Should I even go there?  Do I want to relive trauma?

Since the anniversary of Stephen King’s IT, I’ve been experiencing a string of nightly terrors.  I don’t mean just bad dreams.  I’m talking horrifying terrors – of a clown that terrorized me on my 8th birthday.  I haven’t slept in over a week, give or take an hour here and there.

All those who remember The Ground Round restaurant, raise your hand.  Yeah.  Great place – except for Bingo the f*cking creep clownWHOSE idea was it to have a clown terrorize children?!  There’s a special place in hell for them.

Rewind back to 1978 – my 8th birthday.  My parents decided to spoil me, and had a huge party at the Ground Round restaurant.  Let me set the scene for you.  Imagine a place that resembles today’s Texas Roadhouse.  At every table – covered with red and white checkered table cloths – there were buckets of peanuts.  The floors were hard wood, and there was country music playing on the jukebox.

Back in the day when jukeboxes were a thing, my birthday party should’ve been fanfreakingtastic!  I’d bug my parents for quarters, and play music to my heart’s content, whilst playing the pinball machine against my brother.  But since my closest friends were also there, my musical fun was limited.  As my best friend used to say (and still probably does) “You and your stupid music”.  Leave my music alone.

Imagine, if you will, the largest room in the place, cleared for my birthday.  There were about a dozen family members, and ten or so of my best friends.  All having a grand old time.  Until …….

Sorry, but I refuse to put an actual picture. I might punch my screen.  Or spit at it.

Bingo the birthday clown has decided to pop up from nowhere, scaring the living shit out of me.

Why am I scared of clowns?  Shall I rewind a little further back?  Okay.  When I was four years old, my parents decided to take me to our local theme park, where there was of course a f*cking clown.  Needless to say, creepy creeperton decided to single me out in a crowd of a few hundred, and got two inches from my face.  He proceeded to stroke my face, calling me darling, and pinned a star on my chest for being such a good sport.  Excuse me.  I don’t think being terrified of your painted molesting mug equates being a good sport.

Fast forward back to my eighth birthday.  After a few rounds of Bingo popping up from the depths of Ground Round HELL, I decided to fix his little red-wigged wagon.  On my way to the little girl’s room with my friends, he decided to jump out at me from behind a door right next to the bathroom.

His day ended with a mouthful of spit, and my day ended at a table with my parents, since my friends were so embarrassed, they didn’t want to sit with me anymore.

Until a year or so before my mom passed, she never knew what had happened.  She just figured my friends were being mean.  Until my brother came forward with his story.  Come to find out, the clown was being SO creepy, he and my Uncle Frank took to throwing peanuts at him – earning them an escort out of the restaurant.

Happy freaking birthday!  Bingo, I hope you’re rotting in hell for what you did to me.


Tell me again why I decided to recreate this???

Oh yeah. Writing ideas.

A Place In The Clouds

For sins of the past
One eternally here
There is only pain
Its end nowhere near

Punishment undeserved
Of one not so wicked
50 years and 50 days
Then hopefully acquitted

When all hope seems lost
For a soul almost seared
An angel of mercy
From the heavens appeared

Surrendering self
There’s only one key
Unconditional love
Will set one free




Original poem Cara Krzyzanowski 13 September 2017

Inspired by Tim Donahue’s rock opera, ‘The Cage’



Beyond The Anger and Grief

Consider this a friendly word of advice. Take it for what it’s worth.

As a person who comes from a strong family background, I fear the ‘family’ unit has fallen apart over the years. There are too many dysfunctional ones, for many reasons which would take far too many words to list here. Infidelity, greed, and addiction are among some of the most common. And those can lead to a host of other unhealthy things.

Given how short life is, it shocks me when those with only a handful of family members left, make the decision to abandon their own blood. Have they been pushed to their limits? I often fear they will deeply regret their decision some day. But, it stands to reason that when that blood is poisonous, causing great pain day in and day out, it seems like the only option.

How is a person expected to react when they are forbidden to contact other family members, demanding exclusivity – in the name of anger and jealousy? I guess they can’t be blamed for their decision, when all they’ve done is bend over backwards, only to be met with more unreasonable demands and accusations – from multiple directions. It’s quite exhausting.

The worst part of such a situation is when the innocent are left to suffer, wondering what they’ve done wrong. And, as the years pass, the more bitter they become, not knowing who to trust, or who to point their broken fingers at.

