Read Online A Hacked-Up Holiday Massacre: Halloween Is Going to Be Jealous by ed. Shane McKenzie - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: ed. Shane McKenzie
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so a fresh, moist squealing bundle of joy was brought from the house; there was the reputation of the town to think about. The whole town participated in her lifelong rape, whether they laid a hand on her or not, whether or not they were the ones who wielded the throbbing, twitching rods that plugged at her womb daily and nightly, sometimes mere days after she had given birth.
And then something happened.
Monday night was Bridge night in the local hall for the ladies, and hence, it was the busy night at the house. It didn’t run on an appointment system; the men just dropped by when they felt the stirrings. The women were away, the men were left unattended…and we all know whose hands the devil makes work for.
It became poker night at the house, mainly because the queues were getting longer by the week and the patrons needed a way to amuse themselves while they awaited their turn. On that particular night the parish pastor was downstairs with the girl. It was not in his habit to call to the house on Monday nights, usually coming instead at quieter, more clandestine times. But, when nature calls…
He was a respected and busy man, so naturally when he showed up he skipped to the head of the queue. He had been down there for some time when an inhuman roar rose from the bowels of the house, shaking the foundations of the town. In homes all along the street, people stopped what they were doing and shivered; the Devil had come to Murrins.
In a stumbling body, the men rushed downstairs, the loving father at the forefront, anxious to protect his business interest. He flung open the door and a wave of that awful howl buffeted them with its force.
On the floor by the bed was a man, naked and bloody. Where his penis should have stood, proud and erect, was a jagged stump, a geyser of blood spurting from the center, the flow already ebbing as his life did. The detached appendage was lying on the floor by the door like a giant fat slug; a slimy streak marked its track down the wall where it had been flung.
She was crouched over him, her thumbs dug deep into his eye sockets. Vitreous fluid leaked from around her fingers, getting sucked up his nostrils with each agonised breath he took. His leg twitched as her long nails shorted some circuit in his brain.
Her head snapped up and she glared at the string of shocked faces outside the door, faces she knew only too well, faces that would, at some point in the night, have been hovering over hers, sweating and contorting with exertion and unrequited ecstasy.
Her eyes flashed red and black, something very alive and very diabolical behind them. Her hair was a tangled black mass around her pale, sunken face. Her dry, abused lips cracked and split as they stretched in a deranged snarl, her teeth ringed with blood.
All the torment and torture, the pain and injustice had broken through that feminine shell and manifested itself into the demon that stood before them.
The growling sound was coming from deep within her throat. It grew and rolled up through the house, filling the foggy night air. People set down their forks or newspapers and listened in fear.
A blue flame licked the house, flicking out from under it, forked and pointed like a dragons tongue. Within minutes it had consumed the house and everyone in it.
That night, all through the town, every infant disappeared from under the watchful noses of their loving parents. Mass panic erupted the next morning when beds were found cold and empty. Terrified parents met at the ends of driveways, wringing their hands in despair, tears cleaving tracks of worry down their cheeks.
One by one they found them; their mangled bodies scattered across the woods and fields like discarded dolls. Some bobbed face down in the well, all bloated and sodden. The lifeless forms of others dangled from the trees as though dropped from a height, their necks twisted, limbs shorn. Others lay on the cold ground, broken and bloody, spines snapped like twigs. They
And then something happened.
Monday night was Bridge night in the local hall for the ladies, and hence, it was the busy night at the house. It didn’t run on an appointment system; the men just dropped by when they felt the stirrings. The women were away, the men were left unattended…and we all know whose hands the devil makes work for.
It became poker night at the house, mainly because the queues were getting longer by the week and the patrons needed a way to amuse themselves while they awaited their turn. On that particular night the parish pastor was downstairs with the girl. It was not in his habit to call to the house on Monday nights, usually coming instead at quieter, more clandestine times. But, when nature calls…
He was a respected and busy man, so naturally when he showed up he skipped to the head of the queue. He had been down there for some time when an inhuman roar rose from the bowels of the house, shaking the foundations of the town. In homes all along the street, people stopped what they were doing and shivered; the Devil had come to Murrins.
In a stumbling body, the men rushed downstairs, the loving father at the forefront, anxious to protect his business interest. He flung open the door and a wave of that awful howl buffeted them with its force.
On the floor by the bed was a man, naked and bloody. Where his penis should have stood, proud and erect, was a jagged stump, a geyser of blood spurting from the center, the flow already ebbing as his life did. The detached appendage was lying on the floor by the door like a giant fat slug; a slimy streak marked its track down the wall where it had been flung.
She was crouched over him, her thumbs dug deep into his eye sockets. Vitreous fluid leaked from around her fingers, getting sucked up his nostrils with each agonised breath he took. His leg twitched as her long nails shorted some circuit in his brain.
Her head snapped up and she glared at the string of shocked faces outside the door, faces she knew only too well, faces that would, at some point in the night, have been hovering over hers, sweating and contorting with exertion and unrequited ecstasy.
Her eyes flashed red and black, something very alive and very diabolical behind them. Her hair was a tangled black mass around her pale, sunken face. Her dry, abused lips cracked and split as they stretched in a deranged snarl, her teeth ringed with blood.
All the torment and torture, the pain and injustice had broken through that feminine shell and manifested itself into the demon that stood before them.
The growling sound was coming from deep within her throat. It grew and rolled up through the house, filling the foggy night air. People set down their forks or newspapers and listened in fear.
A blue flame licked the house, flicking out from under it, forked and pointed like a dragons tongue. Within minutes it had consumed the house and everyone in it.
That night, all through the town, every infant disappeared from under the watchful noses of their loving parents. Mass panic erupted the next morning when beds were found cold and empty. Terrified parents met at the ends of driveways, wringing their hands in despair, tears cleaving tracks of worry down their cheeks.
One by one they found them; their mangled bodies scattered across the woods and fields like discarded dolls. Some bobbed face down in the well, all bloated and sodden. The lifeless forms of others dangled from the trees as though dropped from a height, their necks twisted, limbs shorn. Others lay on the cold ground, broken and bloody, spines snapped like twigs. They
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