The sound of creaking from above was loudest of all. It was said people weigh more in death than when they were alive. Whatever he was bound up there with was starting to snap.
Everything in the theatre was cut-price. Heroin, even with the special deal with the Dragons, was expensive. Despite how much money each performance pulled in, most of the money went to keeping the actors compliant.
The dead man’s arm fell first, dropping fluid and cockroaches onto Xanthe and Dog-Boy. At least it hadn’t detached from his body.
She pounded on X’s door. There was no response, not even a cackle of laughter, from her creation. Parts of her brain blasted away, filled up with painful old memories and set a display of remembering. It wasn’t safe in there either.
She kneed Dog-Boy in the groin. It was an action she’d wanted to do for a very long time. Although X/Xanthe never remembered them, it featured in her most pleasant dreams.
“Feisty, are we? I like that.”
A dead man falling on them would be worse than being covered in dog food. She had to make her former neighbour realise it. The chance of building a life for herself, away from the theatre, heroin and orgies, depended on it. She couldn’t have life if she died beneath the dead man’s falling weight.
“Look up you fucking child-raping idiot.”
She didn’t lose a drop of vomit but instead, held it under her tongue.
“Hit me, here.”
He pointed to his cheeks. Xanthe spat her puke at him.
“Is that the way we’re going to play it?”
He held his small member in his hand. She couldn’t see it throbbing but knew it was. Another arm came loose from above, dumping with it cockroaches and liquid—a combination of blood and the water from the lake.
Xanthe was never one for sticking fingers down her throat and puking up the excess grease she ate in her former life. She tried now though. Her gag reflex was strong, but not strong enough.
She squirmed beneath the weight of her former neighbour. He splattered her in a spray of cum. That was enough to make her vomit with such violence she was forced to sit up. Dog-Boy tumbled off her.
“Put up a fight like you used to, before you accepted it.”
She wasn’t putting up a fight for his pleasure. It was pure self-preservation. The old self-harm scars and loose flaps of skin kept the trackmarks hidden, but that didn’t mean Xanthe wanted to die. Being crushed to death by a falling body was not the way to go out even if she did. With escape, there was a chance of a future.
She pulled her legs out from under Dog-Boy, even as he was trying to climb back on top of her. He took the opportunity to pull on the skin covering her ankles, putting his hands in some other guy’s cum.
Xanthe pissed herself. After a month of after-hours parties, she could pee on demand. The urine did nothing to lube up the floor and aide in her escape. Dog-Boy laughed, bent over and lapped it up.
Xanthe threw herself from side-to-side, trying to get away. The next time she looked up, the body was dangling by one leg. She looked around. Everyone was too high on drugs and pleasure to notice her struggles and the body above them.
“Let me go.”
She was screaming. If anything, the struggle should attract the attention of the theatre director. When he came over to punish her into submission, she could point out the body. He was nowhere in sight, most likely otherwise occupied. There was no knight in shining armour for Xanthe.
Dog-Boy pulled flaps of skin around her vagina looking for entry. Xanthe screamed. He hurt. She needed the attention of someone who could save her.
He forced dog food inside her and into her skin rolls. The centre of her attention was seized by the sound of cords snapping above. If X wouldn’t let her in, she would project their death to her with extra concentration.
Dog-Boy couldn’t hurt her again. He panted on top of her and dripped his drool all over the loose skin protecting her breasts. There would be some cushioning from the falling body.
Dog-Boy’s dick was so small, she could hardly feel it at all. A long time ago, it was the source of the blood of her cherry-popping. She’d wanted to lose it learning to show jump like all of her friends, but the neighbour had had different plans. She hadn’t even met her Aunt Flo and only had little rosebuds to grab onto. She’d been a skinny thing before drowning her sorrows in grease.
His cock had been so large then for someone of Xanthe’s frame to take. It was the first she’d seen, so had had no comparison to one of average size.
Xanthe found herself laughing. Dog-Boy really was a nasty old man, even back then. Now somehow, he seemed worse, if only for his pathetic-ness. She thrashed beneath him.
“I like that baby. I like that real good.”
Could he get anymore creepy? She kicked. She threw up her knees to hit his pumping arse. She still couldn’t feel his cock—not inside her, not in any one of her numerous skin rolls either.
“You want it harder.”
It wasn’t a question, more of a statement. It sounded like he was trying to make dirty talk. All he did was make her laugh harder.
X opened the peephole of her cell. It could have been a ruse designed to lure her into taking his seed. She rolled backwards in hysterical laughter. This was the neighbour that had caused her creation? He was outright pitiful.
She opened the door to her cell and joined Xanthe on top—two sisters united in mind as well as in body. They twisted Xanthe’s hand around, catching the loose skin on the floor of the stage. It was in the way.
They yanked his balls as he pumped away on top of her. His drooling tongue licked the loose skin hanging from her face.
He was obviously feeling something Xanthe wasn’t, until suddenly his pupils dilated and he let out a howl. He scrambled off her, trying to free his scrotum. She tore her nails in. He scratched at her hand. His nails had been shaped into dog’s claws. Xanthe couldn’t feel them and neither could X.
