Splatterpunk Fighting Back

by Bracken MacLeod

  “Oh God,” said Freya, her hand tightening on the machete. More memories tumbled away from her, and she forgot her own name for a moment.

  Hunched over and wheezing, Miss Blinker grinned with a misshapen and too-wide mouth full of curved fangs. Red tendrils had sprouted from her stomach, swaying and darting in the air. Weeping cysts and bulging pustules had ripped through her clothes, turning them into rags. The right side of her body was covered in suppurating lesions. Her hands had contorted into dripping blackened claws.

  Miss Blinker was a monster.

  “This is a new world,” the teacher said, her abundance of teeth giving her a slight lisp. “Aren’t you excited? It’s the arrival of all the gods and monsters. They live in the spaces between the spaces.” She paused, dabbed at her horrid mouth with one elongated finger. “Why don’t you come over here and we can discuss things?”

  Freya swallowed to clear her throat and glanced at David. “What’s happening here?”

  Miss Blinker spread her spindly arms to acknowledge the children. “They are my food. I’ve already eaten two. Are you hungry?”

  “What happened to you?” Freya asked.

  “The gods smiled upon me. They blessed me with new appetites and perceptions, and made me into a glorious thing. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “What have you done to my son?”

  “I merely issued him, and the others, a natural sedative. It makes them more compliant for…well, you know.”

  “I’m going to fucking kill you,” Freya said.

  Miss Blinker laughed and lunged across the table that separated her from Freya, who only just dodged her swiping claws. Freya stumbled back against the wall, almost tripping over David’s legs. She raised and swung the machete as Miss Blinker leapt forwards, and the blade found the spoiled meat of the creature’s face and took her nose and most of one side of her face. It was like slicing through an overripe pumpkin.

  Miss Blinker screamed. She clutched clawed hands to her ruined face. Blood gushed, hitting the floor with the sound of hard slapping. She fell backwards, her stomach tendrils writhing and wet, and when she grasped for Freya again, the machete severed her outreaching hand.

  Miss Blinker was a shrieking, manic wreck of flailing limbs when Freya buried the machete in her heart.

  Trembling and wordless, Freya stared down at the monster she’d killed, and it was only when she placed one hand to her stomach that she noticed the horizontal cut made by one of Miss Blinker’s sharp tendrils.

  The children woke soon afterwards and sat on the floor, glancing around with dull faces. They had no idea what was happening, and Freya chose to leave them oblivious because it was the most merciful thing to do.

  Struggling with her gut wound, she helped David to his feet. They hugged. He said nothing. There were tears in his eyes.

  She nearly forgot his name.

  They walked outside, and the children followed and dispersed into the chaotic streets of the village. Freya and David stood in the middle of the road as alien thunder boomed in the red sky. A glimpse of the sun, draped in scarlet, beyond the masses of shapeless black flesh that drifted above. Even the daylight was turning red. She couldn’t look at the black masses for more than a moment because of the pain that their manifestation caused in her eyes.

  Blood dripped from her stomach onto the road. Each drop spilling the best of her. She winced, breathing hard, and held back a sob.

  The boy shuddered beside her. What was his name?

  She was slipping away. It felt like reality was failing. The fabric of time was being twisted by entities beyond her comprehension. The walls of houses were bleeding, and the village church had transformed into a tower of red pulsing meat that sprouted tendrils and birthed plump spiders the size of dogs.

  People were pulled into the sky, and they did not scream.

  “Let’s go home,” Freya said to the boy, as she watched a man tear away his own face with such ease that the skin and flesh could have been putty.

  The boy nodded. He was slack-mouthed, almost moronic, his eyes dull and weeping. Such a frail thing. What was his name?

  She stifled a laugh with one hand. Blood on her mouth. She tasted it on her tongue. She’d dropped the machete, but couldn’t remember where. An old folk song echoed inside her head then flitted away, as if on a breeze whispered by the alien gods.

  Details were fading. When was her birthday? What had she eaten for breakfast?

