saving manoeuvres) and I came tumbling down onto the slip mat. Slip is right, I thought, and would have made a note of that zinger had the toothbrush not become stuck in my windpipe. Choking, as I recall, I scrambled out of the tub and, knowing the house was empty because my wife Angie was at work, I rushed over to the neighbours’ apartment. Maybe they had air at their place, I thought. Sadly, I wasn’t quick enough; I was inches from their door when my body just couldn’t go anymore, and I collapsed on the landing floor. Luckily, I wasn’t naked; I had paused on the way to put on several pairs of pants.

So that was it. Dead. Me. Me = Dead. Except it wasn’t how I expected. I mean, I wasn’t seeing all-nothing, or even all-black. In fact, I got up and saw myself, lying there, all-dead-and-all-soapy. “Ghost!”, I said. And I was right. I was a ghost. A ghost who got to hang around and see it all, as it unfolded over the next few hours: the neighbours finding me, the two police officers standing over my stiff, sud-ridden corpse. “What do you think, Sarge?” said the young one. “Another shower-sex hallway suicide?” “Don’t be stupid, kid” said the sergeant. “This guy’s wearing pants. I think we can chalk it up to a classic toothbrush-in-the-neck life hack gone wrong.” “Good think I put on all those pants” I quipped, realising immediately that it was pointless because they couldn’t hear me. They couldn’t hear me! Damn, that was the deal, wasn’t it? You have to get all of the talking out of the way while you’re livin’. But there was so much I still needed to say about dyin’! This chin could be wagging forever, let me tell you. That’s some deal, huh? The one thing we all want to know about and here I am in the middle of it, with lips too stiff and dead to flap about it. How’s that for ass blastwards? So there I was, with a hell of a story to tell. And I knew there was only one person I’d be able to tell it to.

Whoopi Goldberg.

My grandma was dead. Is dead. She was dead, and now she is dead... again. Am I making sense here? She told me about the first time she died, back in the 90s. She was sucking on a Werther’s Original when it went down the wrong way and got stuck in her toaster and burned her house down. Lying on that hospital bed, she was legally dead for a good 27 minutes before they realised and resuscitated her (I think they were too busy watching some dumb Patrick Swayze movie on the communal television to notice). Thinking back, we all felt like she had gone crazy while she was dead, but now it seems there might have been some true-speak in all that wack-talk of hers. “If you ever die,” she once said to me as a kid, “If you die and you have to say something to a loved one, go to Whoopi Goldberg. I saw it. She helped me tell your grandfather he had soup on his good pants in the hospital, it was driving me crazy and was probably what set me off dying in the first place. I know it will work, son. If you need her, she’ll be there for you”. With those words in my ear, I packed a bag and headed out in search of Whoopi.

I made it to the airport, and was having trouble scanning my passport with no corporeal form, when out of nowhere the whole room grew dim. People froze in motion, and there was an icy chill which took over the whole space. And then, a small light, like from the end of a tunnel, grew from behind the baggage claim. A screeching whistle came with it, before a train of bones roared past my face. The brakes braked, and as the bones ground to a halt out stepped a cloaked figure from the carriage.

“Hello” he said. “You’re dead”.

“I’m dead?” I asked.

“You’re dead” he said. “And I’m Death.”

“You’re dead too?” I asked.

“That’s right, I am Death” he said.

“Me too” I said.

“I doubt it, kid” he said. “Anyway, sorry I’m late. There was some protest at Limbo station. All the staff walked out right after this demon... you know what? Not important. What is important is that you kicked your bucket. So hop on in, pup, next stop is your new forever home: Hell. OH. OH! That is, unless you want to play chess?”

I turned away from the stranger. “Sorry, I don’t play that game… not anymore, that is.” I was kind of hoping that he would dig into my deep dark past relationship with the game of kings.

