The Antiguan Giant

I used to go diving a lot. Not so much anymore, but a couple years ago I was really into it, had my license and everything. It’s really beautiful down there: the pale patterned sand, the water washing away the distance like a blue mist, and flashes of the brightest colors you’ve ever seen as some fish darts into view. I’ve done my share of exploring wrecks and grottoes, but my favorite thing to do is hover right where the shelf plunges into the deep. You get the greatest dynamics there as deep-sea creatures come up to feed.

Anyway, one time I was drifting along near Antigua about 40 feet down. I had two tanks with me so I could stay down for several hours. The shelf sloped off to my left and rocks and coral broke the monotony of the sand to my right. I hadn’t seen much that day and was getting a bit bored, but then I noticed a large octopus. It was a deep-sea type, probably washed up accidentally (they don’t usually come up to hunt). It seemed sluggish and didn’t react much when I drifted over to it.

Now, octopuses aren’t very friendly creatures; if you manage to get near one they usually flee within seconds. I’m sure you’ve seen videos of them changing colors to match their environment. Not all species can do that, but they’re all very good at hiding. So seeing a deep-sea octopus up close was quite an opportunity. It was about a foot from crown to beak and dark mottled green. Its tentacles curled around it, perhaps four feet long when extended and pale on the underside. Its eyes looked like golden rings around narrowed black pupils. It was having trouble moving and looked half dead.

I decided to try to get near it. There were some yellowtail jacks nearby and I speared one with my knife. Sorry if that offends you, I’m not one of those “touch nothing” divers. Cautiously I approached the octopus and offered it my fish, shoving it out ahead of me and letting it drift toward the creature. Success! It didn’t run, but lazily reached an arm out to capture the morsel. It brought it under its beak and began to devour it. I drifted closer, trying to acclimate it to my presence.

Over maybe half an hour or so it became more lively and used to my presence. Apparently I had bought its tolerance with my offering, and it even began to play a little bit, darting away from me and then back. I had a stick with me that I used to test holes and mud and such, and it occurred to me that maybe I could teach it to play fetch. I brought the stick out and waved it until it seemed like I had its attention, and then threw the stick out sideways. It didn’t go very far underwater, of course, but the octopus went after it and grabbed hold with its tentacles. It didn’t seem inclined to return to me, though, so I swam closer. It was waving the stick at me, and then it tossed it out to the side. It was copying me!

I retrieved the stick and then an interesting idea came into my head. Next to us was a large flat rock covered in half an inch of mud and detritus. Careful not to disturb the layers, I took the stick and slowly drew a crude figure of a man: two legs, two arms, and a round head coming off a central cylinder. The octopus seemed to be watching with interest. I tossed it the stick and it caught it easily. It sat there toying with it, and for a few moments I thought my expectations had been too high. But then it reached out with the stick and began tracing its own mark in the mud. It was even cruder than mine, to be sure, but clearly drawing. However, the proportions were all wrong. It had fused the head and the body into one ball, and there were too many legs. I was just happy it was copying me; I’d heard octopuses were smart, but this was really something. But then, it hit my like a freezing wave: the octopus wasn’t copying my drawing, it was drawing itself!

The implications for this were huge. If I’d had a video camera then, I would be a famous man today. The only other animal I’m aware of that’s capable of the imagination and self-awareness to do something like that is the ape, first cousin to humans. That the ancient octopus, without so much as a spinal column, had the mental capacity for such a feat would surely have turned biology on its head. However, I didn’t have a camera, and the scientists I’ve told my story to greet it with understandable skepticism. I would put all my time into trying to prove it myself, but I just can’t bring myself to go diving any more.