  People were skinning themselves in the street and giggling all the while. A young couple rutted in a flower garden as they bled from numerous cuts upon their dishevelled bodies. Blood sluiced in the gutters and gathered in pools. A little girl was pulling the guts from a dead man.

  Her vision swaying, Freya took the boy’s hand and they walked on. She wasn’t sure which road led homewards. She let out a pained cry, and the boy looked at her with a confused expression. Behind them, laughter and screams rose then faded. Someone was chanting from within a garage. The stench of rotting meat swept across the street.

  In the sky, the black masses of flesh roared in some kind of victory.

  Farther on, her hand slipped from the boy’s, and she stumbled down the street, only glancing back once at him as he sat down on the road and raised his face to the sky. Who was he? Had he meant something to her?

  She didn’t know.

  She laughed.

  What is my name?

  The blood on her hands. The glistening wound in her stomach. The rancid smell of her guts. She wondered what had happened. She wondered what it was all about. She wondered about everything and why the sky was red and if the black moons up there were grinning at her.

  Her mammalian brain dwindled, slowly fading into nothing.

  The crimson light pulsed. The ringing in her ears became deafening. And she laughed again as she slumped on the kerb at the roadside. Glass shards lay at her feet. Her stomach wound was not enough to kill her, not quickly anyway. She thought it would be the most hilarious thing to cut her throat.

  Yes, it would be. It sounded delightful.

  She was still laughing when she took one of the glass shards and drew it across her throat, offering her blood to the new gods at the end of it all.

  Molly - Glenn Rolfe

  This story is dedicated to the memory of Matt Molgaard.

  A husband, a father, a son, a writer, and a fan.

  I hope you found your peace, my friend.

  NIGHT ONE

  His job at the Hilton was bullshit. Some of his co-workers were assholes, and the guests were even worse. Two months ago Caleb left his cozy little Night Audit job at the Super 8. Sure, at the sleazy property on Elmore Ave his nights were full of scum of the Earth—hookers, junkies, real shitty humans—but at least they kept to themselves. They stayed out of your business, you stayed out of theirs. The same could not be said of the businessmen and women that frequented the fancy hotel in Oakman. It was a land of uppity fucks.

  “Excuse me.”

  Lifting his gaze from the comic in his hands, he knew the voice, knew the goddamn “diamond member” tone. Anne Marie.

  “Oh,” she said, “You do realize you’re working, right?”

  She was holding a little black bucket.

  “Do you have a bigger ice bucket than this puny thing?”

  They did, but at this moment, Caleb wasn’t about to fork it over.

  “Nah, sorry. That’s all they give us.”

  “So…” she looked over her shoulder.

  Shit. He’d left the door to the hotel’s meeting space open. A large red Igloo cooler was sitting atop the first table.

  “Oh, yeah. I always forget about that one.”

  “Mmm hmmm. I’m sure,” she said.

  “I’ll just make sure it’s clean. Where would you like me to bring it?”

  She turned and walked toward the elevators. Without looking back, she said, “I want it filled and set it out for us on the lobby table.” The elevator doors opened. She stepped in, did an ab
out face, and smiled. “We’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”

  No please. No thank you. The door closed.

  What he wanted to do was fill the fucking thing with piss.

  His front desk manager, Justin, came out from the back office. “Was that Anne Marie?”

  “Yeah, she wants me to clean and fill the cooler for them.”

  “She’s one of our favs around here, Caleb, be sure to do as she says.”

  Gritting his teeth, Caleb imagined beating the snot out of the prick.

  Justin pushed his glasses up his nose. “I know this is a big change for you, coming from that motel, but our clientele is a bit more…sophisticated. They pay good money to stay here. I hope you can appreciate that.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Caleb muttered.

  Prick.

  “What’s that?” Justin said.

  “I’ll get it ready for them.”

  “You’d better,” Justin said, before he left.

