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Authors: Wrath James White
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it.
“Ungrateful son-of-a-bitch! And she tried to protect you!” Freddy yelled.
The dog sat and began licking its ass in response.
There was a can of lighter fluid in the pantry and Freddy bent to retrieve it. The dog began to howl and bark before succumbing to a horrific fit of coughing. It scrambled to the back door and scratched at the cheap aluminum, trying to claw right through it to freedom. It could sense that Freddy was up to something.
Freddy had the lighter fluid, the automatic log lighter and a devilish gleam in his eyes. He backed the dog into the corner and began dousing it with the accelerant.
“Don’t do it, Freddy. You’ll be sorry. I’ll make you skin your own penis with a cheese grater tomorrow if you fuck with me!”
Freddy was used to the threats. He didn’t care what the dog said. This would be its last day on earth. Freddy threw the match. He turned to get the fire extinguisher from under the sink as the dog began to howl and scream in indescribable agony. There was definitely something odd about the dog. Normal canines didn’t scream or talk for that matter or live after they’d been stabbed, shot, bludgeoned, and disemboweled.
The dog was trying to bite at the flames. It’s teeth were bared in a threatening snarl as it attacked the immediate source of its pain. The fire rapidly crawled up its back, shearing through the mangy tufts of hair as it began to consume the dog’s living tissue. The little fat still clinging to the dog’s emaciated body added fuel to the fire and furthered the progress of the flames. The poodle’s flesh was starting to bubble and run like frying lard. Both of its eyes were sizzling in their sockets like sunny-side-up eggs. They exploded with an audible pop.
Freddy sprayed the dog with the fire extinguisher as soon as it stopped moving. He had to spray the walls as well as the fire had begun to spread up the drywall. Freddy cried out in joy as the blackened canine skeleton slumped to the floor. He negotiated his way through the festering piles of feces, back out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into his bedroom, pausing only to silence the wailing smoke alarms with a few whacks from his baseball bat. The house was now eerily quiet without the horrible coughing and hoarse barks. The only sound was the hum of flies on his mother’s body, audible even through his closed bedroom door. Strangely enough, he found the sound soothing. It was like mom was humming him to sleep with some out of tune lullaby. Freddy laid down on his bed and felt years of pressure suddenly drop from his mind. The demon was dead. He fell into a deep contented sleep and dreamt of being a baby in his mother’s arms, trying to remember what the milk from her mammoth breasts had tasted like.
When Freddy finally awakened hours later, it was to the same hoarse barking and wet, tubercular, phlegm-congested coughing that had greeted him every morning of his life. His left ear dripped with snot and saliva from where the wet nose of a thousand year old demon, the same one who had told David Berkowitz to take a .44 caliber pistol to couples on the streets of New York, had whispered in his ear as he slept. The ratty carpet had a trail of paw prints in black ash that led from his locked bedroom door to the edge of his bed. The damned thing had picked his lock again! Freddy cursed loudly as he reached for the cheese grater and began shredding the foreskin from his penis. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but he had nothing better to do.
Rosie patiently dusted the bookshelves; removing each book and wiping it down with an electrostatic rag and then replacing it precisely where it had been. She removed each knick-knack one at a time from the mantle and wiped it free of dust. Then she ran the feather duster over the smooth surface of the oak mantle before spraying it with furniture wax and buffing it to a high gloss.
“Filthy!” she hissed in disgust.
She wiped down the television and stereo
“Ungrateful son-of-a-bitch! And she tried to protect you!” Freddy yelled.
The dog sat and began licking its ass in response.
There was a can of lighter fluid in the pantry and Freddy bent to retrieve it. The dog began to howl and bark before succumbing to a horrific fit of coughing. It scrambled to the back door and scratched at the cheap aluminum, trying to claw right through it to freedom. It could sense that Freddy was up to something.
Freddy had the lighter fluid, the automatic log lighter and a devilish gleam in his eyes. He backed the dog into the corner and began dousing it with the accelerant.
“Don’t do it, Freddy. You’ll be sorry. I’ll make you skin your own penis with a cheese grater tomorrow if you fuck with me!”
Freddy was used to the threats. He didn’t care what the dog said. This would be its last day on earth. Freddy threw the match. He turned to get the fire extinguisher from under the sink as the dog began to howl and scream in indescribable agony. There was definitely something odd about the dog. Normal canines didn’t scream or talk for that matter or live after they’d been stabbed, shot, bludgeoned, and disemboweled.
The dog was trying to bite at the flames. It’s teeth were bared in a threatening snarl as it attacked the immediate source of its pain. The fire rapidly crawled up its back, shearing through the mangy tufts of hair as it began to consume the dog’s living tissue. The little fat still clinging to the dog’s emaciated body added fuel to the fire and furthered the progress of the flames. The poodle’s flesh was starting to bubble and run like frying lard. Both of its eyes were sizzling in their sockets like sunny-side-up eggs. They exploded with an audible pop.
Freddy sprayed the dog with the fire extinguisher as soon as it stopped moving. He had to spray the walls as well as the fire had begun to spread up the drywall. Freddy cried out in joy as the blackened canine skeleton slumped to the floor. He negotiated his way through the festering piles of feces, back out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into his bedroom, pausing only to silence the wailing smoke alarms with a few whacks from his baseball bat. The house was now eerily quiet without the horrible coughing and hoarse barks. The only sound was the hum of flies on his mother’s body, audible even through his closed bedroom door. Strangely enough, he found the sound soothing. It was like mom was humming him to sleep with some out of tune lullaby. Freddy laid down on his bed and felt years of pressure suddenly drop from his mind. The demon was dead. He fell into a deep contented sleep and dreamt of being a baby in his mother’s arms, trying to remember what the milk from her mammoth breasts had tasted like.
When Freddy finally awakened hours later, it was to the same hoarse barking and wet, tubercular, phlegm-congested coughing that had greeted him every morning of his life. His left ear dripped with snot and saliva from where the wet nose of a thousand year old demon, the same one who had told David Berkowitz to take a .44 caliber pistol to couples on the streets of New York, had whispered in his ear as he slept. The ratty carpet had a trail of paw prints in black ash that led from his locked bedroom door to the edge of his bed. The damned thing had picked his lock again! Freddy cursed loudly as he reached for the cheese grater and began shredding the foreskin from his penis. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but he had nothing better to do.
Rosie patiently dusted the bookshelves; removing each book and wiping it down with an electrostatic rag and then replacing it precisely where it had been. She removed each knick-knack one at a time from the mantle and wiped it free of dust. Then she ran the feather duster over the smooth surface of the oak mantle before spraying it with furniture wax and buffing it to a high gloss.
“Filthy!” she hissed in disgust.
She wiped down the television and stereo
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