Anyway, once that realization struck, I got excited. The octopus passed the stick back and I began drawing other sea creatures and common sights. We kept on for maybe an hour, and the octopus contributed as much as I. It even drew something I took to be a crude figure of a submarine, with a con tower, propeller screw, and even torpedo holes. Finally, the octopus led me to the other side of the rock, a blank canvas. Far down in the corner, it again drew itself and then me. These figures were very small, maybe an inch or two tall. Then, painstakingly, it went to work on a much larger drawing. At first, I thought it was a whale, but whales are roughly of a size with submarines, so it didn’t seem to justify the scale. Furthermore, the proportions were all wrong: this seemed like something more humped and compact, almost as if it were upright rather than aqualine. And it had weird bits sticking out of out that didn’t seem like fins. I couldn’t place it. An oil platform, maybe? No, the lines were too natural, and an octopus wouldn’t know what the top of a platform looks like.

When the drawing was done, we both sat and looked at it for a while. I took the stick back from the octopus and circled the drawing of us, and then drew a line to the thing. I’m not sure if the octopus picked up on my confusion, because it just sort of sat there for a while. It didn’t try to take the stick back. Then it started swimming away. I followed it at a distance. It seemed to be keeping a pace, leading me on. Then it turned and shot out into the deep area off the shelf. I was a good way through my second tank and wasn’t supposed to go any deeper, so I had to let it go. It stopped once to watch me, and then darted off, dissolving into the dark blue depths. I looked after it for a few minutes to see if it would return, but there was nothing, so I started watching the other fish and making my way slowly back to the boat.

Then, suddenly, there was a low thrumming sound all around me. It wasn’t very loud, but it was *big*, as if it came from the ocean floor itself. I’ve heard of underwater eruptions, but I’ve never been in one, and I wondered if I was about to be. But this didn’t sound like anything natural. It sounded like the call of some animal, slowed down into the virtually sub-sonic range and projected from huge speakers very far away. I’ve had a chance to look over the seismograph recordings for that day, and nothing shows up at that time for that frequency. I have no idea why. The fish were going crazy, darting back and forth and all heading inland. And not just the reef fish, larger ones from deeper in were streaming by me even faster. Suddenly, among them, the octopus appeared again. It or one quite like it. It swam up to me and eyed me strangely, then darted past with the rest. The thrumming sounded again.

Looking out to sea, I gradually became aware of a large dark patch. It was very hard to tell how big or far away it was, but there was plenty of both to go around. It was hard to tell more than just a shadow in the murky water, but it clearly wasn’t a whale or anything man-made. I couldn’t even tell if it was a single creature; there seemed to be long strands like kelp or jellyfish tentacles streaming off it, but immeasurally larger. It looked like nothing so much as an ancient, misshapen section of coral reef broke off and floating. At least the part I could see; it seemed to fade off into the distance as though that mass, immense as it may be, was only a limb to some far larger entity. I’ve never seen a naval carrier from underwater, but I imagine that’s the kind of shadow it would cast.

The thrumming rang out a third time. An unreasoning fear seized me. I didn’t appear to be in danger: though the thing was vaster than anything I’d ever seen, it was too far away to reach me quickly, and it seemed like it wouldn’t fit into the shallows, anyway. Nevertheless, I was gripped by the feeling that if I didn’t get away as fast as I could, I would be dragged down into the abyss and consumed. I could feel the very water itself drawing me down into that black maw. Heedless of the depth or my equipment, I surged upwards. As I rose, of course, I began cramping, but I clawed my way up anyway. I was still far from the boat. When I broke the surface I could barely move; I had to keep my mouthpiece in because I couldn’t keep my mouth above water. I certainly couldn’t call or signal the boat. Far from receding, my panic was worse than ever; from above the water I couldn’t see the thing or tell whether it was coming for me. I thrashed my slow, painful way toward the boat. Finally someone on board noticed my and they came to pick me up. I had the bends bad, and had to stay in a hospital for a few weeks until I was over it. The doctors tell me I was lucky not to get a stroke or some other permanent damage.

