I fucked it all up, didn’t I?
and what I did can’t be undone,
can it?
I thought I held us firm
wound up squeezing too hard
now I’m left staring at the dust
it’s much more painful than looking at your face
(which remains angelic, by the way).
I’m a prisoner to my own Hades
the fires that burn, well,
they’ve burnt cinder back to cinder
ash back down to ash
in a recycled mad chaos of sorts.
I wish I could tell you how much
I ache for you
doing so would only cause me to
splinter further.
Doing so would cause you to
suffer further.

~ Joseph A. Pinto

© Copyright 2015 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.




first date
don’t be so coy
you know you’ve been blowing him out in the parking lot
leaving your half eaten panini beside me
leaving me sick in the mouth
how he stroked that fleshy thigh of yours
it’s none of my business, of course
but you’ve intruded all the same
with that yuppie glass of Pinot Grigio of yours
beside my sterile snifter of Scotch
tell me
don’t be so shy
did you let him cum in your mouth the first time out?
the residue of days old coleslaw beside me
leaving me sick on the tongue
stupid girl
he’ll only admire another next week
much like the half eaten panini beside me
you’ll grow cold and forgotten.

~ Joseph A. Pinto

© Copyright 2013 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.




i went to visit my chiropractor today, i sat in the
waiting area, waiting patiently for my broken back
and broken neck to receive attention
a pull a tug a twist to all my broken parts and then I could say
‘aah, this is better, until tomorrow’

but i sat patiently and an old woman came out from the patient
rooms, she walked from the patient rooms as i sat patiently
she walked spryly for someone her age
complained about her home life to anyone who would listen
that would be four of us, including

myself, including another woman in a wheelchair
her legs broken and useless like my back is broken
and i am useless, but the old woman made it a point to
complain about her home life her husband her son
her mangy dog that ate too much food and again her
husband who took too much of her life

away, she complained about her body.
she looked at the other woman in the wheelchair and complained
about her body complained how one day she’d be in a
wheelchair and when the wheelchaired woman replied
‘i’ve been in this wheelchair for over 20 years’

the old woman (the complaining woman) replied
how she’d really need that wheelchair one day too.
the old woman (the complaining woman) looked at me but
i shifted my eyes to my lap as i sat waiting patiently
in my chiropractor’s waiting area

had i looked at her i would’ve told her
‘shut the fuck up’

~ Joseph A. Pinto

© Copyright 2015 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.



Established in April of 2012, Pen of the Damned has become home for some of the finest writers of horror and angst.

A strange entity, known only as the Tale Weaver, introduced its voice then as well.

Not much is known about this mysterious being – it has made its presence known but a handful of times.  It is believed, however, that the Tale Weaver speaks truths most men dare not utter.

I present to you the Tale Weaver‘s first appearance on Pen of the Damned.  I am not responsible for the erosion of your sanity…




Sit before the Tale Weaver.

Heed me now. ‘Tis not a chronicle I do recount, nor a fable spun beyond your wildest imagination. Aye, I impart onto you a warning, and if wise, measure my every word you will. Beware the beast that drinks not of blood but feasts upon the essence of your very being.

‘Tis the psychic vampire I speak.

Once entry is gained into your mind, there is no stopping these fiends. For that is where they dwell…and breed. Spawning their miasmal infection deep, deep into the root of your brain. Imbedded, only the hourglass marks the moment your soul succumbs to their detestable will.

Scoff you do? Hold your tongue, lest I cast you into the feculent depths from which these creatures emanate. More powerful than their undead brethren, they stride unhindered beneath sun and moon. Obscurity they prefer; yet unabashed they roam. Aberrations of ourselves, yet so closely tethered by common threads. You know who they are, yet their guise renders them unknown.

You fidget within your chair. Look not queerly upon me then, for the chill snaking along your spine betrays you. It is them. Even now, they reach with inconspicuous, needy fingers. Groping for you. How the virulent taunt.

Appetites unsatiated, they hunger your vibrance. Listen now and understand their ploy…they wish you not dead, but rather live not alive.

Do you not recognize the abhorrent ghouls now? Then introduce you I shall to these miscreations! Look and forever shall you know – friends and family and strangers their masquerade! And the cruelest of truths have I saved for last. There. There. Your eyes do not deceive you. My mirror doth not lie. Aye, the most wicked of abominations stares you back.

The torturer within.

Until next I summon you, be gone.

So the Tale Weaver speaks.

~ Joseph A. Pinto as the Tale Weaver

© Copyright 2012 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.




is it okay if I lay beside you?
because I can’t keep my eyes open much longer
i’ve been pretty tired as of late
and things have seemed
to slow down around me.

is it okay if I cry on your pillowcase?
i’d wash it but it’ll dry soon enough
that’s the way an old ache goes
flowing with the deep thaw
soon parched from summer’s haze.

is it okay if I call out old names in the dark?
the more I speak them the more I’ll remember
not to forget
i’d like to write them in a jazz song someday
sing a melody whether the band’s ready or not.

is it okay if I lay beside you?
won’t be much longer till I see the light
and that old ache flows on
whisper to me while my breaths grow shallow
whisper to me goodnight.

