Writings From The Grave or "HOMOcide"

The following is from a poorly written fictional story long since lost called "Writings From The Grave" by Nicholas Pacione, which I happened to save years ago. Rather than give someone back something they could have kept had they backed up their constantly crashing hard drives, I'm only going to post the funniest bits from it, and by "it" I mean yet another story where a woman is slaughtered in a gory manor. It was a piece like many of his from that time that featured long nonsensical rants about religion and phrases like

"The thoughts of the philosopher are left to be molested in the eyes of a pastor or a preacher.

Back then he wrote the words "molested" and "preacher" often. In the story, a brutal set of murders have befallen his state. The police have quite a case on their hands, so who you gonna call?

They had found a map of Du Page County with an upside down cross drawn on it -- it was starting from Roselle to Naperville, Illinois. They had to recruit a horror writer to study the patterns of the killings -- they gave the writer, Nicholaus Andrew Pacione, the pictures of the crime scenes to see if there was a pattern to the ritualistic horror that happened in a three year time span starting in October of 1987 to the year of 1990.

I wanted to stop after revealing his name, his middle name, as "Andrew", when we've seen in the past him say it was "Albert" or if you've read Tabloid Purposes 2, "Ablert", but he added a comma and ran that sentence on longer than it should have been.

They were thinking that Pacione had an idea about how the crimes were taking place. “Pacione, we know that you write about things of this nature, and we were wondering if you can make out these pictures out -- the other pictures were provided by the Naperville Police, Bloomingdale Police, and the Du Page County Sheriff. The images that were found on the crime scene were diplicted to the celebration of Candlemas, a pagan holiday in February. We are suspecting that these crimes were that of a murder cult, one that had used the Necronomicon for their spiritual guidence.”

"Nickolaus, we know you write about this kind of thing using poor spelling and we need your help so you can make out these pictures out!" At this point, Nicky blesses the stumped police force with his David Caruso-esc wisdom, where he accuses them of pirating his work I shit you not.

“Officer Freedman, I will have to take a closer look at these pictures. Holy fuck -- I was quite afraid of this, this is something that was taken out of my rough drafts. About five months ago my rough drafts had been stolen from my locker in Glenbard North -- I don’t know how they were stolen, but the crimes that are taken place are straight out of my direct research of the occult and of my correspondence to a true crime writer out in Tacoma, Washington.

A crime has been committed alright, a crime most foul, a crime called PIRATING NICKY'S WORKS!

Do you think that I can call her? I am asking as your best friend?” Nicholaus states to the police officer, “Steve, trust me on this -- and do you think that I can mail copies of your findings to her.”

First they have to figure out who moved the question mark around. Because of this evil deed, it appears as though he is asking if Steve is his best friend then asks if he can mail copies of their findings to her, but he didn't actually, since it ends like every other question he asks: Without a question mark. Remember how I said he misspelled his own middle name at the beginning of a book HE edited himself? Well prepare for a second misspelling of his first name for the second time in this story!

“Nik, if it can help our case, I am all for it. I have been a member of homocide since 1983, and I had never came across crimes this brutal. As a kid, I grew up in a small Minnesota town, but I heard horror stories on the news in the Twin Cities about murders -- I never thought that Du Page County would have murders that are so grosteque and disturbing, I cannot begin to describe the details.

Stop. Nicky's characters have always heard shit that went on in the past as previously pointing out in reviews on this site, but a cop whose job it is to document shit like this "cannot begin to describe the details" making Steve inept, much like the story's author.

"It is something that would only come out of the fiction that you would write. I am only 26 years old and have a son that is 14 years old;

Steve you SLUT! You had a child at the age of 12, which means you probably had sex when you were 11. That must be why you can't do your job right since you were having relations instead of doing your homework.

I never was prepared for the gang related murders and bizarre murders that would happen in Glendale Heights. I only pray to God that I don’t find a body that had been disembowelled or dismembered, but that all changed when I got the pictures from the murder of that woman in Addison, Illinois. The way that she had been just brutalized -- strangled while she was being raped, and the murderer had been cutting her open while he was fucking her, the murder turned out to be an African American woman in her late 20s. It frightens me how one would truely do such a deed.” Officer Freedman had said while giving me the go ahead to call Roxanne Edwardson, an aspiring true crime writer.

In reading all that I don't see where he gave the "go ahead". Maybe he was using sign language to Nik while reciting his epic gothy prose.

“Steve, I lived in Du Page and Schamburg most of my life -- gangs are a factor anywhere in Du Page County.“ I said while dialing out to Tacoma. “Roxanne, I had some pictures to show you -- how fast can you get to Chicago. When you get out here, book a hotel room in Joliet and call the Glendale Heights Police Department.
The homocide unit recruited me to help them

Now we see why!

with the investegation because the murders are mirroring the content in my manuscripts. How soon can catch the next plane to O’Hare Airport. Steve will be joining me in Joliet.” Steve was shaking his head to me,

Steve was shaking his head out of confusion, Nik. He was trying to figure out if you were asking questions or just stating shit that happened to sound like questions, and how confusing it must be to Roxanne to pick up the phone to hear someone asking, but not really asking. At this point we also see a twist: Nik is also a murderer! The whole time they are investigating one crime, he's murdering the English language!