“Suit yourself, friend” said Death. “Half the pieces are missing anyway. The one chess set on this hell train, you think these devil freaks are gonna put it back neatly? Fat chance. Anyhoodle, let’s get moving, up you come”.

“I’m really going to Hell?”

“Yeah” said Death. “Frickin’ Hell City, USA. And unless you wanna effin’ play chess, kid, I don’t wanna hear any more fuckin’ back talk. Hop the eff on”.

I couldn’t believe it. I had to escape; to re-live, and tell the tale of what death is like, and also what Death is like (note: make clear very handsome in second draft). A plan formed in my head, just like the plan to do a checkmate on the other guy forms in the head of a grand master chess player. “Oh, but Death,” I said “I really do want to play, but like you said we can’t play on that old set. It has no bishops”. “That’s how we like it in Hell,” said Death, “it’s really more of a drinking game. Anyway, I take your point, kid; this chess board sucks. But where do you suggest we find a decent travel chess set at this hour, in this realm of existence? You got one in your great coat?”

“No” I said. “But I think I have an idea. Let’s make a stop in… New York (maybe?)”

Luckily, my plan worked out. I had managed to guess Whoopi Goldberg’s exact location: a Starbucks on 6th Avenue (note: check real place). I had also tricked Death into taking us there on the promise there’d be chess, and also he wanted a coffee. The train of bones crunched through the coffee shop window, shattering the glass and grinding the tables beneath it. Thankfully, this all played out in the dead dimension so it was totally fine. No one noticed. No one, that is, except Whoopi.

“What the hell?!” she cried, jumping back from her table.

“Whoopi,” I said climbing down, from the bone train, “you’ve got to help me. I’m dead and I know for an absolute fact you can send messages to the living.”

“Oh I get it,” said Whoopi, “you think just because I played a medium in that movie that I can really talk to dead people?”

“Listen Whoopi, I’ve never even seen Sister Act, so please don’t assume I would be so irrational and quick to judge people like that. Instead of accusing me of stuff, how about you accept that you’re talking to a real ghost right now, and so therefore I am right.”

“Oh my God” said Whoopi. “I guess I can speak to ghosts. I guess all my years on The View have made me capable of speaking to anyone”.

“Yeah: you, Jimmy Kimmel, Graham Norton… all supremely cursed folks. Talk-show hosting is a real double-edged sword. Back to me, though. Whoopi: can you call my wife and tell her I loved her? Oh, and also I won’t be able to make it to our Saturday UNO game for obvious reasons. Oh, oh, and that the obvious reasons are that I’m going to Hell on the bone train with Death. Sorry, so much has happened today, I forget to bring people up to speed.”

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice” said Whoopi. She closed her script for Sister Act 3 and opened up Skype, making a call to the account details I gave her. The little jingle played before a familiar voice answered.

“Angie?” said Whoopi. “This is Whoopi Goldberg”

“And?” said my wife.

“Angie, I’m calling on behalf of your departed husband.”

“Oh my god,” Angie said. “What has he done now?”

“He’s dead, actually,” explained Whoopi, “choked on a toothbrush before you got home. The police must have taken him away but stopped for lunch, so they’ve not gotten a chance to let you know about it. He wants you to know that he loves you, Angie. You were the best thing in his life. Doesn’t sound like tough competition for a man who loved toothbrushes and chess, but all the same, he wanted you to know.”

“Cool, good to know” said Angie. “Hey, one second: does this mean that he’s talking with you right now?”

“Yeah,” said Whoopi “his spirit is here. Right now he’s looking at his hair in the window, even though he’s literally invisible.”

“Well, if he’s really there,” said Angie, “I’ll ask him something only he would know and that will prove ghosts are real. What’s my favourite colour?” “Shit…” I said. “Uh, I dunno, green maybe”.

“Uh, I dunno, green maybe” said Whoopi.

