horror

THE TEETH AND THE TONGUE…

©Tanya Grout

It was stuck between his teeth: that familiar tongue that should have swirled with sensual beauty and ease, but his mind had other plans and so he’d arrested its movement with his own.

It was an awkward moment. He just didn’t see her that way any more. She had become an investment and so her tongue was just a thick cumbersome piece of flesh that sent him into a rage he knew mustn’t express.

Truthfully he wanted to bite the damn thing right off, but that would reveal his deeper plan. Faking enjoying a kiss was sickening even to a man who’d accept sex from strangers. The best he could do was to pull away prematurely leaving her wondering, as she had as of late.

“Is it an affair?” She inquired, yet again.
No, it’s the fucking monster inside me, he screamed inside his own head.

The documents had been signed a long time ago, but he’d taken a calculated while to follow through. If he waited a year, he’d reasoned, the insurance company wouldn’t suspect the drowning, the poisoning, the strangulation, or whatever the Hell he was going to do. If he showed up at church with her on his arm, even better: people would say how devoted he was.

No, it wasn’t a goddamned affair! When greed possessed him he just wasn’t human, and that was all…

©kym darkly

WIDOW BLACK…

©Tanya Grout

While smashing the tips of the flower stems, so they could absorb fresh nutrients and water that filled the heavy crystal vase, it suddenly occurred to her that she could smash her third husband’s head in.

Asphyxiation and arsenic were out of the question, as Melisha didn’t want to draw attention to the first two mishaps in her marital career.

Smashing would be excellent. It would relieve her of the hatred that had been building. She could really pound it out, crush his skull, maybe bash an eye out while he begged for his life from her dead, psychopathic eyes. How fulfilling.

She could pay him back for the derogatory comments, for the affair and for making her dependent once again on a man for money. What’s a gorgeous young woman to do?

It would be his fault. He was the one seduced to elope after just days of dating. He was the one who kept her imprisoned in this kitchen, cooking things he demanded like a spoiled child. He was the one who lifted her skirts and made her feel sick with his perverted demands. He deserved it: to die.

A hammer might be nice. She would buy one on her walk to pick up fresh bread, apples and wine. She’d buy two bottles. He’d be an easy target, sloshed and expecting freaky sex.

It would be a break in – a robbery. The police would never suspect her. It would be too violent for a woman’s hand, especially one with a perfect French Manicure and such a sweet disposition. She’d have to buy a knife too – a sharp one, one that wouldn’t hurt her too much when “the robbers” ripped it across her own delicate face.

It’s decided then, she thought, pulling a perfect apple pie from the oven.

A soft roaring drew her attention to the window. As Adam rolled his Royce up the granite driveway, she poured him a Scotch and wrote him a quick note: Make yourself comfortable darling. I’m treating you right tonight. Then she slipped quietly out the back to buy wine and bread and a hammer…

©kym darkly

BLEEKER STREET…

©Tanya Grout

Home to addicts and whores, the lost and the forgotten, the needy and the cursed. What a fitting name: Bleeker Street. Bleak Street is more like it.

I ask myself how could just one hit do so much damage and why did you feel so alone in this world of seven billion who “care?”

Fuck the things we’re supposed to have and the things we’re supposed to be, the things we’re allowed to show and the things we are not. Who says this shit? Who makes these ridiculous rules, rules about us, about you?

You were good. You were true: smiling and honest, gentle with animals and tattooed like a son of a bitch that might scare most away – except those who knew your heart.

Yet in the darkness and the painful silence that closes in, emptiness still brought you down didn’t it? You never found the freedom, the love for yourself that couldn’t come from others. You never found the way in, so instead you chose the way out.

I barely knew you really, but I know myself and I know the depths of a broken spirit and a broken home, a self-destruct button and a need for… so much. Yet I can’t fathom it, and I’m angry: angry that you didn’t know people cared. And I’m sad, and scared for those little boys who may never understand…

You would have enjoyed it: after the priest prayed, they played heavy metal and we wrote all over your casket so you could be buried with some truth, with some heart and the respect we all came to give – respect we wish we had shown more freely when you were alive. I smile at the graffiti on your coffin. I can see you skateboarding over it with irreverence, laughing.

I only have fond thoughts except for one: the one that haunts me, the one that tells me I wasn’t there when you most needed my help. I didn’t know you were in that much trouble. Why didn’t you say more? Press me harder? That call didn’t seem so serious, but it really was. My God it was. Why didn’t I pick up on that? Fuck!

Alone in a stairwell on Bleeker street, really? Alone with a needle, truly? Alone forever! Alone…

 

© kym darkly

THE DAMNED…

©Tanya Grout

It didn’t come with horns or cloven feet. It had come with a briefcase and in a crisp suit – with sublime sayings it had learned as would a psychopath, a predator. The creature had deceived with gifts, charm, and a moonlit swim, yet it had transformed while I slept over night, back into what it was…

Eighteen feet tall and burning alive with awesome anger, just that one hand clasped and thrust my cracking thorax twenty feet into the air. I instantly knew this beast was him: “the suit.” It had the same cold, ice eyes. The ones I should have fled from, ones I had seen before in others.

Its nails dug in deep like a clamp: how much blood could issue from a desire to break free, to wriggle from its grasp, away from that endless inner darkness?

Exquisite pain ripped through my chest, just a beat before the Devil that it was pierced this Teflon cage of ribs and flesh to freshly break my heart.

