Gianfranco Mancini > Recent Status Updates

The former ignored her completely, but the latter leered at her every time no one was around. She had an uncomfortable feeling, sometimes reaching panic proportions, that he would try to rape her again with the threat of blackmail. She knew that no matter what, she could never again submit; somehow she’d have to find a way out of the situation.

Quel bagliore faceva dolere gli occhi a Norman, e non voleva vedere, lui. E nemmeno aveva bisogno di guardare, perchè già sapeva.
La mamma aveva trovato il suo rasoio...

OBLIVION 2026
Fiera del libro, del fumetto e dell'irrazionale













📚📚📚💰💰💰💸💸💸

She heard the phone ring and knew it was Bert; she could never tell him what had happened. After the clock struck midnight, she heard the others come in from the theater in East Hampton and heard the cheery family good-nights. What would become of her? The night noises of the house were no comfort, they sounded as if they were laughing at her plight in ghostly cackles.

After George had left, Bert made his usual bedtime call to see if all was well at the house. Stacey answered explaining that “the old folks” were out for the evening but that all was well. She sounded cheerful; had her father known the reason why, he would have been agonized beyond endurance—yet it was but a prelude of what was to come.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “Nothing serious, but if you do it, I’ll let you do anything you want to me, whenever you want to, for as long as you like.” Stacey calculated that this was a prospect her brother could not refuse. She was right. “It’s a deal. I swear a solemn oath to do whatever you want if you swear to keep that promise.” “I swear,” came the grim, determined response.

The fantasies made him so happy that when his wife timidly said that the doctor had advised no further intercourse for the remainder of her pregnancy due to her age, he had magnanimously agreed. He’d show her other ways to pleasure him until it was time for the next pregnancy—which would be a month after this one was finished.

Solo quando entrò nel bagno ricordò un'altra cosa, ma era troppo tardi ormai. Il panico si scatenò, ma fu inutile. Ricordava ancora.
Anche la mamma aveva le chiavi del motel.
E poi, mentre scostava la tenda della doccia e abbassava gli occhi alla cosa squarciata e contorta sul pavimento del vano, si rese conto che la mamma aveva adoperato le sue chiavi.

“The energies in that house are in a state of growing frenzy and excitation. The manifestations get stronger every week. There is an unhappiness there that wants comfort and an evil that wants exorcising.” George snapped to attention. “I think I saw that movie. Are you going to do the Father Damien bit?” he asked ironically.

Not as bad as I used to remember.

Mary fece per gridare, e allora la cortina si aprì ancora di più e comparve una mano che stringeva un coltello da cucina. Fu il coltello che, un momento dopo, le troncò il grido. E la testa.

Fece per voltarsi, la bocca già atteggiata a formulare la frase, quando echeggiò un trillo metailico. Era il segnale: signiticava che qualcuno si era spinto fino al motel e chiedeva di essere lasciato entrare. Senza nemmeno prendersi la briga di voltarsi, Norman passò nell'atrio, prese dall'attaccapanni l'impermeabile e uscì nelle tenebre.

Her father would have been horrified if he had seen the play of emotions upon his daughter’s face. They were expressions he had seen often enough upon the rounds of the mental wards—eyes rolling, skin suffused with a rush of blood, teeth gnashing, and mouth close to frothing. She was actually tearing at her hair and screaming silently, already plotting her revenge for her father’s treachery.

When the legionaries entered, the sight that greeted them was what Typhon had expected. People had rushed here for refuge and the comfort of numbers. Here they had stayed, and would remain until their end, no longer out of choice, but out of weakness and apathy. The salvation they had sought had never been here. The grim, cruel fellowship of agony had welcomed them instead.

But the Shudderwood monsters were something else entirely. 'Mavbe we'z gunna see one of da Snatchers lurkin' in its lair,' said Buggit with ghoulish cheer as they picked their way through a cavern of glowing, troggoth-sized fungi. Insects crunched under Zograt's every weary footfall, and he hissed as the massive mushrooms fumbled at him with questing tendrils.

The witch smiled. ‘Nyssa Volari. Cursed to hear your mother Vasara’s voice echoing in your head, for as long as your unnatural life lasts. But does that mean you’re possessed by her ghost? Or is it the memory of her, made by your own mind? The answer is simple. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she is there, and you must make your peace with her and her death. And she must do the same.’

They left her in the cellar all of that night and most of the following day, ignoring her heartrending pleas for release as she screamed her terror of the dark. When they released her on Saturday morning, they finally had a child more to their liking. She seemed to be totally docile at least; never again did she defy them. The Ryans finally had the perfect child.

‘How many are you?’ The heretic’s voice wheezed from a desiccated throat.
Orghun held his blade before him, its point trained on the champion’s head. The ancient warrior wore no helm, but twisted bone spurs curved from his cheekbones and brows.
‘More than enough,’ Orghun said, circling to put the open door behind him again as Jamal and one of his Intercessors entered.
‘Oh, I doubt that,’ the heretic replied.

‘Honoured Khaijav?’
His sensors came online in a cascade of data. He was lost for a moment, overcome by information. Atmosphere assessors, status indicators, diagnostic reports. Servos in his legs twitched and strained against the hoist that restrained him. The reactor of his heart pulsed and overheat warnings rang across his sensorium.

She froze at the window-seated landing where the moonlight filtering through the stained-glass window gave an eerie cast to the scene before her. Lissie was standing before the forbidden door next to the fireplace tugging at the knob with all her might and tapping at it with her little fist calling “Daddy, Daddy, I’m here, I’m coming to you, Daddy.”

‘Let me spear him. I will keep the beam narrow.’ ‘Perhaps he should,’ Dzukar added. ‘We cannot have him complicating this moment of crisis.’ ‘It would be a pity, though,’ Trazyn said, opening a dimensional pocket and withdrawing a void-black cube. ‘For if you fire, I will be forced to activate this. And, trust me, venerable colleagues, you will not like what is inside.’

Trazyn basked in their consternation. After all, it had not been quite as easy as he’d suggested to gain entry to this chamber, and as a reward, he allowed himself a moment to savour their wrong-footed silence. He didn’t laugh – that would be crass – but he did record the moment so he might chuckle over it later.

‘We know who you are, Trazyn of Solemnace,’ Dzukar snapped, reactor flaring in irritation. ‘I recall that the last time you were caught here, we issued a writ of banishment. To return would be to die.’ ‘And yet’ – Trazyn spread his arms, as if to acknowledge a multitude acclaiming him in welcome – ‘here I am.’

Emerald steam billowed from the ramparts atop the Volakhan Gate, venting from the overtaxed gauss blasters of the Oruscar Dynasty Immortals. ‘Move not!’ Revkkah ordered, striding among her phalanx. She was so lost in the intensity of the battlesphere that she spoke the order aloud along with the interstitial broadcast. ‘Gird your necrodermis! Harden your joints! They are coming again!’