“Wow, that’s spooky”, said Angie. “It’s actually purple, but that idiot always thinks it’s green. He even painted the house green for our anniversary. What a dunce. Ok, cool, tell him no worries. If he can make it home tonight for UNO, great, but I’ll not be holding my breath.”

“Don’t worry, my wife,” I said. I have a plan”

“Don’t worry, his wife, he has a plan,” said Whoopi.

“I’ll definitely not wait up then. Thanks Whoopi. We loved you in Sister Act by the way” said Angie, and hung up.

“Ah, guess I have seen it,” I told Whoopi. “Well, thanks for your help. I guess there’s only one option left: I’m gonna have to kidnap and murder Death”.

“Why don’t you just beat him at chess and win your life back, like in that movie?” asked Whoopi.

“For the last time, Whoopi, I don’t remember Sister Act at all!” I said. “More to the point, I don’t play chess. Not after… that night.” I was kind of really hoping someone was gonna ask about the deep dark past thing. It’s not often I get to tell these stories.

“Suit yourself, kid” said Whoopi. “I guess you’re going to Hell, then”.

The bone train door slammed open.

“Ok kid,” said Death, “it’s been 50 minutes now. Do they have my mocha frapp or what? Are we gonna play chess now, or what? Honestly? I kind of feel like you’re using me for some kind of plot thing that’s going on for too long, and I just want to play some games to take my mind off the fact that my job sucks forever. You + Me = Hell, RIGHT NOW.”

Think fast, I thought, at a normal thought-speed. Suddenly, it hit me.

“Alright, Death. Time to play, for my very soul.”

“Sweet,” said Death.

“But not at chess.”

“Ah, Jeez!” Death groaned.

“No, I could never play chess again. It’s actually a really cool and dark story that I haven’t had a chance to tell, but maybe I could tell it if…” “Yeah, yeah, what’s the game, kid?” said Death, doing the wrap-up-the-story hand gesture with his bone-fingers.

I pulled a pack of cards from my great coat pocket (as in, the coat pocket is really great, it’s just a regular modern fashionable coat).

“UNO?!” cried Death. “Kid, you really are going to Hell.”

“Not if I can help it,” I said. “I was taught by the best: my wife. She made me the player I am today. And she takes no prisoners. So yes, Death. I’d wager my life on the back of her teaching”.

Death pulled up a table, and leaned his scythe against the coat rack.

“Whatever, dude. Just deal ‘em out.”

I played Death best of three. Best of three is right, I thought. More like the best three games of my life, let me tell you. They had to be, given what was at stake. We tied one-to-one. Death learned the game so fast, and he was soon a worthy competitor. It was down to the knuckle, which was unfair given his were so much more visible. We were down to two cards each, and it was his turn. I had to pull it out, but these last two cards were the worst I could have had. He slammed down a green 3.

“This is it, kid. This next card’s a ticket to Satan’s ass. STANDARD CLASS.”

I flipped a yellow 3.

“UNO,” I declared, “and guess what, Death? You were so busy sassing me, you forgot to say UNO yourself, so you have to PICK UP.”

Death shuddered realising his mistake.

“What?! No!” he cried. “Ah, fuck this game! Why couldn’t we have played Demon Party Drunk Chess anyway. Oh my god, these cards suuuuuck!”

The last card was one of those wild cards you can write on. “I’m done, Death. And my custom rule is that you have to give me my soul and my life back.”

“The game’s over kid. Also, I don’t think that’s a real rule you can make anyway. But a bet is a bet.” He waved his hand, doing cool Death magic or something. “Now get back to living before I do something I regret”.

I felt my spirit form fading as I regained my life inside my body. It looked kind of like that scene with Marty McFly in Back To The Future where he’s almost erased from existence.

“Wow,” I said. “This is just like that movie”.

“Yep.” said Death, walking away sulkily. “Just like Sister Act.”

“Thanks for everything” I said. “So long.”

“You know, it is a shame. I would have liked to play with you again. But I don’t have friends much anymore. Things have been a little tough since the whole… incident.”