~ Joseph A. Pinto

© Copyright 2013 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.



Fogged I am, and still I cannot clear my reflection from what I perceive
in my mind. The water is as cleansing as the voices in my head;
if you stop and listen closely, you will hear them too, beckoning
to the infinite ends. Still, I pause to recollect myself, lather and
reconnect myself –
I cannot dredge this razor into my cheek hard enough. My grief, like my
stubble, falls, only to grow back thicker by tomorrow’s end. Fogged,
and still this steam cannot obscure what I trick myself to comprehend.
On these voices beckon: You are your own god tonight.

© Copyright 2015 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.


For anyone following my blog, I guess you know by now that I’m a horror author.

Funny thing is, I barely post anything ‘horror’ here.  :P

I’ve shared my poetry.  I’ve shared poignant stories about my daughter. You’ve learned of the release of my moving novella Dusk and Summer, as well my continued efforts raising awareness in the fight against pancreatic cancer. My horror fiction, though?  Not so much.  Go figure!

But it’s good to change things up from time to time, right?  What better way to start than on the heels of my own daughter losing her two front teeth.  Ah, my little Toothless.  Thank you for the inspiration! :)

So I present to you my story ‘Oats.’  A little background: in 1992, I began keeping a notebook of story ideas and have been faithfully adding to my potpourri of twisted thoughts ever since.  ‘Oats‘ originated as an unnamed, rough story about a child who loses a tooth, and her evil father who won’t allow her to keep it. I’m pleased that my voice has evolved enough to warrant a re-visitation of that entry from all those years ago.

Oats‘ was first published in The Sirens Call eZine Issue #8 – Men in Horror as well on Pen of the Damned.


Folks ask all the time how I came to be raising my brothers and sisters. I tell them that my Mama and Daddy, they just run off. Guess they tired of having us kids. I tell folks that. It’s much easier than the truth of things.

We was poor back then. We still poor right now, but we was piss poor then. My brothers and sisters, we ate oatmeal from the same bowl. Notice I didn’t say shared cause when it come to five hungry children, well, five hungry children they don’t share. Five hungry children bite and scratch when food comes near. Mama, she gave up getting between us early on, on account that we needed to learn to fend for ourselves. I ain’t raising no babies, Mama would say, even if we was only babies in our own right. My brothers and sisters and me, make no mistake, we all loved the other, but we learned right quick to eat that oatmeal the second Mama ladled it into the bowl.

Now Daddy, he be out working all day long. Sometime I hear him rustling around when the sun still down and then the whoosh of the front door as he left. If he was lucky, he’d come home just in time for dinner, all us still round the table. We ate that oatmeal for dinner, too. That’s the only time we did share, ’cause Mama always ate first. Daddy too, if he was home in time. He’d scoop it right up from that bowl, right up onto his plate with those black hands of his. Daddy scrubbed his hands all the time with that bristle brush atop the slop sink, but Mama said when you work so hard sometime the dirt, it just curl up inside your skin.

Daddy worked real hard, I know that. He was never no lazy man. Sometime when you work construction, the money, well it just ain’t there to be found, I remember Daddy saying. “Ain’t no money to be found,” he’d tell Mama and me and my brothers and sisters as we ate our oatmeal. “Still ain’t no reason for me to ever stop looking.” I was always proud of my Daddy. Proud of him and his black hands.

I eventually learnt that being hungry and poor does funny things to grownups. Us kids, we made do, mostly ’cause we didn’t know any better. Us kids, we forgot we was poor until oatmeal time rolled round, mostly. After awhile Mama and Daddy though, they started grumbling under their breath about it. Time went by, their talking got louder and louder. Sometime us kids was sleeping, but other times, Mama and Daddy kept us up at night bickering about it. All that shouting. Cabinet banging, too.

Mama, she got real quiet round Daddy when we was all together. She got jittery-like. That made me nervous. And Daddy, we noticed the change come down over his face. He started coming home earlier and earlier every day. His hands not so black any more. Heard him whispering to Mama how the construction was nearly dried up. When Mama told him forceful like that he’s got to look harder for the money, he turned around, face all swollen and red like he just got himself stung by a bee.


I remember real clear the time Daddy told me he was gonna rob the Tooth Fairy.

I was hanging laundry on the line for Mama. Daddy come around the corner of the house, wringing his hands worse than Mama wringing the washcloths. He called my name. When I see how wild his face looked, I nearly spilled my clothespin bucket. “How long that front tooth of yours been loose, girl?” Daddy asked me, voice all strangled like.