  Caleb cleaned the cooler, filled it with ice and the twelve-pack of Bud Light that Justin purchased for the group on the hotel’s behalf, and left it on the large table by the lobby TV. Sure enough, they sauntered down at promptly 6:15. Anne Marie, the queen bitch, and her getaway lover, Isaac, an over-muscled, P-90 X douchebag, sat down first. They were definitely fucking. Caleb had seen them making out in front of Anne Marie’s room before she pulled him inside by the crotch of his pants. Lizzy and Donna rounded out the little tribe. Lizzy was a bubbly blonde that seemed like the type to go along with anything, Donna was a bit older than the others, twice as hot, but mean as fuck. Long black hair, perfect curves, and legs that she loved to show off in tight little business skirts, a real life Black Widow. It wasn’t long before Justin came out of the back office and joined them, whispering and staring daggers in Caleb’s direction. Their cackles echoed, carrying like rabid bats threatening him with their infection.

  An hour later, Justin grabbed his keys, said his good-byes to Anne Marie’s crew before turning to Caleb. “Make sure you clean the lobby before shift change,” Justin said. “I don’t want Stephen to have to deal with this shit, he’ll throw a hissy fit.”

  “Oh, we love Stephen,” Lizzy said.

  Of course they do.

  Stephen was another fucking winner. A grade-A douchebag convinced that he did everything at the hotel, frequently branding the rest of his co-workers as lazy and incompetent.

  Justin whispered something into Anne Marie’s ear. She craned her head in Caleb’s direction and laughed.

  Justin hugged her and headed out the door.

  Good fucking riddance.

  They continued on for the next forty minutes, being loud and obnoxious as always, blasting bad dance songs from their phones and laughing and swearing up a storm until they finally went back up to their rooms. The lobby table was a disaster of Chinese food containers and beer cans.

  Caleb left it there. He kept his head down, plowed through his second shift checklist, and was making the cash drop just as Stephen came through the lobby doors. Caleb grabbed his sweatshirt from the coat rack, punched out, and passed the desk.

  “What’s with the mess in the lobby?” Stephen said.

  “Justin said to have you clean it up,” Caleb said.

  “Oh, wonderful.”

  Heading out the door, walking across the wet pavement, a cool wind blew his shaggy bangs across his forehead. On impulse, he looked over his shoulder at the four-story building. A silhouette in the top corner room stood before the lit window. A person holding a small child. The light died out as the curtain fell. The sight sent a tendril of fear crawling up Caleb’s spine. That was Anne Marie’s room.

  Why did I think she was holding a kid?

  A car horn blared, and brought him back to reality

  He was standing in the middle of the parking lot, looking like a pervert staring up at the hotel windows.

  “Get outta the way, moron,” a man with a New York accent barked from behind the wheel of a shiny Dodge Challenger

  “Sorry.”

  The car and its New York loudmouth jerked around him.

  “Fucking kids,” the man said.

  Caleb got in his Kia, pulled up Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher” on his iPhone, hit play, and backed out. The light in Anne Marie’s room was on again. He stamped the brakes and stared. His jaw dropped.

  Behind the sheer curtain, a set of curves stood, a second silhouette, a man, appeared before her, dropping to his knees.

  Isaac.

  Caleb watch as the hands roamed over Anne Marie’s breasts and down to her hips.

  Caleb’s dick stiffened. Now, he really was that pervert.

  He pulled his gaze away, put the car in Drive, daring one last peek at the window, they’d moved away, but something else caught his eye. The small child was there.

  The light died.

  Dressed in goose bumps, he headed home.

  Anne Marie watched Isaac slip from the sheets, pull on his underwear, slacks, and t-shirt. He was fun and beautiful. And he could fuck like a beast. It would be a shame to have to do what needed to be done. As hot as he was, the man had more brains in his cock than in his head. Lizzy was clueless about, well, everything, but Donna, Justin, and that dickwad, Caleb, knew better. She’d seen Caleb just this past week catch her with her boy-toy in the doorway. That was all right. She had plans for him, too.