“Suit yourself, kid" I said, vanishing into the air.

“Oh well I guess I could stop by now that you mention it, ok thanks, see you and your wife tonight at 8??”

Damn, I thought. My body had left that realm, but his words followed me. I guess it wouldn’t be the worst date I had in my life! I thought (man I gotta write these zingers down). “See you then, Death” I whispered, my voice going all ethereal. “See you then.”

I woke up in the ground, soil trickling onto a cheap coffin the cops had stuffed me in. Weeping, some folks were throwing handfulls of dirt into the hole where I was lying. I didn’t recognise them, I think they just wanted a day out at the graves. I bust through the lid of that thing like it was cardboard, and climbed out. “Come on guys” I said, pushing off the coffin lid. “You gotta throw more dirt on than that, I haven’t got all day. If you give me a shovel I’ll get it done much faster.” And I did. And when I was done filling my own grave, I walked home, knocked on my door, and was met by my beautiful Angie. “Boy, did I miss you” I said, shaking her hand in a friendly manner.

“You have soap in your hair” she said.

“I know. And soil in my shoes babe, it’s a weird combination. But there’s also love in my heart. And if you’ll have me, I am ready for UNO. Speaking of which, I may have invited a friend along…”

So there you have it. That’s how me and my wife Angie got ourselves a weekly dinner date with Death, of underworld fame. And you know what? It’s a lot of fun having him round. It can be hard to make friends as a couple, and he’s a good guy. Even though I sometimes worry a little too much about our fate beyond this lifetime, every time I hear that screechin’ bone-train a-comin’, I smile knowing it will all be ok. In fact, I think I hear it coming now…

…ok never mind, it was just my wife screamin’ at me again.

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orangepunkwitch-blog · 7 years

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Hoo boy, we got an unpleasant family member’s spirit pissed at me for some reason. Luckily she’s not hostile but damn, does she literally get in my face.

My maternal grandmother wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of people. She had a favorite child, which was my uncle (who is disowned from the family; he’s a drug-addict but not in the escape-the-world sort of way, will try his best to fuck people out of money, etc.; long story about him) while treating my mom and (when mom moved to Arizona for ten years) my aunt (her younger sister) like personal slaves. Grandma wouldn’t drive herself anywhere. Mom and my aunt had to drive her. Any time my uncle did something wrong, regardless of what it was, grandma saw nothing wrong, saw he could do no wrong, and that was that. If my mom or my aunt did anything minuscule but enough to irritate grandma, she’d tear them a new one. Mom would tell the whole family what my uncle was like, how he got away with shit, use people for money, etc. Nobody believed her until they saw first hand. Only person that believed her first was when I was really little and it was my great grandfather when he noticed he was being used by my uncle for money. It wasn’t until my uncle’s mother-in-law’s funeral that a major influence in mom’s extended family saw what kind of a shithead he was when he was advertising his wife for prostitution at her mother’s funeral. (His wife was a piece of work by herself; long story with her, too.)

But since that major influence of the family family-member found out, nobody apologized to my mom for denying what she’d said before that turned out to be true. My parents are black sheep of their respective families (and I’m an abysmal sheep of the immediate and extended family, lol). So it’s no surprise my mom doesn’t hear family members admit that she was right except for my aunt who obviously knew this shit first-hand.

*whew* ‘Kay, so... back to grandma. My two cousins (son and daughter of my aunt) never felt a connection with grandma because of this... I guess you could say lack of interest she had in seeing them largely because they weren’t my uncle’s children. Grandma seemed to show more distaste and unhappiness with me and my brother because she didn’t like my dad (for whatever reason). Anytime my brother, one of my cousins, and I would have fun as kids at her house, we got a nasty look from her. So I never particularly interacted with her unless I absolutely had to, and that was rare, too.

