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The Hogs of Entropy 0015
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| | Hogs of Entropy Text Files Present... | |
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| | C'est La Mort | |
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| | By: Dale L. Sproule | |
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| | Transcribed by Corrosion | |
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This story originally appeared in
"Reaper's Harvest" Magazine Issue #4.
Memories of all the other lifetimes didn't come to her this time, until she
lowered the gun. He was dead, half his face blown away. She turned to run,
but the corpse got up suddenly off the floor, moving with inhuman speed to
block the door. His hand reached up to peel off what was left of his
tattered upper lip. It made him speak with a cleft palate sort of lisp,
which encouraged the desperate illusion that he had some sort of weakness.
"Cun here," he ordered.
There was no weakness in the hand that grabbed her wrist. With her free
hand she hurried to unbutton her blouse, but it wasn't fast enough for him.
His other hand reached out and started tearing her clothes off.
"Faster vitch. They'll ve here soon."
Maybe there was a patrol car around the corner. Maybe. When the police
came, he would become just another corpse. Until then, there was nothing
she could do to stop him. He was already dead. He was death himself, and
his stregnth was unearthly ...as was his lust.
He wouldn't hesitate to hurt her.
Finally, he let her hand free so she could undress more quickly. She
turned to run, but the floor was slippery with his blood. He reached out
casually, knocking her off her feet. She fell heavily. Then, he flopped
on the floor beside her, not caring as his skull cracked loudly against the
kitchen tile.
He unzipped his pants and laughed to see his own erection.
"Vig fucker, aren't I?" He giggled until he choked on the blood that
filled his mouth and coursed down his chin.
He lifted her naked body like picking a pillow from the floor and set her
on top of him, straddling his bony hips.
There was no way to get away from him. She'd known that from the very
beginning, but still refused to give in without a fight.
400 years earlier she'd joined a convent, thinking he wouldn't be able to
get her. When Sister Maria died, he simply claimed the old woman's corpse
and came to her in the night with a wooden crucifix as a phallus. The other
nuns discovered the Sister's defiled body in bed with her the next morning.
They called her a witch, and with the help of some soldiers nearby, hanged
her in the courtyard that very afternoon.
Two generations ago, she had committed suicide, only to wake in the morgue
with a dozen cadavers clawing and poking at her. They had all laughed his
laugh when they finished with her. They tore her limb from limb, and she
remained concious throughout.
The more she fought, the worse it was. And always would be.
She cried again this time.
He liked that.
She pleaded, "Can't you let me live one lifetime without you?"
"There ittthhh no life without death," he grinned, without ME, you are
nothing."
He buried his penis inside her.
She didn't look up when the door burst open, or when the cops pulled her
off him. She washed and dressed when they told her.
Two of them placed her in the car, one in the front and another in the back
seat beside her. They talked about her as if she wasn't there.
"Whew, this one's a real sicko."
"You think she killed him just to have some kinky thrills with the
corpse?", asked the other.
"...more to it than that."
"Like a cult, you mean?"
"No... well, maybe."
"How do ya figure?"
"There was that big puddle of blood on the other side of the kitchen," the
first began, "He was lying by the door, but there were no marks like she
dragged him over... or anything."
"Never underestimate the power of the orgasm."
"Well, maybe he got over there by himself..."
"She blew half his head off! Nobody coulda lived through that."
"Maybe he..."
"Own up. You're just horny, aren't you? ...Did she turn you on Wilson...
Wilson? Maybe the stiff'll let you have sloppy seconds."
They laughed.
As both men in the car turned to leer, she could see past them. Past them
to the treetops into which they would soar as the car would speed right off
of the edge of the road and into the orgy that awaited her as death
-Refusing to be frustrated - prepared to return with three times the lust
- three times the anger.
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Copyright (c) 1994 HoE Publications and Dale L. Sproule #15 --> 10/21/94
All Rights Reserved.