Would I ever again have the chance to run before it all got started, to detect the sickness of the monster before it mainlined poison into my soul? Or was I destined to live this eternity sweet-talked through an endless cycle of Hell… and more Hell?

© kym darkly

THE VOID…

The smell of metal and gasoline, a dirty place.

Coming to in complete darkness. Rolling back and forth on her side, no arms. Where were they? Tied, tied behind. Knees tucked in so as to fit. Feet also tied… like a pig.

The stocking was making her gag. Too tight. Her tongue was swollen where it had been bitten. It must have been a horrible fight. Starving, parched. Blood flowing. It was hers. She sucked it in, drank it. Disgusting. Gagging, but strong willed. She was weak. She knew it was the right thing to do.

Memories: the woozy feeling at the bar after one drink. Drugged, led away, knowing it was wrong, bad. Wanting to yell out but unable to speak, hearing that man tell everyone he’d take her to the hospital, he’d take good care of her, she’d be okay… but did he intend to take her like this: naked, bruised and tied in a trunk?

A flicker of the dark empty parking lot: the pain of a smashed cheek. The hammer, how it came crushing in from the side.

The worst pain of all: her mother encouraging her to waitress at that snazzy club. She remembered the proposition and the cash, the emptiness beneath the glamour. She remembered her bad decision, and that this was only her very first trick…

© kym darkly

CRACKING UP…

©Tanya Grout

The porcelain face was splitting – a ghastly fissure separating eyes from lips, nose from cheeks, forcing the painted-on smile to crack… A lifetime of delicate china had forced a false visage over top of the dying one underneath, the one that contained secrets, lies and rage.

It was time to strip off the brittle structure that held her so tight inside: watching without acting, knowing without telling, feeling without screaming – a witness to every goddamned sick thing that went on in this house!

An ending would be good: a dead doll perhaps, smashed and broken – one to be tossed into the garbage – freed! And so when the wind gushed through the open window, she fell off the mantelpiece…

© kym darkly – All rights reserves but please feel free to re-tweet…

THE VOW…

©Tanya Grout

The veil was thick. Her parents had said it was to keep demons at bay.

Vows exchanged, her “husband” lifted the netted curtain from her delicate face, and she saw him for the first time… He was the demon! His eyes told her so: bright blue irises upon jet-black sclera.

What cult was this?

The words, “Till death do us part,” resonated like an adrenaline snake writhing inside her gut: slipping, squeezing, tightening. This, alongside memories of the last few days: the constant companion approving her every move, the pre-nuptial agreement she had signed, the life insurance policy…

Shayla, took a step back, lifting her heavy skirts. One breath in, she turned and ran down the steps of the altar and fast down the isle, past her deceitful betrothing parents, towards the double doors and out – but the noon sky was dark. There was nothing there, nothing at all…

© kym darkly

All Rights Reserved, but please feel free to re-tweet, and repost 🙂

ONE LAST DRAG…

©Tanya Grout

She’d clawed at his soul for forty long years: the whine in her voice, the demeaning comments, the demand to have her cigarettes lit because she couldn’t possibly do it for herself. He hated that bitch, but more than that he hated himself for being the pussy who let her walk all over him, shaming and emasculating him.

Tonight would be different. He’d put her in her grave where she belonged and just to be extra cruel, he’d bury her with her own hateful mother. They could fight it out in Hell, side by side for all eternity.

He looked deeply into her eyes as she drank the last of a laced glass of red, her pupils already starting to dilate. Yeah, he was gonna put her in the ground all right… but not before lighting her last cigarette…

© kym darkly

THE FLAPPING…

Whoosh! The big black wing hit the phone out of her hand and the candles blew out. Complete darkness…

Alone and afraid, the wings flapped around her, their waxy membranes clumsily slapping her face and arms so strong, she couldn’t breathe. They pummelled her from one wing to another with a harsh bristle that cut Billie’s skin. She felt blood run down her face and arms. She tried to shield herself, but this thing was relentless.

“Hello? This is the police department…” Billy could hear her cell somewhere. She started to scream, “Help, help me…”

But the piercing, through her open mouth stopped all that, the sharp object that impaled her tongue and crept harshly, staggeringly painful up into her brain arrested her in the moment… Then came the sucking… of her insides – out!

And then the dial tone…

© kym darkly

NECROMANCY…

©Tanya Grout

The medium sat still in the shadows. He listened to Mi Li talk.

Her candle-lit face flickered of the Philippines, the nose, the eyes: almond shaped and beautiful. She was shaking. “Please help me,” she said, “Every morning, I hear the cat padding around the living room. I hear it yawn, eat its food, race up and down the curtains…”

“And that’s a problem?” The medium asked.

“Yeah, it is when it’s dead!” She said. “First my father died of a massive heart attack. The next day his cat jumps off the roof of the building, killing itself too. I find fur-balls everywhere, paw prints over my pillow and I wake up with scratches all over my body. It’s making me ill, I’m so upset.”

The medium slipped into a trance quickly and was soon shaking violently. He spoke in another voice that scared Mi Li because she knew it was someone dead reaching through from the other side. She hoped it wasn’t her father, as he terrified her some.

“The cat didn’t take its own life. Your father’s ghost did. The mad spectre dragged it by the scruff, screeching and mewling, up to that roof top and threw it off so he could have its company in the afterlife, but all he did was create an enemy…”

The medium slipped out of his trance. His eyes alive with warning: “You have a house guest: vicious and raging, out for blood with sharp teeth and razors for claws. Beware sweet Mi Li, Beware…”

© Kym Darkly