monster

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

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 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

THE POWER…

As soon as she got home and closed the door, it took control. She couldn’t speak or move. She was simply rotated off the floor and raised horizontally on a pillow of air, four feet above the tiles in the hall. An invisible force, soft but strong pulled her arms out from her body. Her lips trembled, blue from shock. Her eyes peeled open far beyond their capacity, pinned back – a clockwork orange nightmare.

A shoe flew off ripping her foot and breaking a toe before smashing through the front door window – it’s shattered glass a violent explosion, throwing shrapnel back that cut into her hands and face.

Her coat melted at the seams and floated away in pieces gently bobbing beside as if afloat in a zero gravity capsule, but this was earth. This was her home.

She’d grown accustomed to the doors rattling, the boards creaking and the taps turning on and off, but now that she was suspended, now that a razor sharp energy ripped up her spine busting the discs from each vertebrae, she fully understood its power and she clawed for an idea of how to escape what might happen next…

© kym darkly

LOST SOULS…

Why was he wearing a helmet made of tin foil? I thought. Maybe he’s one of those UFO freaks.

“Lotta lost souls in them cities,” he said, a plume of rancid garbage wafting over. I noticed that his lips didn’t move. I looked around. There was no other on the train.

“The Lost Ones, thems you gotta look out for.” Still his lips didn’t move.

Train stopped. Lights out! Even emergencies. Pitch black.
An echo-scream flared from the bowels of the endless winding underground.

“Sound like animals trapped in time, don’t they? The Lost Ones are comin’
to rip yous apart.”

“What the fuck?” I blurted, not sounding at all like a Partner in Law at Burns and Badden. “They’re just coming for me? What the fuck about you?”

“I’m wearing a helmet,” he whispered. “They can’t hear me think.”

“Well I can!” I said angered by another scream, this time closer.

“Yeah, but you ain’t them,” he replied.

The next scream was in the car. Panic time. Whatever these things were, one was scampering right for me. I lunged across, grappled around for the old guy, grabbed his helmet and crashed it onto my own head. I stumbled back, completely blind in the dark.

His yelling was crushed by crunching, spitting, and slurping. Whatever it was, was enjoying him as a meal and I, though morally bankrupt, was safe – for now…

© kym darkly

DISLOCATED

by Kym Darkly

Trying to find one’s body can be difficult, especially when the limbs have been torn apart: disarticulated by saws and knives and evil. It’s not like I wanted to go back into that rotting corpse. I just needed to have contact one more time with my own flesh before letting it go. It hurt to find a leg in the trash, a foot in the stove and my head in the fridge between the eggs and orange juice, cradled under someone else’s hand, but I had to know what had happened to me. I had to know what that madman had done. I do wish I hadn’t found my torso and hips though – unspeakable things… I can’t even say…

© kym darkly

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Monster Mash…

The thick walls were pumping all around them, sucking and slapping visceral, mucus-saturated flesh up against their skin, burning them with secretions from its great pores. When the muscular walls began to crush their bones, they tried to move, to scream, but all three were quickly squeezed up tightly together. Soon one’s leg would become the mush of another’s arm pulp, human pulp – and they would slowly be digested by this creature that had swallowed them… 

 

© kym darkly