Very familiar with his case and the werewolf trials of the period. Creepy guy indeed but a werewolf he was not. He was just a man with a serious psychosis, a serial killer in a time that didn't know how to deal with him but his very delusions made him all the more terrifying. Good topic!

Jippeee! I'm so glad your going to write about him!

A Man Named Stubbe



A frozen drizzle misted the hairs on his arms in clear beads.  He looked up at the sky, thunderclouds alighting in sporadic bursts of neon white.  Varying shades of grey, pale, and midnight blue surrounded the lingering brightness.  Louis brought a cigarette to his mouth and sucked the poison into his lungs, he wanted one last puff before meeting the old man.  As a quarter of the cigarette vanished, the clouds released their watery burden.  A blinding downpour shook the butt out of his mouth, dying orange sparks landing at his feet.  "Damn rain," he muttered.

    Standing up from the hard, backless bench, he turned to the old pub behind him.  It was one story, made of brown and red brick, crumbling and cracked around the top ledge.  A smattering of shadowed bushes lay along the entire length of the wide building; only pausing in it's run to let the door be accessed, dim yellow lights spilling out of the window in the center of it.  He stalked quickly to that very door on the beaten gravel path, mud from beneath was already seeping above, he almost tripped.  A shadow loomed in the window, entire body blurred in silhouette.

    Before he reached the door it swung in, shadow shifting to clarity.  Shimmering lights spread across his soaked clothes, a shiver ran through his spine.  "Louis Terrence?" the old man in the doorway inquired.  He seemed oblivious of the strong wind blowing more torrents of rain into the tavern. 

    He nodded, wrapping his arms around himself, jumping from foot to foot.  The old man nodded curtly, stepped back and aside, behind the door, out of view.   An old, clean wooden bar lay across from him.  Stepping towards the middle of the wide room, the muffled, haunting music sent more chills through his body.  Patrons were scattered about the room, most of them ignoring him.  Louis grunted lightly and turned back to the door, which had shut quietly behind him.  The old man was watching him carefully, glancing him over, eyes wide yet emotionless. 

    "I need to speak to Peter Stubbe,"

    The old man smiled warmly, completely harmless looking.  The physical stature for a man of his age was actually menacing, he didn't look to be in his late sixties.  More like early fifties, with the thick biceps of a heavy lifter tightly coiled under an olive green rain coat.  He stuck his hand out, Louis gripped the cold hand with his wet one, they shook.  "I am Peter Stubbe,"




Not much I know, but more soon...

Okay, who like's this beginning better?  Personally I do...





A Man Named Stubbe
By: Dave C.



"What is your name?" the gruff voice asked him harshly.  It was in perfect German.  He stared down at a roach crawling slowly over his sleeve.  It was large, pressing the thin material of his sky blue jumpsuit to his arm. 

    He waited until the roach reached his shoulder, felt it trudge slowly around the curve to his back.  Peter gave up on scouting it with his eyes.  Needles shot into his brain from the strain.  "Get this roach off me," he finally repeated in German.  He still didn't look up, a searchlight was blaring into his face.  The sun like brightness illuminated a halo of the inky black surroundings. 

    "Answer the question,"

    "We strike deal, get roach off me and I say my name."

    "Squish it yourself, lean into the chair,"

    Peter shook his head, sniffing the air above the table.  It still smelled of blood and sweat from long ago.  "You should have asked my name at the farm," he mumbled.  The roach was on a section of his back he assumed was between the chair, he arched his back into the chair.  A crunching of exoskeleton responded, along with an eerie dying hiss.  It sounded like his son's last breath.  The roach guts smeared against his back, he cringed at the feeling.  "Now you have to clean it,"

    He smiled at a deep sigh from the darkness, it was Captain Bar.  He again repeated his question, "We have a different system than America, we ask names later."

    "What the gently caress does America has to do with this?"

    "I'm trying to say that..."

    "I don't care," Peter cut the man off. 

    "Don't interrupt me,"

    "America is a plague, complete bullshit.  I don't give a gently caress about there disjointed justice system.  They're all pussies," he paused, "You at least have some balls, that's all I'll give you."

    "I see," now Bar paused for a long moment.  Peter could hear the man scratching wildly at stubble.  "Just tell us your name,"

    "What for exactly?"

    "You know damn well why, now answer the gently caressing question," he was still calm, but Peter knew he was getting to him already.  It was too early in the interrogation to loose his cool.  Bar was going to lose severely.

    "No, I don't know.  Right now names aren't important," he sniffed, wishing he could scratch his head.  Too-tight cuffs kept his hands locked to the armrests, the men were smart.  The precaution might just save them... for now.
 
    "Nobody knew the killer, but we have pretty good descriptions of who did it.  You fit that description, now what is your name?"

    "Again, and for the last time, why is my name important?"

    There was another sigh, a fist slammed on the table across from him.  The hollow boom resonated through the large cavernous area.  Peter wasn't in a small interrogation room like he first suspected.  It must have been an abandoned factory, he sniffed again, hard.  He still couldn't identify where he was, there was no smell.  Except for blood, sweat, and now coffee. 

    "So the people will know who's family to avoid,"

    "I have no family,"

Last edited by wolfblood17 (2010-08-07 22:40:38)

"Well sure you do, everyone has family,"

    "No, I don't, and I assure, you don't want to know why,"

    "Family's a start to get your name," Bar paused, "so yeah, I wanna know why.  Now."

    Peter snorted, "Don't push your luck," he spat to the side.  An insult to the Captain's arrogance.  Peter didn't really know himself why he wouldn't expose his name.  Soon enough though, the whole world will finally remember his name...