So, that’s my story. I’m sorry I can’t give a more satisfying conclusion; I still don’t know myself what I experienced. My friends think it was some form of rapture, but it just doesn’t match the symptoms; narcosis is supposed to reduce anxiety, not stimulate it. And my hallucinations, if that’s what they were, were too vivid and specific. Anyway, since then I’ve been afraid of the water. I tried going out once or twice, but all I can do is stay shaking in the boat. I think there really was something out there, and I don’t think it’s something I ever want to come across again.

WARNING

The following text may involve you and those around you in something regrettable. This is not a joke. Please continue at your own discretion.

On December 17^th, 1994, bodies of the Dunne family were found in a fear-induced coma in their home in Mayo, Ireland. The father was found under the kitchen table frozen stiff as a rock in a paralysis with his eyes gaping open, the same as the eldest child who was clutching to the bathroom curtains upstairs. Nearly 15 meters away from the house, the mother’s body was found in the same frozen state with their newborn clutched in her arms, who was unaffected by the mysterious trauma that had occurred that night. In 1996, that child was found paralyzed in a Catholic convent with his eyes bulging in fear. The comas were clinically diagnosed as lasting for an indeterminable amount of time, most likely permanently. The cause remains unknown.

In loving Memory of Melanie K. Horowitz,

You will be missed.

My name is Julian Shaw. I was born on the 4^th of June 1988, in the UK before I moved out to Oregon and attended Lincoln High. Now, I’ve since moved to Toronto to pursue my dreams competing as an Olympic swimmer after years of lifeguard duty at kiddy pools. Nintendo, creamy macaroni, road trips; as the song goes, these are a few of my favorite things. Also, I just started my first attempt as an amateur writer with a novel inspired by my pet jellyfish. I’m telling you all this beforehand because I like to let you, my readers, know exactly who’s talking to you.

Have you ever woken up with big red marks on your face from the pillow you slept on, or along the side of your body? I don’t know about you, but I can’t sleep with any more than my underwear. This happens to me all the time. However, a couple days ago, I woke up with a red imprint on my chest, a mark that scared the living God out of me when I looked in the mirror to brush my teeth that morning. With no other impressions on my body, I noticed a large hand imprint right over my heart, except this was most definitely no ordinary hand. It was almost twice the size of my own when I measured mine against it, and had poke marks where pointed nails appear to have grabbed along my collarbone. I didn’t look into it too much, and continued on with my day. I can’t think for shit in the morning. At noon, I had swimming practice at the pool with my team. Now, as I haven’t yet mentioned, on of my friends on the team, Connor, hasn’t been coming in for practice for a while. When I walked out of the showers with my towel that day, my team was standing around in a circle with our coach. It turns out, Connor had been found paralyzed in his bed. He was taken to the hospital to be monitored in a coma that could not be explained by anyone. I did some research, and there are apparently countless cases of spontaneous comas throughout the world in which perfectly healthy people simply freeze into vegetables for no apparent reason and never wake up. I was disturbed to find out later as I visited him in the hospital that they were not able to close his eyelids because the muscles had kept them wired open. It’s tragic what happened to him, and to so many people around the world who this inexplicably happens to.

March 22^nd, 2011

Now, what I’m about to tell you can be frightening and difficult to wrap your brain around, but I tell you in my best interest and for your future safety. I woke up the next morning with another hand mark on my body, just as unsettling and vicious as the first. Nothing particularly unusual happened that day, except for a message on Facebook from my little sister Melanie. She’s not actually my little sister, but she might as well be. I babysat her from ages 6 – 11 and have come to know her family almost as my own. Opening my inbox, I see 2 untitled messages sent a couple nights ago that make me realize how seldom I check my Facebook. Here’s a copy-and-paste of the contents of these 2 messages:

March 21

im scared julian, please help me. everythings so quiet

ive been hearing things at night lately, and the past two nights i think something grabbed me

i think its in my house right now. can you please come quickly, i don’t know what to do. i cant hear mom

March 21

Jlian don;f jlook ay iy . ifd you look ay it. it will gtet yiou

‘

it;s in my roon m righy now. please hh

After reading them, I started to get a sinking feeling in my gut, remembering that I’m 2 days late reading it. I tried calling Melanie’s house, but no one picked up. After calling the police, I rushed down to see them myself, only to arrive at a parade of ambulances and police cars. Melanie and her mother, who she lived with, were both found paralyzed like cold grey statues with blank eyes. They were almost completely dehydrated and had low vital signs. There was nothing that could be done for either of them.