She was put in a nursing home in the northern part of the state where my aunt and her family lives. They banned my uncle from visiting, and she and the immediate family would go and visit. Over time, she developed Alzheimer's and dementia, her memory getting shorter but also going back in time. She tried escaping the nursing home saying that she was going to go home, and she wanted to see.. a family member (I think) that’s been dead for years.

Eventually (like, two years ago), the nurses called my mom and my aunt saying she was on her way out and to come and be with her during her final moments. They ended up staying nearby for a whole week because grandma was hanging on tightly. The nurses and both my mom and aunt said they don’t know why she’s fighting to hang on for so long, but they agreed when I brought up the possibility that she wanted my uncle to be there (again, he wasn’t allowed because he used her for money in the past, hocked everything in her house when she was sent to the nursing home, etc.) Without hearing from her favorite child that used her, she slipped away. When the funeral was held, I didn’t cry and neither did my cousins, because we didn’t feel a connection with her. But my aunt and my mom both said it’s okay and that they understood. They understood more than anyone in that funeral home.

I didn’t cry for the death of my grandmother. But I did get a bit choked up at the realization that my aunt and my mom lost both of their parents. And that the better parent passed when my aunt was really young, and my mom was barely 20. But when a minister asked if anyone would like to come up and say some kind words about her, nobody did. Again, my grandma wasn’t exactly a very pleasant woman. One thing I did inherit from her that you see in my mom is a fiery rage we can tap into and use for strength. Damn, do we scare people when that happens. I channel mine into getting into art, being politically informed, etc.

Okay, onto the ghost story.

Despite my grandma passing away a couple years ago, it was only the recent couple of months that I started to see her out the corner of my eye. It’s always when I’m in the kitchen getting something to eat in the middle of the night. Out the corner of my eye she will stand in the doorway to the dining room in a white gown. It’s just a feeling that it’s her, and I can just tell she’s pissed at me. My husband (who has never met her) has seen the bottom of her gown once, and it was on his way through the dining room and living room right next to the couch. So when I brought up what I saw and said who it was, he was like, “Oh great, so that’s who I saw earlier.” She most likely has no qualms with my husband, so she doesn’t bother him. Just me, and only me. My parents haven’t seen her.

Night before last, grandma got up in my damn face like she’s yelling at a child she thinks is an entitled brat (describing a pose here; you know how a parent gets in the child’s face for saying something smart-ass, right?). Though by “face” I mean my ear. Maybe she was trying to shout something at me, but I heard nothing.

She can’t reach me in my room thanks to my filtered wards (my brother’s spirit has been in my room no problem). So I finally did a pendulum reading for a bit of insight as to what the fuck my grandma’s ghost’s problem is. While she’s visiting here for my mom, she’s mad at me because I’m not a xtian. My grandma was a hardcore xtian... catholi----xtian of some sort, I don’t remember.

The funny thing is, she doesn’t leave a certain part of the house. But she isn’t hostile. She probably knows I could ban the fuck out of her ass if she became hostile. But instead, she’s just similarly unpleasant in spirit as she was in life. She hasn’t raised a hand to me or my brother. My brother’s fine---he in fact pranks me from time to time, makes fart noises, etc. He’s having fun. Grandma, however, is just being a party-pooper.

Thank shit she isn’t hostile, though. Cleansing this house isn’t going to get rid of her because she isn’t malicious or anything like that. Just... not nice. Good thing my wards are kick-ass.

I don’t know why she’d have a problem with me not being xtian when my brother’s spirit specifically said to not worry about who’s right and shit like that, because there’s a very pleasant surprise on the other side, and it’s all good news. I dunno, maybe my grandma hasn’t had the chance to move on, and is checking out family members before she completely crosses over? After all, she’s visited here for like, two months.

I’d get more information, but right now, we haven’t had things going our way so we can see our trusted medium-friend yet, and she’s been busy with her family, so it’s a matter of schedules not syncing up like they should.