They were aware of the body swaying above. A second after they released Dog-Boy’s balls, they rolled over and the body crashed down. It didn’t splatter and landed with its erection facing up. X was the one to take in the information.
Xanthe usually remained in her hole except when they were on stage. She wouldn’t know what could be done with a dead man’s erection in a place like this. X pulled them to their feet. She knew the theatre better. Clutched by the stomach cramps and shakes of withdrawal, she was going to get them out of there.
She managed a few steps before she was tackled by her former neighbour, panting in her ear as he pulled her down. He pulled back the skin protecting her anus and shoved his cock in. She couldn’t feel it. It was too small. She pulled herself on her elbows with him humping her and, she assumed, deriving some sexual pleasure from his actions.
“I love it when you squirm.”
X/Xanthe didn’t care. She pulled herself right over to the shiny shoes of a patron. She tried to move out of his way but it was too late, she was spotted.
“My, my, what do we have here?”
He snapped his finger and a Dragon appeared out of a curtain, needle in hand. She didn’t have any choice. The drug won every time. She tried to conjure up the will to wave the hand away. She couldn’t. It hit the system before X/Xanthe’s shared bowel turned to liquid.
Dog-Boy was pulled away by the Dragon and patron. X/Xanthe was dragged to her feet. She couldn’t walk. Her toes dragged along the floor, picking up splinters. Stage varnishing was something the male performers were responsible for. They didn’t do a very good job.
She focused on the splinters to clear her mind. It was of no use. She kicked. She didn’t want to be anywhere near the theatre, being dragged back to the body. The two men picked her up under her arms and grabbed her ankles. She could squirm, but in the air, all it did was sway the skin flaps.
Eyes burrowed into her from all around the stage and below in the golden circle. It looked golden tonight. Someone had covered it in blue tarps and filled it with water from thei
r bladders. X/Xanthe focused on that. They were in this together. A golden shower, or bath, in this case would be preferred to the body.
“No, no, you can bathe afterwards, if that’s what you want.”
A third man joined them—her former neighbour. He pulled flaps of loose skin away from her vagina as the other two planted her. She could feel the dead guy’s erection. It was cold and not throbbing, but as large as a novelty dildo.
The men stood around her, pulling her, pushing her, making her ride the cold hard cock. They forced her head down and her eyes open to look into death’s eyes staring back at her. They were empty, just like everything else and all the promises made.
Clammy hands with fur cuffs grabbed her arse skin and pulled it away from her anus. The snout bounced off her shoulder as Dog-Boy jumped onto her, scoring a direct hit for what might have been the first time in his life.
The cold hard cock in her vagina filled her up and pressed against the wall. It meant she could feel the former neighbour’s cock for the first time since she was a little girl and he’d set his Rottweiler on her.
With two other men directing her actions, she wasn’t allowed to reach around and grab his balls. To throw him off would mean being an active participant in riding the corpse. X/Xanthe tried to conjure another personality to take it but none of the half-formed creations took the bait.
Another needle found a vein. Her body fell over onto the dead man. Dog-Boy’s thrusts became faster and then he collapsed on her, pulling his dick out. The other two men left her slumped over the body as they pulled him off and threw him into the golden circle with a splash. It was too far away for the piss to reach X/Xanthe and revive her.
For once, her mind stayed awake whilst her body slept. The two of them together shared control, but neither could move her pelvis enough to release the dick.
She watched the men’s feet as they moved back. Black shoes polished to a mirror shine and snakeskin boots. The snakeskin belonged to the Dragon, to match his personality.
“We got rid of the wannabe furry for you, we deserve a reward.”
X/Xanthe was pulled to her feet. She swayed. She couldn’t hold herself up.
“Watching that gave me the biggest hard-on of my life.”
“She’s in no position to suck anyone off.”
“Well I don’t want her pussy after it’s ridden that corpse.”
“Well I don’t want her arse after that guy went in. He had fucking fleas.”
The shadow scratched at its arms. X/Xanthe listened to flakes of skin falling off above the noise of the party all around her.
“Her skin’s had too many cocks tonight.”
A new shadow joined the floor from behind Snakeskin Boots. X/Xanthe knew what it was from the shape. She’d seen enough of them in her life.
“I have something better for her.”
He pressed the knife against her spine. She couldn’t feel the pain of her skin being sliced away.
“But first, we need to get rid of some of the excess.”
She watched him place it in neat little piles on the floor.
“Don’t step on it. I want a mask.”
She tried to roll away. The men performed the skin removal surgery she’d never been able to afford, but this wasn’t going to end well. She could feel it on the air.
She couldn’t move at all. Her own death would be slow. Slower than the man found in the lake. Drowning took a matter of minutes. X thought they’d be there for hours. Xanthe agreed.
“This is fucking disgusting.”
Liquid dripped on her from her own skin. It could have been anything.
“It’s mouldy.”
“Oh my god, there’s new fucking life forms in there. We should send a sample off to a lab.”
More footsteps echoed off the stage. People were coming over to view the happening, or maybe join in. If anyone offered help, something worse would befall them.
“Now what?”
“Roll her over, there’s more skin.”