I stayed up pretty late that night trying to figure out what Melanie had been trying to tell me. At first glance, the second message looked as if she had just gotten back smashed out of her mind from her first party, but deciphering what I think she was trying to type, I noticed the message was a warning. It said not look at it, and that it would get me if I did look at it. It didn’t take long before I realized that whatever it was, if it was in her room like she was saying, she would’ve had her eyes closed to avoid looking at it, which explains the scrambled text. Melanie was trying to warn me about something that was moments away from killing her. But, what I found most disturbing was what she said earlier in the message, that she had felt something grab her on the 2 nights preceding the incident.

March 23^rd, 2011

This takes us to the present. Last night, it came for me. I thank God that I persevered through that hell and am alive to tell you all. I got sleepy at around 2 in the morning and went to bed after my obsession with Melanie’s message. Then, as I was sound asleep, I heard something thumping around in my room. Remembering Melanie’s final warning, I kept my eyes shut and pretended I was asleep. It was the most dreadful sound you could imagine, like a great clacking noise every time it took a step, and deep, vehement breaths. I heard it moving around in every direction of me, on the walls, the ceiling, just inspecting the place. I distinctly remember hearing it knock over my TV, which I found broken on the floor this morning. After maybe 20 minutes of shear terror, I heard it speak. It crawled up next to my ear and started seething through its teeth, begging me to open my eyes. I resisted the urge as it screamed louder, “Look at me!” Whatever this thing was, I got the distinct feeling that it was not from this world. The very presence of it brings a grim and empty feeling inside. It grasped my leg and squeezed, then clutched my chest and clawed its hand down my body with a light scrape. Just before it left, it stopped in front of me for a few minutes and beckoned me to look with terror. The smell was deathly, as if it had come from a coal mine. I kept my eyes firmly shut, but I could both feel and hear it just inches from my face.

I’m still not sure what to do tonight, but I remember it ranting on that it will stalk me every night until the day I die.It is some kind of malicious being that as I’ve come to realize appears on the 3^rd night after it touches you and will freeze you with fear if you so much as get even a glimpse of it. Whether you believe in the supernatural or not, this thing is most definitely real. So, these are my parting words to you. If you see its hand mark on you in the morning, you may rest the next night, but on the night after you must remain asleep without opening your eyes even a crack, for the life of you. You will hear it screaming and you will feel it tormenting your body, but you mustn’t react. It is pure hell; a power beyond our realm.

There was one other curious thing it mentioned before leaving. It said that he stalks the living one-by-one, and finds its next victim through someone the previous victim knew. If you don’t know the victim, then you will be protected from this evil. It’s trying to kill me because one of its victims knew Connor, and Connor knew Melanie, and Melanie knows me. Now, I’ve told you about my story, and myself, and as it said last night, that’s enough for someone like you to know me. The only way out is to let at least 10 strangers know who you are, which is what I’m doing to you right now. I am sincerely sorry, but I’m saving my own ass. Good luck.

-Kieland

Andrew woke up with a start, he knew what had happened and his heart sunk, the sound of the glass shattering downstairs had done the same to his nerves. It had come in. After weeks of watching and stalking him the creature had finally decided to break in. The patio doors, made completely of glass, provided it with the perfect entrance.

Andrew laid there in bed, in the blackness only illuminated by the small amount of clear light that the moon provided through the space between the curtains. He listened for The Creature, listened to see if it was inside,

secretly praying that everything would be silent. The terrifying cracking of glass under its feet confirmed to his worst fear, it had finally made its way into his home.

