Archive for April, 2014

Buddy and Wanda Jean were on the road before dawn, tires kicking up a rooster tail of gravel that bounced off the side of the trailer, not that the occupants noticed, or were in any state to notice. No, Buddy had said, that boat done sailed, and there ain’t no coming back from where they’d sent them.

Wanda Jean smiled quietly in the pre-dawn light; the uninitiated observer might suggest her smile was one of sleepy serenity, and they would be about as wrong as tits on a turtle, as Buddy was fond of saying. No, Wanda Jean’s smile was one of deep satisfaction,  primal in its nature, as old and malignant as the comet that wiped them big old lizards off the face of the earth all those years ago.

Back in the trailer, in the pale light of the rising dawn, nothing stirred. Not yet, anyway – there would be maggots and flies soon enough, and eventually something bigger would force its way through the window screen and that’s when the party would really begin. The only sound from within the aluminum hovel were the sounds of rusty water dripping in the sink, and dark blood, dripping from the mouths and noses of Harley and Monster, as their bodies lay slumped against the cheap wood-paneled walls and the reeking, shag-carpeted floor. Dean was there too, but not nearly as…drippy as the others.

Several weeks before, the men had taken an interest in Wanda Jean, and once that happened, there wasn’t anything anyone could do but let them take what they claimed as theirs and hope there was something left afterward. Dean was the local sheriff, Harley his idiot brother, and Monster…well, Monster had drifted into town on an ill wind, and no one had the balls to send him back. When the boys get together and decided they wanted something, or someone, that’s all there was to it, and the devil help anyone who got in their way, because no god would have any part of it.

So they’d set their eyes on Wanda Jean; the defiant wiggle in her walk spoke of a rebellious nature, one that the boys wanted badly to break.

“That part of her right there,” Dean had been heard to say, “She holds her head up like she’s better’n the rest of us. I wanna break her heart and make her hate beautiful things. I wanna make her filthy with shame and disgusted at her reflection in the mirror. I aim to make her hurt.”

Harley and Monster agreed, and that led to Wanda Jean in the trailer last night. She’d shown up on time; their threats were enough to keep her from running, and besides, she had nowhere to run to. In her purse were the rocks, the crystal, they’d told her to bring. The boys liked to party, and they liked to party hard.

Wanda Jean was lucky; the boys were hard up to party, so they hit the meth first, before getting started on her. Wanda Jean knew they liked to snort the stuff, and so did her boyfriend, Buddy. Buddy knew that he couldn’t beat any of the men in a fair fight, knew they’d only treat his lady worse if he tried, so instead he had Dwayne cook up a special batch of rock for the boys.

Dean grabbed the bag from Wanda Jean, emptied it out on the coffee table, and began chopping it up with his long distance phone card while Harley leered at the girl, delighting in the fear visible on her face.

“God damn, this looks good!” Dean shouted as he set up three wide lines of powder. Each of the men bent over the table, hungrily snorting up the tweak like hogs at a trough. Dean waited a moment, enjoying the sight of his buddies enjoying the spread, and the anticipation of what was to come.

“Shit burns!” Harley said, braying laughter that sounded thunderous in the small single-wide.

Monster sat down heavily on the floor, his eyes wide. “Um…guys…” he stammered.

Dean looked at his friend on the floor; Monster’s breathing was deep, labored, as he sniffed, taking the dust deeper into his body. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose.

Harley clapped his hands in joy as Monster leaned forward, blood now pouring from the larger man’s nose and mouth. On his hands and knees, Monster’s body convulsed and he vomited, a raging torrent of blackened blood and bile, while Harley kept clapping, clapping.