I get that she wants to visit and stuff, but damn! Get off my back, grandma! Go pester my dad since you seem to hate him so much!

#personal #ghost stories #go away if you can't be nice grandma

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moved-to-klirk-hammurton · 5 years

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Punisher Fan Fiction Chapter 3: Trouble

The next morning, Frank opens his eyes to see Nadya nestled comfortably against his bare chest. He smiles to himself, folding one arm behind his head as he curls the other around her shoulders. He caresses her arm tenderly and closes his eyes again; for once, he had slept soundly without any nightmares. He woke up to his body being completely relaxed. He didn't ache and didn't feel worn or tired. His mind and body were finally at peace. It felt good to him to feel this way. Taking in a deep breath, he exhales contentedly. All was well until his cell phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand beside his bed. He jumps at the sound, going into an alert mode but sighs heavily as he realizes that it's only the cell phone. Rubbing his temples, he carefully reaches for it and rolls his eyes as he recognizes the number belonging to his old friend, Micro. Frank rubs his eyes with frustration as he flips open the phone.

"This had better be good Lieberman. It's-" Frank begins to scold before looking at the phones screen for the time, "it's five o'clock in the morning. Unless someone is dead or dying, you'd better have a damn good reason for calling this goddamn early, David," he'd threaten Lieberman with a growl to his voice. A heavy weight of regret started to weigh on Franks chest as it seemed like history was repeating itself again.

"Remember that mob family you attacked a few months back? Well, they're back on the grid Frank, and they are not happy. I've been getting pings all over Hells Kitchen, NYC, and even down in New Jersey about their activity. I don't know what you did, but I think they're planning on going to war...going to war with you Frank...With the Punisher. You've really gotten yourself into some trouble this time," Lieberman says on the other line. He was a scruffy looking man with an unkempt beard and thick, curly hair that nearly resembled a small afro, yet he was ex military just like Frank. Lieberman rubs his forehead with his middle and index fingers, along with his thumb as he could hear the heavy breathing from Frank through the phone.

"Names Lieberman, I need names. Who am I dealing with this time? Who's stepped up, who's working for who now? Where are they establishing themselves, where's their hideout, their business partners and allies. I need information Lieberman!" Frank finally snaps at him. The harshness of his voice causes Nadya to jolt awake from her sleep. Her chest heaves as she looked around the room before finally seeing Frank on the phone. From the harsh expression on his face, she could tell he wasn't happy. His jaws were clinched tightly as a tic had worked into his temple. The shadow that was cast across his face was darker near the orbitals of his eyes due to his brow being furrowed with frustration.

"Wait wait wait, one question at a time Frank. I'm only just now getting this information. You gotta give me a few minutes to work my magic to figure_" Lieberman begins to explain before being cut off by Frank.

"Get me everything you can, then get back to me David," Frank says before closing the phone to hang up. He looks at Nadya and cups her cheek in his hand. The words of Lieberman shook him to the core, causing flashbacks to zip through his mind and cloud his vision. It was like one of those old reels of tape on a constant wheel of repeat, replaying the same portion over and over again, except it was a horror tape. He couldn't help but to see his beloved Maria smiling and laughing with him one minute, then the next there she was...dead on the ground with blood splattered on the face of a porcelain horse on the carousel. His ears became clogged with the piercing screams of his children as they saw their mother gunned down before falling victims themselves of the gun fire. Suddenly, Frank feels a sharp pain in his chest that causes his body to grow stiff and cold. The pain causes his vision to come back into focus as he gulps down air to clear his head. He could see Nadya now sitting up in bed. Her eyes were wide, but soft and full of concern as she looked at Frank.

