Thursday 7 May 2009

World Horror Con - Part 2 - Gross out Story

Since I didn't finish reading my Gross out story I decided to post it. If you have a weak stomach then just skip this post.


I’m an old man and I’ve lived a full life. My wife beat me to the grave a by ten years, and both of our children followed her shortly after that. Death of a loved one can have two effects; you curl-up and wait to die yourself or you fight it. Most people choose the first option. You can see it all over. Every city has them. Senior’s life style homes they are called. Tombs with windows is more accurate in my opinion, walk through one and the stink of pending death is oppressive and depressive. It was in one of these that I decided to fight back.

An unhealthy obsession my late wife had called my interest in the occult. I’d troll the used books stores in search of old books, heck I even read a lot of the new age and self-help books. You wanna know the secret, I’ll tell you. People like Deepak Chakra are lining their pockets with your cash and feeding you shit. The real knowledge was in the old books, the ones bound in real leather carved from the back of some dead animal. Other men my age were out playing golf and drinking Shantey in the clubhouse while pretending to still be men worthy of the name. I was reading and trying some of it out.

It didn’t take long to decide that what I needed was potential, life force to some. The books all hinted at the topic. Yet none went so far as to tell you how to get it or where to take it from.

It took a lot of experimentation and wasn’t cheap, the books offered ideas on harnessing energy. So I started out small, the woman down hall offered up my first source. She had a fat old gray cat that was forever escaping between her legs and slipping out to the hall way to shit. Of course it wasn’t allowed in the building and she denied even having it. I lured it in with a dish of moist food. An altar was ready in the bathroom being the only place that could easily be cleaned. Wearing an old jean jacket that had belonged to my son and my wife’s garden gloves I cradled the cat. A jerk of the wrists and its front little paws snapped like twigs in my hands. The jagged bones tore through its thin skin and ripped through a vein blood sprayed across the ugly off-white tiles. The thing let out the most pitiful mew as its blood ran down the walls. I almost felt the slightest twinge of guilt as it died in my arms.

The symbols were drawn in the tub with its own blood and the animal carved up. I ate well that night don’t ever let anyone tell you that a cat isn’t a good meal. The Vietnamese have got it right. The only problem with eating raw uncooked cat is the sinews they are such stringy things. As I leaned over the tub and slurped up the little bits of meat I tried to imagine pork chops or anything more appetizing to make it easier and keep from throwing up what had already gone down. I couldn’t hold it down and threw up all over the tub. A mixture of over easy eggs, toast and cat spewed out. Chunks floated around the half eaten corpse everything turning a odd shade of orange as it mixed. It had worked. I could feel the slightest of surges even with that first bite and I wouldn’t, I couldn’t let it get away from.

I leaned over the sink and spat out my blood stained dentures. The cup that I used to soak them was the only thing nearby, holding my nose I scooped like a ladle and drank deep. The toast soaked in gastric juices and cat blood was the hardest to swallow. In the end I had proof of concept I had the idea right but the source wrong. The next day I spent lounging in my chair and moving it with the sun. I would need something bigger, younger that had more potential left.

A week later I had found my next target. I had known the little punk since his parent had bought the house down the street from my old home. He’d even been my paperboy for a few months. Bastard kid was always late. It had been a few years since I had last seen him but he was pretty easy to pick out walking home from local middle school. Following him home by car wasn’t an issue I didn’t care if he saw me. On the second pass I pulled right along side of him, rolled down the window and waved him over.

The idiot walked right over and leaned in through the window. I gave him some story about how my wife had always had a soft spot for him in her heart. He nodded that he knew so I kept going and explained that she wanted to see him succeed. So I was going to put some money aside to pay for his college. His eyes lit up and I did my best not to roll mine as he excitedly got in the car. I’ve got to give one thing to those senior death hostels; they keep a good select of drugs on hand. The door had barely closed when I jammed the needle into his chest. He wolud never wake up.

Eating a cat is a lot easier then eating another person let me tell you. The problem has nothing to do with taste at least not at first. Little jerk really did taste like pork, it was a matter of volume. I ate as much as I could in a single sitting, but it barely put a dent in him. Perhaps if I had been fatter I might have been able to but I doubt it. Even washing it down with his blood didn’t help any. By the early evening the bathroom was starting to smell, the body was starting to bloat a little. None of this did anything to improve his taste. In the end, I made it through about half of him before I just couldn’t stomach any more. I carved off what I couldn’t finish and flushed it.

The whole thing left me feeling pretty good. I knew it wouldn’t last. Any time I moved I could feel the youthful energy fade away. I had to find a better source something small, some fully untapped life force energy. The feeling was like a drug. As you grow old you forget how it feels to be young and when you get that reminder you need more and more of it. I considered smaller kids as the days passed, might I be able to eat a four or a three year old in a single sitting. Less then a week later I realized that unconsciously I was driving past play grounds like some sick sexual predator. What was I becoming I wondered. That night I packed up and threw out all the candles, the knives, and even the books. I wanted to put it all behind me and I did for three months. That was about how long that little jerk’s boost lasted.

The next day I found myself back in the parks I had been avoiding for months. I kept my distance from the playground but watched it, watching them play filled me with hunger. Then I saw her power walking down the trail, swinging her arms, her belly bulging with unborn life. I nodded to her as she was almost coming past me. When she was right in front of me I jumped at her from the bench the last erg. from the little jerk almost gone.

My attack took her completely off guard and I knocked her to the ground bashing her head in to the pavement. It cracked open with a sicken split. I didn’t take me more than a few seconds, to drag her into the tree line. As soon as I was deep enough in the trees, I straddled her. Digging my fingers into her swallow belly I tore her open. Little stood between me and my meal… her unborn child, it true potential completely untapped. I tore free the umbilical from my prize and sucked down its life giving fluids made for the sweetest of nectars. The baby flesh was the softest and tenderest of meats, Grade triple-A Alberta Prime beef doesn’t even come close to the taste.

It was a small simple meal alone in the woods that I had that day, but it changed my life forever. I wouldn’t be the man you all see before you today if it wasn’t for that woman and her unborn child. To all of you I say, youth is wasted on young…. so let’s take it back.

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