Then Harley’s laughter and applause abruptly ceased, as he found himself bleeding as well, his eyes suddenly widening in panic as he felt the same thing starting to happen with himself. Harley moaned, feeling as though someone were inside his gut, trying to punch and stab their way out. His lungs felt like they were filled with fire, each breath more painful than the last. Harley suddenly pitched forward, hands on the coffee table, as his stomach lurched violently, as if it were trying to escape through his throat. Harley suddenly erupted, disgorging a torrent of bile, blood, and tissue; upon seeing the result of sickness, Harley understood that his body was truly tearing itself to pieces and forcing him to puke it out. His stomach lurched again, and his bowels exploded as his final humiliation got underway. The foulness that came from his was unimaginable; the hot, sticky mess that used to be Harley’s colon slithered out of him, followed by a fusillade of feces and blood. As his body’s catastrophic failure wound toward its conclusion, Harley’s last coherent thought was of the girl, and wondering why she would be laughing.

And Wanda Jean was indeed laughing, despite the sickening horror being played out in front of her. Dean, who had snorted the meth last, was just beginning his short, painful trip to the next life, and had already pissed himself out of fear over what he had witnessed with Harley and Monster, who was now in a fetal position on the floor, ragged pieces of tissue hanging from his gaping mouth as his body continued ripping itself to shreds. His eyes wide with disbelief, he looked at the laughing girl.

“But…why?” he asked, his eyes filled with the naïve innocence of the very young and the very evil.

“Because, you stump-broke, hillbilly piece of shit, watchin’ you die is fuckin’ fun,” Wanda Jean laughed. “Looks like it fuckin’ hurts, too. Damn, you see that ol’ boy? He puked up his goddamn stomach!”

Dean’s eyes twitched over to Harley, his brother, as the younger man gasped in desperation, eyes wide, as his body instinctively attempted to breathe, not realizing that it was far past the point of needing air anymore. Dean began to cough, a pink spray coating his hand as Buddy’s lethal dose got to work.

“Oh, you’re in it now, Dean!” Wanda Jean said, clapping her hands joyfully. “You fellas ain’t gonna be beatin’ and a-rapin’ no one no more. Now, I’m gonna sit right here and watch you go through what them other boys went through, and then I’m gonna walking this fine young ass of mine right out of here and you know what? I’m gonna get away with killing all three of you sons of bitches. Now, what do y’all think of that?”

Dean was already incapable of responding; Wanda Jean knew this, but she’d rehearsed the speech and wanted to get it all out. She figured she’d earned the right, knowing what the boys had been planning to do to her. She sat on the edge of the couch and watched as Dean’s body went through the now-familiar motions, taking great delight in the agony of the man.

When it was over, Wanda Jean stood and tiptoed through the stinking mess left by the three men, her foot squishing wetly on the sodden carpet. She stopped next to Dean and bent over, hungrily licking away the red and black mess that had spattered his chin. She plucked a piece of gore from his collar and popped it into her mouth, purring contentedly.

Unable to control her desire, Wanda Jean fell onto the dead man, her teeth bared, and ripped into the still-warm flesh of his throat, noisily sucking up the wreckage with a hunger nameless and ancient. When all that remained was a desiccated husk, she belched contentedly and rose to her feet, wiping a ribbon of blood from her chin.

Sanguis tuus cœnam meam. Historia incipit iam,” she whispered quietly.

Wanda Jean paused a moment longer, deeply inhaling the stench of death, delighting in its delicate complexity, as she made her way to the door, which she kicked open. The trailer was set back away from the others, not that anyone would have reported what they’d heard. Everyone knew what went on in Harley’s trailer, and all were accustomed to turning the other way when the screaming started, finding any number of other things to do that would keep them from harm’s way.

Wanda Jean hopped into the passenger seat of Buddy’s Camaro, and flashed a smile at her waiting boyfriend.

“Come on darlin’, let’s get outta here,” she said happily.

“Did them ol’ boys like what I had made for ‘em?” Buddy asked.

“I can’t rightly say, honey bunny, they was rather speechless about it all.”

With a laugh, Buddy stomped the accelerator, kicking up a rooster tail of gravel at the dilapidated trailer as they sped off into the breaking light of a new day, just two kids out for adventure, and not a care in the world.