  Her job up here in dead-as-fuck Maine would be finished tomorrow, and then she and Molly were off to the Caribbean. Isaac tiptoed to the door. Lights bled into the darkened room, cracking over Molly’s face.

  Molly.

  The darkness returned as Isaac shut the door.

  Anne Marie sat up. Molly’s silhouette moved.

  “Come here, baby,” Anne Marie said.

  The doll crossed the room, a shadow in the night, and climbed up into bed. Anne Marie held the sheets up, allowing the doll to take Isaac’s spot.

  Molly lay still, the stitched red smile in perfect place upon her pale face.

  Anne Marie covered her with the sheet, kissed her forehead and snuggled up next to her.

  “You’ll show them, won’t you, Molly?”

  She traced the doll’s blood-red smile with her finger, and then closed her eyes.

  Donna, clad in a red leather thong and nothing else, pulled Lizzy’s night shirt over the trembling blonde’s head. She dropped the cotton shirt to the floor, placed her hands on the woman’s tan shoulders, and eased her back on the bed.

  “Shh,” Donna said. “No one is going to find out, okay? This is our little secret.”

  Lizzy, biting her bottom lip, nodded.

  Donna slipped out of the thong and kicked it to the side.

  “You’re going to go first.”

  She loved the nervous energy radiating from the Lizzy. A few drinks and a little Benadryl and the woman was putty in her hands. Well, almost. Under the concoction’s spell, Lizzy’d confessed that while she’d never been with woman, she had fantasized about it. Donna decided that was all the yes she needed.

  She straddled Lizzy’s hips. Taking her time, she let her fingers matriculate up the young woman’s nubile body.

  “You have beautiful tits,” Donna said.

  Lizzy gave a weak smile. “Thanks.”

  Donna bent down, tracing the erect nipples with her lips, first one then the other. Lizzy took in a sharp breath. Donna smiled, and went to work, knowing the perfect nibble to tongue-flick ratio to get the woman’s motor running. She continued, slipping one hand between Lizzy’s legs. Intoxicated by Lizzy’s heavy breathing, quiet moans, and the way she squirmed at her touch, Donna pulled her fingers from Lizzy pussy and sucked the juices from them, before bending and kissing Lizzy full on the mouth. Their tongues darting and sliding against each other. Donna broke the kiss and sat up, sliding her slick, shaved pussy up Lizzy’s warm flesh.

  “Your turn,” she said.

  Lizzy smiled and nodded.

  Donna got up and wrapped her knees on either s
ide of Lizzy’s head.

  Now, it was Donna’s turn to purr, moan, and cum.

  NIGHT TWO

  Caleb’s night had been a doozy. He’d arrived to work late this afternoon after getting his third speeding ticket of the year. He caught a rash of shit from Justin, and then he had to watch Angie, one of his cooler co-workers, burst into tears after finding out something horrible about her fiancé. She never said what it was before becoming a complete mess and being sent home by Justin. Now, Caleb was on his own, and every nutjob in the area seemed to be trying to either get a room (two clowns, high as fuck, and demanding he match the price of the Motel 6 across the street) or was stirring up shit in the parking lot (a group of local rednecks in pickup trucks decided to get in a shouting match with two black guests). Oakman wasn’t known for its crime, but there seemed to be something in the air tonight.

  Before he could look up whether the ticket meant he was in danger of losing his license, Caleb’s favorite guests stumbled through the lobby doors.

  Anne Marie’s tits were just about falling out of her low-cut blouse. Caleb spied her left areola and felt his face flush.

  “Oh,” Anne Marie said. “See something you like?”

  Isaac whispered something in her ear before helping her stand up straight.

  Caleb saw Donna through the lobby door, having a cigarette out by the smoker’s bench.

  “You know,” Anne Marie said. “You could be cute…if you weren’t such a fucking little prick.”

  “Whoa, shhh shhh,” Isaac said. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said. She shoved Isaac back toward the stairwell. “You’re drunker than I am. Why don’t you go to bed?”

  Isaac looked at her, waiting.

  “Go on.”

  “Seriously?” he said.