With this crushing realisation Andrew, now shaking, grabbed his titanium baseball bat and crept downstairs deeper into the darkness, determined to confront this thing once and for all, secretly hoping though, that it would run away when it sees him as it normally does. Andrew stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening. At first all he heard was the cracking of glass under The Creatures feet, then, for the first time, Andrew heard The Creature, breathing heavily as if its throat was blocked by phlegm. The hideous creature snarled and clicked, gradually getting ever closer to Andrew.

Now out of the kitchen, the creature was finally off of the glass. It walked almost silently now, strangely more agile than it looks, especially considering how clumsily it runs away. Andrew realised what he had to do. He grasped his weapon tighter and… Froze, unable to move. He knew he needed to attack it but he just couldn’t. Its teeth, its eyes, its skin. Human, but not quite. The Creature was in the living room now and edging closer by the second yet Andrew was still too terrified to move, even if it didn’t have arms, this Creature was the embodiment of terror to Andrew. Andrew stood at the bottom of the stairs, shaking. He heard The Creature getting ever closer, the sickening sound of it’s distorted breathing amplified by the almost pitch darkness. The Creature was nearly at Andrew, he had one chance to kill it and he wasn’t going to waste it.

The Creature stepped into the doorway to the stairs, Andrew was hidden just to the left. He swung at fall force, hitting The Creature in the chest with the bat. The Creature staggered back, then stopped and looked at Andrew, its tiny wild eyes staring into Andrews soul. Andrew felt a deep fear of The Creature unlike anything he had ever experienced. The Creature then let out a gurgled hiss at Andrew, baring all of its sickening deformed teeth in the process. The Creature kicked Andrew in the gut, winding him. Andrew fell to the floor in pain, unable to breathe. Andrew rolled onto his back and scuffled up against the wall just behind him. The Creature watched him until he reached the wall, at which point he walked towards him and looked down at Andrew as if it were judging him, lying there, helpless. The Creature stamped on his shin, snapping the bone. Tears began to stream from Andrews eyes, the pain so intense Andrew thought he was going to vomit.

Andrew, now incapacitated, had nowhere to go and no way to fight. The Creature placed its foot on Andrews stomach, pressing down, ripping into his flesh with it’s long dirty toenails. With The Creature’s foot now completely inside his stomach, Andrew started to cough blood. Tears streamed down his face. He passed out from the pain, and then passed away. The Creature loomed over what was by now his bloody corpse. The creature descended it’s face toward Andrews and then tore away a bloody piece of flesh from Andrews chin, dislocating one side of his jaw in the process. The creature continued to tear and eviscerate Andrews corpse until everything the creature could stomach had been devoured. The Creature then left… Calmly. Silently. With a pure and deep hatred in its heart. The Creature left, the same way it came in.

THIS IS THE STORY OF A DAY WHERE THERE WAS ALL THIS BLOOD. A MAN WAS WALKING AROUND AND BLOOD STARTED COMING OUT OF HIM EVERYWHERE. THERE WAS SO MUCH BLOOD THAT IT FILLED UP AN ELEVATOR. HE WENT TO THE STORE AND THERE WAS JUST BLOOD ALL OVER THE PLACE! PEOPLE WERE SLIPPING IN IT AND THEY WERE ALL GROSSED OUT. HE TRIED TO GO SWIMMING AND ALL OF THE SHARKS WENT NUTS AND BITTENED EVERYBODY. HE GOT CHASED BY ALL THE VAMPIRES EVER. ONE TIME THE BLOOD GOT A KID AND A DOG. AT THE END OF THE DAY EVERYONE DECIDED THEY WOULD SEND HIM TO SPACE SO THAT HE WOULD STOP GETTING BLOOD EVERY WHERE. THE SCARIEST PART IS THAT THE MAN WAS YOU!!! (OR HE WAS A LADY IF YOU ARE A LADY) AND YOU FORGOT THAT THIS HAPPENED.