"Frank? Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," Nadya remarks to him. What she didn't know was that he did see a ghost. Three to be exact. The ghosts of his past that still seemed to weigh him down like a ball and chain. Frank rubs his eyes with his index finger and thumb with a sigh as he nods. Even though he shook his head 'yes,' his eyes still said otherwise. His expression looked as though he had taken a swift kick to the balls. His brow ridge was furrowed and pain riddled his eyes. That's when he did one of the most painful things, he offered a small, warm smile to her and nodded. He didn't want to worry her first thing in the morning.

Pulling Nadya close, he kisses her forehead. "Yeah, I'm okay. Nothing to really worry about," he assures her before standing up with a stretch. The phone call seemed to have taken quite a lot out of him, but he wouldn't show it. At least not blatantly. Parts of him still wanted to hold onto last night. Thinking back to it caused a small chuckle to rise into his chest as he smirked inwardly at the thoughts. Each step he took towards Nadya, the more his hand began to let go of the ghosts of Maria. He wasn't ready just yet to let go, but he had been living in the past for way too long now. It was time to start letting go and start moving forward.

"What did David want? You didn't sound to happy with him," Nadya inquires as she stiffly scoots towards the edge of the bed. She looks up to Frank and arches a brow to him. "I know that look Frank. Tell me what it was. What is it: DEA, FBI, CIA...ANVIL?"

As she listed off the names of the different organizations, Frank could feel himself growing more fearful. Even the Punisher himself had fears he hid under that cold exterior. He clinches his teeth as a tic worked into his jaw from him grinding his teeth. Using his thumb and index finger, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and exhales a sigh, knowing that Nadya was bound to discover the truth one way or another.

"I don't know which is going to be worse: Irish, Italian, or the Yakuza. All three are in an uproar right now and Micro has gotten intel on them that they're bound to make a move soon. Their target is right on my head, and yours..." he finally breaks the silence. He turns to look at the sounds of the sheets ruffling as Nadya stands up and walks to him, wrapping her arms around him from behind and rests her head against his spine.

"Then we'll have to swing back harder than last time. We'll make sure they stay down with no chance of getting back up," she says against his back. "Sic vis pacem pera bellum."

~o0o~

LOCATION 155 & Broadway Manhattan, New York County (Manhattan), New York, USA Time: 12:45 PM

Black suits filled both the interior and exterior of Trinity Church Cemetery and Mausoleum in Uptown for the funeral of the beloved familia captain, Anthony "Tony" Gambino. He was a capo to the Gambino familia within The Five Families of New York. A light drizzle fell upon those whom were at the cemetery and funeral home to pay their respects.

"Poor son of a bitch," Angelo says as he looks at the closed casket that held the remains of Tony. He rests a silver crucifix necklace on top of the casket before looking to Tony's father. Franceso was edging close to his mid 80s, but he didn't let that hold him down. "I'm sorry about Tony, boss. I really am. May God bless his soul and_"

"Ah hold that shit. Tony was far from being blessed...that stupid son of a bitch. Getting into shit he wasn't supposed to. Now look atcha. I gotta bury your ass. And of all days too eh? You had to die around the day your great grandfather got murdered by those damn cops, didn't ya?" Franceso curses at the casket with sadness and frustration. "Dammit...God forgive me..." he mutrers, touching his index and middle fingers to his forehead, gut, and each shoulder to mark the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Francesco slowly walks back to a pew within the church and takes a seat to get off of his weary feet. "Tony...my only son. He was the best damn Capo in Clinton. Who woulda guessed he'd get whacked by that hot cat in town. What's the media calling him now eh? Da Punisha. The goddamn Punisha."

Angelo nods as he listens to the old man. Taking the hand of Francesco into his, Angelo kisses his rings, "we'll get 'im boss. I promise ya that. That Punisha bastard ain't gonna be no more once we get our hands on 'im. Just tell me what you want done and I'll do it. I'll bring ya back his head or cock, just name it and I'll cut it off and give It to ya in a silver platter." Angelo tells Francesco before being cut off as other capos come to pay their respects to Francesco and his loss.

