Munsta - On my website

A furry foe joins my website: http://www.zoeandreas.co.uk/Home.html

Fashion Illustration

Thought I'd give some fashion illustration a go. Really enjoyed it. I miss drawing, it's been too long!!!

Munsta (Stairs Image)

Here's a first go at an image for my new story.

Munsta

Here is my new short story. I do visualise this as being fully illustrated, but for now, I want the focus to be on the writing. Please feel free to leave your comments, I'd like opinions. Also, my spelling and grammar has become quite tragic of late, so if you notice any mistakes please tell me!

MUNSTA

“Excuse me, Munsta, are you beneath my bed?

For I thought I saw a scuttling leg.

Only, I wonder if you did succeed

In finding a child for your nightly feed?

I thought I smelt new blood you see,

And I’d rather your next victim wasn’t me.”

Out he crawled, furry limb by limb,

Unnerving me with his evil grin.

“I’m leaving tonight to fetch more prey,

You are not for savage consumption today.

Unless of course, the child I find is exceptionally small,

And doesn’t fill my wanting stomach at all.

Only then will I devour your frame,

But that, my dear, is our waiting game.

For you will be gotten, bone torn from flesh,

While you’re still young, ripe and fresh.”

“And last night’s child, Munsta, Sir,

What extent of torture did they incur?

My voice trembled as I processed his threat,

“What do I owe them, what is my debt?”

“Oh, nothing too big this time.

This girl was quite mute, she hardly did whine.

I suppose I did cut out her tongue to begin,

Nevertheless, the finale was exceptionally grim!

Her pretty head now rests on the post of her bed.

A SOUVENIR OF WHAT WAS! That’s what the note would have read,

If one of these eight legs could write of the dead.

And so, dear child, this task lies with you.

Your life is on the line, so you must pull through.

At the end of the hill, the house on the right,

Door twenty-two, lit by lantern light.

I dug a hole to the rear of the house;

You can crawl through the mud, quiet as a mouse!

On entering the grounds, do beware;

The ninth step up is a rickety stair.

Her door is the one with wooden letters on,

REBECCA they spell, if I’m not wrong.”

“Rebecca at number twenty-two!

She went to my school, oh, Munsta! How could you?”

I sobbed into the pillow, held tight to my chest,

Its cushion no comfort in light of my quest.

“You ungrateful child!” he bellowed, “Would you rather it was you?

Now make haste before her parents rise and our plan falls through!”

*

I hung from the window by his web, like prey,

And he watched me as I made my way.

Sunday’s streets were silent and still,

I pulled my dressing gown tight to fight the morning chill.

*

The tunnel reached the under-stair cupboard of Rebecca’s abode,

And through her house I cautiously strode.

Remembering only in the nick of time,

To count the stairs, avoiding number nine.

With silent steps, I found her room,

And prepared myself for all its gloom.

I warily entered, squinting my eyes;

The scene a gruesome mess of blood, bones and flies.

Heaving and hurling over Rebecca’s remains,

I felt a pang of guilt for the blood in my veins.

Trembling, I took the pen and paper from the pocket of my robe,

And wrote the horrendous note I owed.

I knew her. This was hard to digest.

It felt so much worse than all the rest.

She walked my street. I knew her name.

For how long could I suffer his vile, sick game?

I couldn’t tell a soul that he lay under my bed,

For they’d surely think I’d lost my head.

Furthermore, he told me this:

Only to those that fear him does he exist.

But of course I feared him, for I could see him plain!

The evidence lay here that I was not insane!

My eyes fell to my hands that clutched the sinister note,

And a sickening lump threatened to choke my throat.

Hurriedly, I tore it and stole away,

Hearing her parents stir as I made my way.

In my escape, I forgot step nine,

And tumbled down with a pitiful whine.

With a gasp they awoke and so I made to break,

As fast as I could with my leg’s dull ache.

On reaching the hole from which I came,

I heard them scream Rebecca’s name.

It was a piercing sound, but I was numb to its pain,

After years of wearing this ball and chain.

*

I didn’t tell Munsta what happened that night,

from fear that he’d attack with a premature bite.

But as time passed (three months or so

- That’s ninety-three kills, each of equal woe),

It occurred to me that perhaps I could win his game,

By never piteously cowering from him again.

For I was older and stronger than I was before,

And with each day gone I noticed something more:

Gradually, I was either growing taller,

Or he was getting much, much smaller.

*

“Child! Get up from your wretched bed,

I need you to fetch me a human’s head!

Last night I tore a boy to smithereens

And hid his head in the field of greens.

Look beyond the church, but before the station,

And there you will find my noble creation.

I want you to package him up for his dear mum,

With a note of course: HERE’S YOUR PRECIOUS SON!

Do that for me, and I won’t kill you tonight,

But then again, I just might!”

“And what if I don’t?” I asked, “What would you say to that?

What if I think you’re no scarier than a flying bat?”

DO YOU DEFY ME CHILD?” He yelled aggressively,

“ARE YOU NO LONGER AFRAID OF ME?

I COULD EAT YOU UP THIS VERY SECOND,

NOW TELL ME THAT YOU DON’T FEEL THREATENED!”