They used their hands to turn her. X/Xanthe thought they’d have used their feet. Hands were too tender, like a lover’s kiss. But shoes that shiny and expensive didn’t want to be damaged.
Slicing away skin on the front went much in the same way as slicing it away from her back and sides.
“She still isn’t clean.”
“We aren’t going to fuck her.”
The knife pressed along her belly button, which hadn’t seen the light since heroin found her. The blade cut into it and sliced along. Warm hands pulled back that final layer of skin.
There was no pain. Not even when searching hands rearranged her organs. They found what they were looking for and pulled. Her small intestine was pulled out but only so far.
“Bring me a sheet.”
Footsteps scurried away. A minute later they returned. The sheet created a small breeze as it fell to the floor. X and Xanthe were at peace with each other and themselves. They found joy in the breeze reaching and caressing her skin. It had growths on it, yeast infections and mould, but it was freer now than it had been in years, if ever.
The sheet was placed next to her.
“You there, and you, help us put her on it. Be careful of her guts, we don’t want her to die just yet.”
Hands reached underneath her. She was lifted into the air and took in the pleasure of feeling it between the growths. She was placed onto the sheet. She felt the weave of the fabric. It didn’t have a high thread count—nothing in the theatre was as good as it appeared. Everything except the after-hours parties were built on illusions.
“Careful now everyone.”
She was wrapped in the sheet and lifted into the air again with her intestine hanging out. Black dots appeared over her vision. It wasn’t enough to claim her. She didn’t move as the sheet was carried up various flights of stairs, up into the rafters. Even if she’d wanted to, she wouldn’t have been able—paralysis and disembowelment did that to a junkie.
More black dots had formed into smudges by the time she was laid out on the floor. More of her intestine was yanked out of her midsection. Her eyes caught sight of the end being tied to a railing between black dots and clearing grey clouds.
A boot kicked her over an edge. Her intestine unravelled. Grey clouds and black stars claimed her eyesight.
X and Xanthe held onto each other as they tumbled through her mind to the cell. They locked themselves in. If pain came at the end, they didn’t want to feel it. They didn’t want to know what was happening as the body shut itself down.
Together, they conjured up a beach in some sunny climate but it wasn’t all that it seemed. The water washing on the shore was golden, not with sunshine but with piss. The sand was dried cum. The rocks, shit. Shells, hollowed-out preserved shit. They weren’t left for the hermit crabs but for the crabs that had formed themselves together into one big creature with itching on its mind. Even death’s fantasy couldn’t offer Xanthe release.
Together X and Xanthe prayed for the reaper to show up, holding each other and holding their noses shut. When they were in her mind, they didn’t share a body. The darkness finally embraced them and carried them away together.
<<====>>
AUTHOR’S STORY NOTE
I had the character X in my head, a weird tribute to The Story of O (a book I never liked) with the name, but not the character. I started the story a few times, but it never flowed right. I left for the day job, after yet another morning of moving the sentences around on the page. I was in a particularly foul mood. This foul mood impacted how I tortured that character. I wanted her to die. If I could have brought her back and killed her again, I would have.
I was at the day job for sometime between fifteen minutes and half an hour, when the story decided it was ready to be written. It was the body in the lake bit, which appeared first. The rest of the story worked around that. I held that image in my mind until I arrived home.
Luckily, it was one of the days I was only in for two hou
rs and close to home. I had to stop at the supermarket on the way home, as I did plan on eating that day. I’m not a very good runner. I’m a pretty overweight person. I don’t run. I can’t run. I don’t think anyone has ever seen a fat woman in a dress skipping and twirling down the street (sober, by the way) as quickly as I was. I didn’t bother to put away my groceries and stopped at a sandwich shop for my lunch, premade and to take away. I sat down at my computer. I didn’t bother with the thousand or so words written already, those were closed, never to be looked at again. The story poured out in one afternoon. I cleaned it up the following day. I don’t know at what point X’s personality split into two. It wasn’t X and Xanthe when I left for the day job.
I was aiming for most extreme in Vs Extreme. I don’t know if I obtained it. I was pretty nervous sending this one in. I’m usually not nervous about writing; two things could happen—it’ll be accepted, or it won’t be. So, that was unusual. I don’t think I realised what I had written until it came down for my round to be judged and I won. I don’t often win anything and I’ve never actually addressed my own fears of not being a particularly good writer.
BREAK
GLENN GRAY
From Hard Sentences: Crime Fiction Inspired by Alcatraz
Editor: David James Keaton
Broken River Books
The first self-inflicted fracture was the middle phalanx of the right fifth digit, but that was just a test. It didn’t matter because it would have nothing to do with the job. Bone snapped easily with just a slight jerk, as if cracking a knuckle. It fractured swiftly and effortlessly, and surprisingly without much pain. I’m no stranger to fractures. A good part of my childhood was spent in hospitals and doctor’s offices, showing up with bones broken due to forces that seemed no greater than a strong gust of wind. It started early on, as a toddler, and continued into my teens until things got sorted out. I always figured my bone issues were probably why I chose to become a doctor in the first place, thinking it would give me some kind of control, of which I had none.
Year's Best Hardcore Horror Volume 3 Page 13