It is my hope that any remaining decent adult family members point them in the right direction, placing proper blame where it is due. Then, maybe the poison can be flushed away for good, and relationships can be reformed and renewed, with a little effort and a pinch of trust.

Some folks just choose to completely start over. Perhaps they feel it’s best to completely detox, leaving all sources of poison behind. I just pray there are no regrets, as I’ve stated before.

Please, take care in any such decisions, even though it may seem like the only choice.

Practical Joker

A day late and a dollar short (what exactly does that even mean?), I’m writing this.

It’s funny I ran across this prompt, because just this morning, as I was still peeling my eyelids open (my typo originally said PEEING! Imagine peeing your eyelids open…..), a memory of me torturing my family made me laugh.

You see, I’m a sadistic little shit. I take delight in freaking people out, and/or screwing with them.

A few years ago, before my father passed away, I was sitting at his kitchen table, along with my two brothers, my father, and my daughter. My husband was in the other room watching Star Trek or something.

Everyone was so consumed in conversation, an evil little gremlin snuck into my ear and whispered “Do it“. My face morphed into a smiling Grinch, and I whipped out my cell phone, stealthily hiding it under the table as I continued pretending to listen what everyone was talking about.

My brother had his laptop on the table, and we were listening to funny YouTube videos. But naughty me, I turned on my YouTube app, and pulled up this.

DO NOT LISTEN WITH EARPHONES!!! You’ll lose your mind.

Keep in mind, I have close to 50% hearing loss, and I don’t hear anything until almost the end.  So this doesn’t really bother me.  Especially since I always have ringing and buzzing in my ears (tinnitus, thank you very freaking much!).

But within seconds, my daughter was the first one to literally SPOOK.  Of course she did!  She was sitting directly to my left, completely oblivious as to what I was doing.  Meanwhile, my father, who was on my right, proceeded to jam his little finger in his ear, wiggling it incessantly.

My brothers?  Well, the brother to the left of my daughter cocked his head sideways, looking suspiciously at his laptop, trying desperately to shutdown.  He thought it was about to explode or something.  And my brother across the table from me, killed me with his reaction.  I don’t think there are words to describe it, other than to say his eyeballs bulged, he gasped, and slapped his hands over his ears, saying “WHAT THE F*CK?!?!”  Meanwhile, my husband in the other room shouted “TURN THAT OFF!”.

I still laugh maniacally whenever I think about it.

When we were eating lunch a little bit later, my oldest brother got his revenge while I was drinking coffee, saying “Now that my ears have reset, I can continue normal conversation without having an aneurysm”.

Even though it cost me my phone for the day, everyone’s reactions were absolutely PRICELESS.

I’m so mean.


A/N: I may or may not have written about this a long time ago, on an old blog which does not exist anymore.  I couldn’t resist revisiting this memory.

Beauty Queen

Antique collectors worldwide have been anticipating an upcoming charity auction at a renowned New York City auction house. A few items of high interest possess some rather shocking lore, adding to their value.

Over the years, the questionable history behind these items has been passed along by local authorities. Tragic accounts of the previous owners’ bizarre and untimely deaths were incredible;  hence the demand for a specific antique mirror permanently nicknamed ‘Queenie’.

Many hopeful buyers crowded Queenie, reading the horrific history behind the grand beauty.  Her ornate golden frame is lined with dozens of cherub-like faces, seemingly trapped and tortured.

As the crowd dispersed, an eager elderly buyer stepped forward to read the story about Queenie:

Shortly after WWII had ended, a soldier was finally reunited with his wife and daughter. Because they missed him so much, he came bearing gifts. For his wife, a beautiful gold mirror to put in their bedroom, where she liked to sit and brush her hair every night before bed. For his daughter, who loved doing whatever mommy did, her own silver hairbrush, various fancy hair accessories, and a tiny bottle of perfume for little girls.

A few days after the soldier’s return, he received orders to return to his base for a short time. He told his wife and daughter not to worry, promising more gifts in return for their patience and understanding.

When he returned home again, he walked into his room to find his wife dead on the floor. Her face was completely twisted, her hair gone, and her eyes blackened, as if her soul had been sucked out through them. His daughter was nowhere to be found. Staring into the mirror on the wall, he screamed in despair.