“I fear you not” I replied, and this much was true.

“I’ll never perform another task for you!”

And then, like magic, right before my eyes,

He shrunk to a most ridiculous size!

Dumbfounded, I froze with my mouth agape,

And watched him as he tried to escape.

On recovering, I scanned the room for a trapping tool,

And found a glass to catch the scurrying fool.

Without further delay, I took to the floor,

Catching him before he could reach the door.

“Oh, silly Munsta, you callous swine,

How you spinelessly quake in this cage of mine!

I can hardly believe this turn of events,

I certainly have a lot of anger to vent.

Hmm, but how to go about destroying you?

For you will be rotten once I’m through.

You see, I’d like some fun before the final curtain.

Legs will be torn, of that I’m certain”. 

Loopies Logo

A little while back I designed a logo for Loopies - a handmade jewellery company by Louise Vaughan. You can check out her very colourful and crafty collection here: http://www.loopiesjewellery.co.uk/

Chosen Design

Chosen Design - Alternative Colours

Chosen Design - Secondary Option
(For use on items such as Twitter profile image)

I Hate You

If some one bought me some free time I would conjure up more than this nonsense.

CV

I have made a bit of an artwork out of my CV. Have been meaning to do a piece in this style for a while, and it was just a matter of choosing the information to apply it to. Why I didn't think of my CV sooner I don't know. I also don't know why I walked in to a very large and quite unmissable pillar today, but there you have it. Life.

Check it out at full size on my website, here:

http://www.zoeandreas.co.uk/Images/Zoe_Andreas_CV.pdf

Fruit Palace Graff-off: Storm Cloud

An amazing experience at Bussey Building's Roof Top Party - great music, sunshine, awesome views of London, and the opportunity to decorate its scene with a very large scale drawing.

Me and Dani

Sam helping out with the monster's body hair

A very intoxicated stranger contributed the Rasta. We managed to work it in!

Storm Cloud - On a much smaller scale

The Hunger Games

A tribute.

My Website

Have finally updated my website. The purpose of this site is to showcase my written stories and be a central hub where you can retrieve my contact information and links to my other sites, including this blog.

You can check it out at the usual address: www.zoeandreas.co.uk

Carnaby Streets Great Uninvited

A quick sketch for an illustrated book job opportunity.

Tote Bags

Rose's Woe

She stopped at the tree where he’d carved their name,

‘TOGETHER FOREVER’, and she’d thought the same.

Tote Bags

Z

Love 'em

I am illustrating the alphabet for cushions for Gil who runs Love 'em: www.love-em.co.uk

Each letter is hand-drawn (by myself) and to be hand-printed (by Gil) on to organic cotton cushions.

Feedback on the design would be great and if you would like one for yourself or child you know, please get in touch.

Vintage Magpies

Logo designs for my friend Sarah-Jane Short's gorgeous vintage collection.
Have a peak at her found gems at www.vintagemagpies.co.uk 
and www.facebook.com/vintagemagpies


Sarah brings new arrivals of wearable Vintage clothing to Ebay.co.uk 
each week so check back every Sunday for her latest finds!

THE CHOSEN LOGO!

The Tale of the Night Stalker

On a grimmer note, here is a ghost story written for those who reside Underneath The Juniper Tree http://underneaththejunipertree.com ...

I awoke to find her silhouette perched on the end of my bed. 

Even in the dark, I knew she was but a shell of a human 

– a shadow of a living dead. 

Horror-stricken, my mouth agape, I tried to yell but not a sound would escape. 

“Who are you?” I mouthed, for I was silenced still. 

The dark figure hovered towards me; I felt the air chill. 

I tried to run but I lay frozen to the core 

– only my wide-with-fright eyes could reach the door. 

She drew near and whispered hoarsely in my ear, 

“I am the spirit of those who have been, 

and I will cut your throat before you can scream!” 

With that, she raised a knife over her head 

and sliced frantically at my neck until my sheets dripped red. 

I stood beside her and watched my body turn limp. 

“You can stop now!” I yelled, “What will my parents think?!” 

She turned to me with a snide sneer. 

I could see her face now – her features were clear: 

Haggard and disfigured, old and withered, 

and smeared with the blood of which she’d slaughtered. 

Her head tilted as she examined my state, 

“Good”, she smiled, “Now come with me before it’s too late 

– I’ll take you to hell, just you wait!” 

Stronger in death than I was in life, 

I grabbed the knife from her grip and pushed her aside. 

“I’ll kill you!” I cried, to which she screeched with laughter, 

“You silly girl! You fool! You can’t kill the hereafter!” 

But a fear in her eyes told me to try. “Alive, maybe not, 

but I’ll be damned if the dead can’t make dead rot!” 

And with that, I plunged the knife through her chest 

and watched as she smoked like a chimney’s breast. 

Howling and moaning, she crumbled at my feet 

– a heap of black ash certified her defeat. 

If I had life I’d have cried with anger and relief, 

but instead I was numb, unable to grieve. 

Pitifully, I crawled back in to bed to lie beside my skin, 

and waited for my parents to come on in…