    "All right then, fire away," Bar sputtered impatiently.

    "You may want to sit for this," he paused, glancing at the outlines beside Bar.  He knew Bar was the middle man, directly to the right of the light, that's where the voice was coming from.  There were three other shadows, tall, well built it seemed.  He wasn't sure of that either.  Maybe a few of them were women, he could keep them alive long enough for sex.  A thin, grim smile gripped the edge of his heavily bearded cheeks.

    "Also, you might want to grab a few extra chairs for your peers," he said, waving his right hand in a short arc. 

    "Who, there's no one here but you and me,"

    "Bullshit, I see three other lads standing right beside you." Peter said, shocked, eyes wide.

    Bar sighed, his outline moved a little.  "I assure you, it's only me and you in here,"

    Peter scrunched his eyebrows together and frowned deeply, beard hiding his lips.  He cocked his head at the outlines, they were unmoving.  As they were since he looked up at Bar.  "Well, either way..." he mumbled, shaking his head.  Maybe he should just drop it.

    "Your delusional all right?  It happens with old age,"

    "No," he shook his head, "Can you please turn on different lights, and this gently caressing search light isn't necessary,"

    "No, you haven't done anything for me, so I'm not gonna do shite for you."

    He looked to the side, frowning and shaking  his head.  Peter felt like gnawing on his lower lip or cheek, either one for stress relief.  Sweat was starting to pool on the pores of his greasy forehead and matting his beard.  "The only mutual ground we can find then is non-help from the other.  Too bad for you, I have useful information.  By the way, is your name Captain Bar?"

    Another sigh, Peter was growing aggitated by them.  Along with the other shadows.  It felt like eyes were pressing on his soul, waiting and urging the beast to release itself.  Soon enough boys, soon enough.  He wanted to wait for the right time, when Bar's heart was pounding in a violent fury.  When his blood would be the hottest.  Finally the man answered, startling Peter from the silence. 

    "Yes, it is, I've already told you that," he said angrily.

    "Calm your tone boy," he almost snarled back, glaring up near the searchlight.  He flinched after a moment, large spots of blue and violet swarming his vision.  Blinded, he dipped his head down, "Arrogant young prick,"

    "What did you say?"

    He looked back up, "You're an arrogant young prick,"

    Bar snorted, "Impatience with old fucks can make anyone angry.  Now give me your gently caressing name!  Why is it taking so long?"

    "Do you know this country's bloody history?"

    "Enough of it," Bar paused, tone lighter now.  Maybe he was finally realizing that patience was the key to Peter's answers.  "I've always felt that was good enough,"

    "Hopefully you respect it..." he paused, "because so far you haven't been respecting me."

    "You look like ancient history old man,"

    "That may be, but name is well known around these lands.  It has been for centuries,"
    "Okay, I feel like story time,"

    Peter shook his head, "Then sit down, and turn on a different light.  That searchlight is rude, it looks like God is staring at me,"

    There was a long pause, he thought it was about his God comment.  His hearing caught Bar muttering into an ear piece from the dark.  "All right, turn the lights on," he paused and listened to an indistinct voice on the other end.  "I don't give a gently caress, I just want this done with."

    The outlines of the other shadows started to shift, vanishing into the deeper blackness.  Hissing flowed through the air like venom tipped tails, trailing in the shadows dispersing forms.  Peter swallowed, he could still never get over them, the demon's taunting.  After so many years.... dimmer over head lights flickered on.  He still stared at the table until Bar loudly switched the much brighter light off.  Yawning, he looked up at the man.  A deep sardonic chuckle filtered through his dusty lungs. 

    It turned into a wild laugh, he couldn't help it.  "I thought you would be much larger boy," he wheezed.  "You call yourself a threat?"

    Captain Bar was an insult to Peter.  The man in front of him had a jowly facial structure, much older than he sounded.  His head was topped with a buzz cut of black stubble.  Bar's entire outfit was pitch black, a full seamless suit with a Kevlar vest.  A rifle was strung to his shoulder, sidearm in the right hip holster, knife in the left sheath.  Not German though, an American.

No, it's not his normal time period.  I won't ruin how/why he's still alive after five centuries... but it's kinda simple.  I will tell you there is a bit of incest (just a wee bit... he did supposedly rape his daughter).... but the scene (there are two intertwining scenes) is not really graphic (except when he explains verbally what happens; he's trying to... you'll get the idea when I get there).

I'm keeping this under wraps, that's all I'll say.  I think I'm gonna start doubting my own sanity while writing this.

If there are any questions just ask and I may even give off a spoiler.  If no one likes Sadism... in a fashion, do not read one of the later entries.  I'll tell you guys before hand which entry it is though. 

Also, thanks Shadow (if I may call you that)... for liking the story so far, or at least find it racking on the tension.

So again, any other questions?  It's going to take me a while to write the next segment.... maybe. 

Good day to you my wonderful fans!

All rightie then!  Suffocation by flies.... a bit.... disgusting.  I should look that other guy up.  I'll definitely not hold back on a few violent scenes, that's for sure.  A perfect blend of gore and psychological horror...

Loves what?  My story?

Oh, right... well always a thanks!  New section coming later today!

wow that is really good. nice imagery.... almost made me stop eating my hot pocket cant wait to read more!

trust me, i have a strong stomach. i eat when i watch Saw movies. well eating is just something i do. i am a fatty on the inside XD

Wow. Very very nice. Its rare to have such rich and dark imagery used so tastefully and effectively. You have skills.