Unable to cope with the grief, the soldier sold all of his wife’s and daughter’s belongings. He couldn’t bear the memories of them, not knowing what had happened. A neighbor took pity, purchasing the mirror for his wife, and some of the little girl’s clothing for his visiting niece.

A month later, tragedy struck. When the soldier hadn’t heard nor seen any activity around the neighbor’s house, he decided to knock on the door. To the soldier’s shock and disbelief, the neighbor and his wife were dead, lying face down on the floor.

Turning them over, the soldier gasped.  Their faces were twisted, hair gone, and eyes blackened. The child was nowhere to be found. Running to the mirror, he grasped the sides, screaming once again. Days later, the soldier was discovered dead at the neighbor’s house, in the same condition as the others.

Over the years, when an owner of the mirror died, authorities recorded something odd about the mirror: A new face appeared on the mirror’s frame each time someone died. It is rumored to be the child of each previous owner.

“You will be mine” the man spoke to the mirror, chuckling at the horror behind its history. He has been interested in the mirror for two reasons: the mirror was originally sold in his home town, and, he knows his wife will love such an intricate gold mirror. He feels this one might complete her collection of antique mirrors.

Upon returning home, he gently kissed his wife, and headed into the bedroom with the mirror. “Would you like it in here?” he asked as she sat on the edge of her bed. She simply smiled and nodded, running her aged fingers through her hair with anticipation.

“Have a seat, love” he spoke softly, pulling a chair in front of the mirror. From her tiny table, she reached for an old silver brush, treating her long white locks to slow, gentle strokes.

“My love” she finally spoke. “Yes?” he stood behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to be a beauty queen someday” she said with a crooked smile, spraying herself with a tiny antique perfume bottle.

Beauty queen … ?

She stood to face her husband, greeting him with blackened eyes.

Original story © Cara Krzyzanowski 5 August 2016
Edits: Cara Krzyzanowski 27 August 2017
All Rights Reserved
For information regarding copyrighted works, please contact the U.S. Copyright Office here.

Author’s note:  This work is a prelude to something insecure and dark – a collection of strange and horrific shorts. The original story has been edited and condensed to fit the creepy pasta and flash fiction genres.  The word count is strictly coincidental.
No further shorts will be published here.

Full Of Crap

As I start my day [late] with a gigantic cup of liquid energy, I sit here prodding my lazy synapses for material.

After reading horrific articles about how bad red meat is for you, and why – which led to other nightmarish material – I closed all those nightmares, and opened a new tab to see what’s happening on WordPress.

Oh yeah!  Daily prompt time!  I love writing.  Even if it’s crap writing.  Because I always have stories to tell.  Whether it’s a personal experience, or something I read about, or something on the news, I have something to say.

While some people might think I’m just being an asshole by doing this, I just consider it my way of trying to fit in.  I never seem to fit in.  Even in my own immediate family.  They look at me sideways – or quietly laugh at me – when I have a few words to say.  But then when I’m quiet, I get “What’s wrong?”  Oh … nothing.  Then there are others who just think I always have to have the last word.  My own daughter even calls me a ‘one-upper’.


So I turn to writing.  I don’t have to deal with eye rolling or the knowledge that I’m being tuned out.

But today, I’m kind of at a loss for the daily prompt.  Today’s word is visceral.

I think I have an average vocabulary level for my age and education level.  But lately, either due to age, stress, sleep deprivation, high blood pressure, or all of the above, I find that I can’t quite find my words lately.  The dictionary is my best friend lately.

But it’s not just my vocabulary I’m worried about.  I think I’m losing my mind.  Especially when I can’t think of a word or the ‘right words’ mid conversation.  I’ll suddenly stop and panic.

I KNOW what visceral means.  I’m just at a complete loss for something meaningful.  Writer’s block perhaps?

Maybe I need more liquid energy.

On that note, I bid everyone a happy and productive day.


Have you ever gotten to a point to where you just can’t settle down enough to relax?  Do you have trouble falling asleep?  Are you anxious?  Your mind is racing, perhaps?

WARNING:  If you have misophonia, then stop right now.  What I’m about to recommend is NOT for anyone with misophonia.

For the those who don’t have sensitive ears, this may interest you.