"I'm here on behalf of Johnnie. Poor bastard couldn't make it, but the Bonanno family sends their regards. We're here for ya," Vinnie tells Franceso before kissing the elders rings and taking his leave for others to follow suit.

By near 4 PM, Anthony's casket was laid into its final resting place within the mausoleum. Francesco rests his weight on the cane he carried around for balance as he says his final goodbyes to his son. He turns attention to Angelo, "Ang...Angelo my boy, you've always been like a son to me. I'll accept your offer. Bring me that son of a bitch alive. I want that bastard ta' hurt like I've been hurting watching ol' Tony have to fade away the way he did."

"You've got it boss. Anything for you," Angelo agrees as he glances around to be sure there were no stray ears eavesdropping on the duo. "Should I put a hit out in him? Have one of us bring him in alive for ya so we can cover more ground? I'll get the Bonanno and Columbo families in on it. They've always got your back."

"Yes, yes that will certainly work. For now, let's allow Tony to have a day of peace. Tonight, we'll be having a very special night of poker," Francesco tells the young capo before lighting himself a cigar. He takes a long drag, exhaling the plume of smoke up into the air. He was pained, but he wasn't about to let that show. He couldn't let his men see him cry. He couldn't show weakness. He was mad and pained. He wanted blood. He wanted Frank's head.

~o0o~

LOCATION 210 E 46th St, New York, NY 10017 Sparks Steakhouse Time: 8:45 PM

Sparks Steakhouse was a big time hangout for the Gambino family. It became a big part of their territory thanks to the old mobster, John Gotti. Francesco sat at a booth with several of his closest capos. The round table was cluttered with empty beer glasses and bottles. Several large platter sized plates were stacked in the center from a more than hearty meal. Steaks, shrimp, mozzarella sticks, and lobster bread were just some of the items on the menu that night in a way of memorance for Tony Gambino.

"Ah hell, I don't think I can stomach another bite," Paulie states as he rubs his overstuffed stomach. He was a fairly new capo, but he knew how to get shit done within the family. "What's the special occasion, Francesco?"

"You shouldn't be askin' me. Look to ya unda boss. He's got everything that you're gonna have ta' know," Francesco tells Paulie as he points to Angelo with his cigar before taking a drink of his scotch.

"Fellas, as you know, we're here in a way to honor poor ol' Tony. Three months ago, we took a pretty hard hit from that rat bastard, son of a bitch, named the Punisher, and because of him, we lost our beloved Tony. Yeah the bastard was a loose canon, but he was our loose canon. I'm gonna miss that bastard," Angelo says through a fairly shaky voice as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. "Today, I made a promise. It's not a promise just to Frankie, it's a promise to Tony too. We're gonna find that Punisher bastard, and we're gonna make him pay. He took something from us, so now we're going to take everything from him. He hurt us, so we're gonna hurt him. I want that bastard delivered alive."

"Can we rough him a bit? I'd like to make that motha fucka bleed for what he did to Tony! Oh how I'd like to cut that fucka's balls off," Joseph "Sonny" says as he slams a fist down on the table. "I've got a few guys that could help track him down for us. Couple of loan sharks, a few clean up crews. I'm sure we can find him somewhere. He primarily operates in Clinton, right?"

"That's what the media says. If he ain't there then the son of a bitch knows we'll be after him. Let's a get a move on this fucka and take him down," Angelo says before lifting his glass of whiskey. "His head is gonna be yours Tony. We ain't letting you die in vain Ton. For Tony!"

The rest of the twenty six men at the table raise their glasses and beers with a cheer of 'for Tony!' across the table. The men all meet each other's glasses before downing their drinks and setting their glasses on the table.

"May the Punisha huntin' commence boys," Francesco declares with a crooked grin and sets a wad of bills on the table to pay for the meal.

#frank castle #original character #fan fiction #italian mafia #trouble #it just got worse #for your entertainment #wattpad

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