————

Just a classic I wanted to post. It’s not supposed to be scary. I get a laugh out of it every now and then.

I had never given much thought to how I would die. Maybe it was because I had spent most of my life thinking about how others would die. Especially my mother. She never understood the elaborate intricacies of my mind. And now she never will. But her voice never stopped ringing through my mind.

Constantly… Constantly… The sound of her shrill voice constantly pounds through my mind. The only way to stop the sound is to silence it with blood.
My name is Roger. Roger Gail. I am a physics teacher at the local high school. I have a deep connection with my mother. She’s a bitch. A horrible woman. She “Cleansed” me every day I came home from school.

I wasn’t allowed to do extracurricular activities. They were unclean. I wasn’t allowed to have friends. They were unclean. Every goddamn part of my life was unclean. I was never good enough for my mother. Never. But mother protected me from the world. The world was dirty. The world is dirty… Yes… Dirty. The filthy unclean feelings I get when I lay in my bed. I don’t need the touch of anyone. All I needed was Mother. Yes. Mother. When I have those feelings, special feelings, I think of mother, and I am soothed. With every drop of blood I spill, a pleasure unlike any I’ve ever known.

Every day I’d come home from school to, “Roger! You have been a dirty boy today. Time for your bath!” Bath. Such a horrid word. Mother would always make me sit in the bathtub and she would pour bleach onto my naked flesh… She would begin scrubbing my body with steel wool and bleach, and then I would begin scrubbing. I was filthy, and I needed to be cleansed. “Now don’t worry, son. This won’t hurt a bit.” She would say that every time. Then she would scrub my face. The burning pain would sear my eyes. But it was okay. The pain was good. The pain was clean. The pain was always followed by the pleasure. Mother would scrub every inch of my body until she reached… My center. My center would tingle as she stroked me with her pointy, pale fingers. I never minded. This was my reward for being clean.

My life at the school was like that of any other child. Nobody ever saw what a fucked up kid I was. Mother never brought me to the school in fear of becoming filthy, so I walked to school. The path I would take was through the forest near my house. Dark, quiet, a silent tension of danger and lustful vengeance was suspended in the air of the forest. I love the tension. Gave me the biggest fucking hard-on ever. I never gave a fuck if I was late to school. No one loved me. No one gave a flying fuck if I lived or died! No… No… Mother loved me. That’s why she cleansed me. Every day. The cleansing.
Every day I would await my cleansing. When I was 17, I came home one day, Awaiting the pleasure and pain of being pure. “Mother, I’m home…” No answer. As I walked down the hallway to my bedroom, I began hearing a thumping. A loud, thunderous thumping. The noise was originating out of Mother’s room. I had never heard such a noise.

“Mother? Are you alright?” I tentatively asked as I entered the room. Was Mother okay? Was she alright? Was she being hurt? Wh-what was going on? Why was that man ramming his body into Mother? Who was this man?! What were these sounds coming out of Mother?! Oh God the sounds. I needed them to stop. Make them stop!

I made them stop. Over above Mother’s dresser was a large metal crucifix with a pointed end on it. Mother was incredibly religious. That dumb cunt would believe anything. I removed the crucifix from the wall and ran towards the man with its pointed end upward. Before the man had any time to scream, or even whimper, I beat him senseless with it. I just kept hitting him and hitting him, blood and eventually brain matter were splattering all over onto my body, the walls, and on Mother. The dumb bitch was screaming her head off in terror. I didn’t mind. I finally took what was left of the crucifix, the statue of Jesus had fallen off of it, and pierced the cross into the man’s eye socket.

“Roger! What the hell is the matter with you?!”


Mother… Oh Mother. She would get hers eventually. But the man was still breathing. Still a glimmer of hope that his fragile, filthy life would survive. No. I would make sure his dirty life never saw the light of day again.