Steve had put on an oversized flannel and black jeans, I was dressed in mostly black clothing -- and had some jewellery on.

At this point Steve dresses like Nik, while Nik is dresses like Dame Edna, no doubt a ploy to throw off the murderer and e-pirate. Nik's bling was no doubt part of the undercover work.

My shirt had kept a .22 pistol hidden from plain site. The ride into the city was long and Steve had many questions. “Nik, what made you want to become a horror writer? I know that this is a deep question, and while I was in college, I too wanted to become a writer -- I have some of my writings with me. I also have a curiousity for the occult like you, but I became a police officer because of the things that I had seen in college were quite disturbing -- my roommate was found dead, they said that he was sufficated with his own pillow. When I came into the room and I thought he was sleeping, I tried to wake him up and his body was cold to the touch -- later found that he had a cut from one side of his neck to the other.”

Steve didn't have time to become a writer as he was on the talk show circuit discussing how it felt to be the world's youngest baby-daddy at age 12.

It was quiet most of the way -- he had said nothing much after that. He sort of knew that the writings from the grave are a dark prophecy, one that would later speak of a being that was lurking in the dark of the Joliet Union Station. It was without a face and walked the station only at night. When Steve and I had seen this thing, we pulled out our guns and began to fill the fucker full of slugs.

The dark prophecy spoke of a story that would segue from a quiet car ride somewhere to shooting at a monster who would have gastropod mollusk garden pests shot at it.

“What the fuck is this thing, it is just keep coming at us. Do you have any silver bullets -- I am saying this because it has a strong odor to it, the odor of slow decay. It has the mind of Charles Manson, but smelled like the decay that is beneath the basement of John Wayne Gacy.

”Do you non-believers see now why they got Nik on this case? That's right! Because he was bitten by a radioactive bloodhound years before that allows him to sniff out undead monsters. That, and his experience of being one of the few people on earth who not only sniffed John Wayne Gacy's basement, but remembered it'd distinct odor.

By the time that we got to the hotel in Joliet, we were too late because we found Roxanne all right -- her body had been wrapped in a sheet and duct taped like a mummy. She was still alive, but barely because her skin was cool to the touch -- the only part of her that was exposed was her face up to her eyes. They had her hanging from her feet upside down. Whe we tried to cut her loose, she flopped once like a fish and then she wasn’t moving anymore. “Nik, call the fucking ambulance -- she is still breathing and has a pulse, but she is baring awake. Her eyes are closed and she is badly shaken -- I am going to try to untie her and put some clothes on her, she looked like that she had been raped and someone had forced a knife across her wrists. This is too much -- it is like one of your stories and one of her crime articles.”

Steve you lazy asshole call the ambulance yourself. Regarding her being wrapped in a sheet and duct taped like a mummy, see bondage sleepsack.

She was mumbling something -- it sounded like the name of her attacker. We had stayed with her until the Joliet Police arrived, then we had picked up a blanket from the floor and had her lay down across the bed -- Steve managed to get a dress on her and I managed to get some socks and some boots on her feet, but we did the best that we can not to tamper with the crime scene.

Nik had other uses beyond his super sniffing powers, he was also an expert at applying socks to rape victims. Well at least she's out of that bondage sleepsack!

After we managed to get her fully dressed, I covered her up with a thick blanket.

Or not.

There was a pentagram on a mirror and a cryptic message on there, it was written in cat’s blood.

See? You thought that his sniffing duties were over and you were wrong. He was able to tell by the odor of the blood that it came from a cat.

I leave you not with the final line in the story, but one that comes a few before it, that perfectly sums up this whole piece.

All of this did not make sense, but the horrors that were keyed together were a nightmare that one either a true crime writer or a horror writer cannot key

Eerily enough, he was right! It neither made sense nor was it "keyed" by a horror writer. It was written by Nik aka Nickolaus Albert Pacione aka Nickolaus Ablert Pacione aka Nicholaus Andrew Pacione aka Dame Edna!

What did we learn from this story?
If there something strange in your neighborhood, who you gonna call? Nicholaus Andrew Pacione!
If a story was stolen, from your lockeroom, who you gonna call? Nickolaus Albert Pacione!
If you have a crime scene, and it needs to be sniffed, who you gonna call? Nik Pacione!
If you're almost dead, and your socks aren't on, you go gonna call? Nickolaus Ablert Pacione!
If you got a girl pregnant, when you're only 12, who you gonna call? HOMOcide Unit!