let us never forget that the human race with technology is like an alcoholic with a barrel of wine
~ Ted Kaczynski ~

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Sunday, October 31, 2010

Two Short Horror Stories For Halloween

Two of my previously published horror tales. The first, Carnal Desire, was my first published piece of fiction.


Carnal Desire

He softly caresses her, lightly kissing her neck and breasts. Gently, he pulls her resisting legs apart and enters her. His mind swoons with lust as his body flushes with passion. His warm tongue explores her mouth as he makes love to her. Sweat beads upon his forehead as his back stiffens and he climaxes. Satiated, he pulls the sheet up for her and fastens his scrubs.

Suddenly, the morgue door opens and the coroner steps in.

“Hey Doc, I wasn’t expecting you. Can I help you with something?”

“No, that’s okay, Joe. I got what I needed.”

{First appeared in Necrotic Tissue July 2008}


Crimson Cravings

I can feel it again, nibbling at the edges of my sanity. It’s almost constant now, the need, the want. The fucking hunger. I fight to ignore it, but it’s like trying to ignore a never-ending train while sleeping inches from the tracks. Ka-chug, ka-chug, ka-chug. It just keeps on and on, like a cacophony of malevolence that echoes through my head. Crimson fantasies begin to play out in my mind, dreams of brutality yearning to be realized…

Damn it, it’s driving me crazy!

Ka-chug, ka-chug, ka-chug. I hear you, Kleaver, I hear you calling. Look at you, still embedded in a rotting piece of the last one. Come to me, my friend. You belong in my hand.

I knew I never had a chance of resisting. From the first pangs of hunger I knew. Ka-chug, ka-chug, ka-chug. You’re right! I can’t take it anymore. After all, a man’s gotta eat, doesn’t he? Let’s go, my friend.

Can you smell it, Kleaver? Beneath the stench of car exhaust and pollution: the pungent-sweet odor of blood. Look at them. An endless parade of cattle, ripe for the slaughter. Imagine how each would scream, how each would taste. My mouth is watering, and my stomach is whining. Let’s pick one, quickly! Ka-chug, ka-chug, ka-chug. Yes, I see him. The homeless man with the long, wild white hair and tattered wool overcoat. He’s perfect. No one will miss him. Ka-chug, ka-chug, ka-chug. I know, I’m so excited my body is quivering and my balls are tingling!

Shit! We’ve been following him for blocks, Kleaver, each step an agony as we try to resist ripping into his belly. Ka-chug, ka-chug, ka-chug. I know you’re thirsty! Soon, he has to stop soo… wait! Look, he’s going into that abandoned warehouse. Let’s slip in that side window, sneak up on him. Ka-chug, ka-chug, ka-chug.

Ugh, this place reeks of piss, ka-chug, but I still can smell his blood. Look Kleaver, ka-chug, what luck! These old twisted racks will keep him from seeing us coming, ka-chug. I love your seductive whisper as I slide you out of my belt, ka-chug. Can you hear my fluids racing through me? My senses are so alive, ka-chug, my mind feels like it’s gonna fry. Slowly, methodically, we hunt for our prey, ka-chug. Oh, Kleaver, this is so fucking intense, ka-chug, I’m getting hard! Soon, we’ll carve him, ka-chug, like a butcher carves a side of beef. Soon, ka-chug, we’ll feast on his dead flesh, ka-chug, and drink his still-warm blood!

There he is, with his back turned, ka-chug. Kleaver, my temples are pounding with bloodlust, ka-chug, my legs and arms are trembling, ka-chug. My beautiful Kleaver, ka-chug, are you ready to slice him open and pour his steaming insides onto the, ka-chug, dust-covered floor? Uh-oh, it looks like he’s heard us Kleaver, ka-chug. He’s turning around, ka-chug, look Kleaver, look! I can’t wait, ka-chug, to see his expression, to see his…smile? Ka-chug?

What’s this? Why isn’t he screaming and cowering in fear like the others? This homeless wretch actually wants to challenge us! Ha, ha! Oh Kleaver, this is gonna be so good, so… is his face changing, narrowing, becoming… animalistic? Shit! Are those fangs, and claws!?! Kleaver, what the Hell is going on? I’m so scared I’m pissing myself! Kleaver? Why aren’t you answering me? Run feet run! Why aren’t you fucking running? Kleaver, where have you gone? Please, stay away, away from me… Kleaver? Help me, Kleaver! Kleav…


{First appeared in Microhorror, March 4, 2009}

1 comment:

Tom K. said...

Nice rythmn. You can feel the coursing of the blood, as if a train track was inches away.