I grabbed a hold of his loose limbs and dragged his mangled body down the staircase. Each thud on the wooden staircase cracked a deeper wound into the fuck’s head. Blood spread like water flowing down a sewage drain down the stairs. I thrusted the body into the kitchen. A deep murmur of pain escaped from the distorted, swollen body at my feet.

“Shut up you fucking bastard! How dare you defile Mother!” I grabbed his bloody, greasy black hair and rammed his skull into the table, shoving the crucifix farther into his brain. The squish sound, the smooth entrance, it was all I could do not to scream with pleasure. I felt my center throb. I needed to finish. I couldn’t stop now. I grunted as I opened the fridge door, shoved fuck’s head into the shelves of the fridge and rammed the door shut, over and over, just like he rammed Mother. He would no longer ram her. No one would. Blood spilled all over the floor and I felt the pleasure I so desired. The inescapable moment of passion was almost too much to bear.


I collapsed onto the floor. The tingling in my body finally coming to an end. But the filthy, bio hazardous mess was still left. I must clean. I took the body, and threw him down the laundry chute. Hmmmm…the body won’t fit.

His large phallus got him into this mess, and it would get him out. I took my Swiss army knife and began cutting off his member. The pop sound of my knife entering and the deep, tight sliding of my knife sent chills of joy down my spine. Once I finished, the body slid down the chute. I calmly walked downstairs, hands shaking, and shoved the body into the dryer. High seemed like a good setting. Once I heard the mangled corpse rumbling around, I went` up to Mother.


“Mother, it’s time for my bath.”


Oh, Mother. So naïve. As I undressed for my bath, I noticed Mother’s hands shaking as she prepared the bath. She scrubbed my body raw, harder, and harder. I closed my eyes, dreaming of the feel of blood and metal sliding through my hands.


“Alright, Son. You’re finished.”


WHAT?!?!?!?!? THAT BITCH WAS NOT DONE WITH ME YET!!! NO!!! HOW DARE SHE?!?!? No! No… No… I would get my pleasure, one way or another.


I grabbed at her hair and slammed her face into the side of the tub. My arms tensed and trembling. Blood and teeth spatter around the baby blue tile floor.


“You dirty, filthy whore. You will not treat me this way. I will get what I want.” I ran downstairs naked and wet. I reached into one of the kitchen drawers and grabbed the pliers. I felt light as air as I climbed the stairs slowly back up to the bathroom. Upon entering the room, I took in my surroundings of blood, teeth, and anticipation. I was ready for this. I would be in charge now.


I reached down and lifted Mother’s unconscious head and pulled her into my lap. Her soft, graying hair brushing against my throbbing genitals. I needed more though. MORE! I jammed the pliers into Mother’s mouth and began twisting and ripping out her teeth.

The popping sound of teeth sliding out of her old, whithered, decaying gums. Blood mixed with saliva dribbled out of her mouth. Her mouth was left as an empty cavern of warmth, wetness, and wild pleasure. I held Mother’s head softly and slid her mouth onto my throbbing shaft. Oh the pleasure. The warmth. The blood. Ugh, all that blood. Yes. Yes. I felt my body lose control as I started to thrust deeper and harder into her mouth.

I felt the back of her throat close around me. NO! I needed to go farther. I pulled my slimy, quivering shaft out of Mother’s mouth and dug the pliers into the back of her throat. I rammed, and jammed, and thrust, and penetrate. Once I felt her spine, I opened the pliers, squeezed them onto the rough bone, and yanked with all my might. The crack of the bone, the twang of the spinal cord breaking, Mother’s body jolting as her spinal cord disconnected her conscious. I threw her to the ground, got over her mouth, and thrust deep into her mouth, harder, harder, harder!!!!! Uuughhhhh! I collapsed down onto the ground, ooze dripping out of my descending member. The blood surrounding me was like a blanket of comfort. I laid my head on Mother’s cold chest, and fell asleep…