“Week or two,” I say.

“Should fall out soon then. Real soon. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir. I reckon it should.”

He nodded, but it wasn’t a nod like a man agreeing to something. Daddy nodded like he was sentenced to death. I ain’t never been so scared in all my life. “Good,” he said, but he ain’t talking to me no more, he’s talking to himself. “Good, cause that tooth meant to fall any day now. Maybe any minute. I’ll be ready. Sure as shit, I’ll be ready.” My Daddy, he realized he never used cuss words in front of us kids, and it snapped him back to the here and now. “Listen, honeysuckle,” he said, ’cause that’s what he called me, honeysuckle. “Daddy found a way to make money. I ain’t proud ’bout it, but it’s a way. Now you keep this secret from your Mama, and brothers and sisters too, you hear? I’m gonna take the money from the Tooth Fairy when it come for your tooth, you understand? Don’t look scared now, girl. You know Daddy ain’t never find no reason to stop looking for the money. Well, I been looking, and I been thinking, and I found us something real good.”

“Stealing ain’t never good. You taught us that, Daddy,” I said, close to tears.

Daddy brings his face real close to mine, and my tummy hurt when I realize I don’t know this man no more. “That’s right, honeysuckle. But I know that Tooth Fairy gonna have more than enough of what we need.”


I slept with my hands stuffed in my mouth, terrified about that tooth falling out of my head, pressing just as strong as I could press to keep it up inside my gums. I remember waking that morning, waking with my arms down along my sides. I scraped my tongue all around inside my mouth ’till I felt that horrible hole where that tooth should have been.

Daddy stood, just waiting there in the doorway, body all slumped like the air’d been sucked from his chest. His eyes was wilder than any animal I’d ever seen. He brung a hand to his lips and shushed me real gentle like. Leaving me trying to decide what terrified me more…the fact that the black was gone from his hands, or that he was rolling my tooth between his fingers.

“Don’t go waking your brothers and sisters now,” he says to me, ’cause we all crammed into the same room, our mattresses squeezed up one against the other. “I’m gonna lay this tooth ‘neath your pillow tonight, honeysuckle, and come the morn I wager we’ll be set just a little bit better.” And with that, he just slipped away like a ghost in the stories me and my brothers and sisters scare each other with at night.

I did as Daddy said; I didn’t say nothing to nobody. Didn’t feel much like eating oatmeal that day either. I guess it was ’cause of keeping that hole in my mouth a secret.

Mama tucked us all in that night, and Daddy came in after. He kissed me last. I wrapped my arms round him like he was the teddy bear I wished he and Mama could buy me. His lips were tender on my cheek. Then I felt him fumbling under my pillow. He pulled away, and I wish I could of said Daddy don’t do it, Daddy there’s got to be better way! But he swore me to a secret, and I ain’t never disobeyed my Daddy. It was late by the time I fell asleep, that tooth beneath my pillow giving me dreams something wicked.

I’m still not sure what time it was when that window started sliding upward. Mama kept it locked come autumn, but the draft still found its way in and the nip, it always got right down to your bones. But somehow that night, that window come unlocked and sliding upward. Sure enough, the wind start moaning through the room. I squeezed my eyes real tight and did my best to make-believe I was sleeping. The window, it just keep creaking open. I started praying to the baby Jesus that the wind howling through our room was the worst thing I’d hear. But it wasn’t.

I heard it. It was a whole lot raspier than my brothers’ and sisters’ breathing. Real harsh, like nails dragged across shingles. I straight near piddled my panties when something meaty dragged itself over the windowsill. I sensed something hovering over me, its shadow darker than the dark of my closed eyes. It snorted, its stinky breath wetting my cheek. Next thing I know, my pillow done lifted straight from the bed, then settled down again. Coins start rattling in my ear.

Our bedroom door suddenly banged open, and I heard a big tussle. Groans and grunts and screaming… god-awful screaming. Then a shotgun blast. Something splattered all over my face. When I opened my eyes, Mama was sliding down the wall, but she ain’t got a head no more. And my Daddy, he be choking on a knife stuck straight through his throat. I grabbed my brothers and sisters and dragged them half-asleep from the room quick as I could. We ain’t never slept back in there again.

Since then, I ain’t never had the chance to stop looking for the money. My hands are black now, just like Daddy’s used to be. And those folks, they ask all the time how I came to be raising my brothers and sisters. No one’s gonna believe the truth. The truth of how my Mama and Daddy really done killed each other. The truth of how I saw the Tooth Fairy leaving through the window. Crooked finger at its yellowy lips, shushing me real gentle into yet another secret. I don’t tell no secrets, never have, never will.

We still eat that oatmeal. Got to—especially since I used Daddy’s old pliers to pull out every last one of our teeth.

~ Joseph A. Pinto

© Copyright 2013 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.Wolf_rule_pinto_bg