Not long ago, I discovered something called ASMR.  It was by accident, when I was watching a YouTubers react video.  Phil Lester mentioned something about ASMR.  I had never heard of it.  Naturally, I Googled it, and found MANY videos.

Have you ever heard a sound close to your ears, and it made you shiver?  This is basically what ASMR is.  Except better.  Especially when you use earphones or ear buds.

The first ASMR video I encountered was this.


Masking tape was the first trigger for me.  If you don’t know what a trigger is, it’s basically whatever triggers your response – your shiver, or, as these ASMR community calls it, your tingle.  And believe me, once you experience that tingle, you will want more.

Since ASMR Darling has a more gentle approach, I began to search for something stronger – the male voice.  Even though these YouTubers whisper, there’s something about a male voice that triggers a bigger response.  Female voices only give me a mild tingle – usually in the back of my head.

This guy gave me a little bit more.

Pardon my example.  It’s his latest upload.  This one is one of his better ones, because he gets closer to the microphone.

Then there’s this.

First of all, what a cutie!  But WOW, does he give me tingles!  All the way down to my tailbone.  His whispering voice is deep, and he really knows how to work Frank, his 3D microphone.

But it’s not only tingles you can experience with ASMR!  If you’re one of those who gets into the zone with music, then this will almost definitely put you in a trance-like state – if it doesn’t outright put you to sleep.


I’m A Forty-Six Year Old Dingbat

As of a few minutes ago, my entire life feels like a complete fail.  If WordPress had emojis, I would put all kinds of ridiculous things after the word ‘fail’.

Once in a while, I like to test my typing skills.  But when I came to a stand still at a compound number, it completely fucked my speed score.  Why?  Because I saw a damn hyphen in the middle of the number!


Why don’t I remember this from school?  Did the nuns not scare me enough?  Or have I chosen to mentally block out half of my childhood education?  I didn’t think I was bullied that badly.

I can only imagine what the bank thinks every time they honor a check I’ve written.  No wonder they won’t hire me.



Stop Following The Stream

As human beings mature, their tastes change.  Fashion trends aren’t as important as they were in school.  Hair styles become more practical.  Musical preferences change.  And so on.

On several occasions, a friend has told me that’s it’s next to impossible to make it big in the entertainment industry – unless you sell your soul to them, creating material that appeals to the masses.  As Daniel Howell (YouTube personality) puts it, “Give the people what they want”.  But he’s referring mainly to tweens, teens, and twenty somethings.

At around age 21, I noticed my tastes and interests greatly changing and broadening.  I basically became my own person.  I was no longer concerned with conformity.

This was especially true where fashion and music were concerned.  In my opinion, a person shouldn’t be afraid to open their car window when listening to amazing, unique artists like this.

He’s an American born harp guitarist who has made a life for himself in Japan 30+ years ago after graduating from Boston’s Berklee College of Music.  Check him out on YouTube. He has uploaded many mind blowing tracks – music which is performed mainly on his self crafted harp guitar.  There are a few videos featuring a drummer as well.

In my opinion, people are so caught up in mainstream music, that the true talent out there is often overlooked.

Don’t be afraid to find a different stream in life.  There’s more to music and clothing than than Justin Beiber and Lularoe.  Get out there and find out what YOU like!  Not what someone else likes.

Ta Ta!

Women around the world can say TA TA (so to speak) to their uncomfortable bras!

I’m not sure when or how the ta ta towel came into existence, but it’s by far one of the best ideas I’ve seen yet.  It not only eliminates painful bra straps and bands that dig into your rib cage, but it also wards off boob sweat.  I know – EWW, right?  Don’t deny it.  You sweat there!  Every woman has boob sweat.  I don’t care who you are.  It happens.  It’s as inevitable as your monthly visitor.

Think about it.  There are no more underwires digging into your armpits or ribs.  No more trying on twenty thousand different styles and brands to find one that bloody fits!  No more hours on the road, bouncing (oops, my bad) from store to store to find what you’re looking for.

Don’t want to pay so much?  If you know how to crochet, there are patterns.  Don’t know how to crochet?  There are many free courses at YouTube Academy!  I’m thinking a trip to my local craft store is in order.  I’m definitely making myself a few.  But be careful.  Don’t use acrylic.  The girls won’t like it, and then you’ll have neck sweat on top of extra boob sweat.

Here’s a DIY that I found.  I haven’t tried it … yet.