SickER Bastards: A Novel of Extreme Horror, Sex and Gore

by Matt Shaw

  “She can cook for you here. I stay out of your place, you stay out of mine. Think you can do that?”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Of course - if your mum asks - this is just as much your idea as it was mine. If she thinks it was just me… Well…”

  “Yeah, I get it, you don’t want to be the bad guy.”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “No?”

  “If she thinks it is a mutual decision - she won’t be as upset. I just don’t want your mother hurt…”

  * * * * *

  NOW

  The Second Option

  I suppose there were three options presented to me. The first one - already mentioned - was to just leave her here during the dead of the night. Her chance of survival would be practically nil. Another option would be to take her with me but - yeah - that wouldn’t really work. She would slow me down. I might need to sneak around undistracted. Can’t have her slowing me down. Especially if she believes there is a chance these people - if they are out there - will just let us leave and go back to our old lives (and with compensation at that). Three options but only one that was realistic.

  She had to go.

  “What is it?” Mother asked.

  I had been looking at her as I weighed up the options - completely oblivious to the fact she was staring right back at me.

  “Just day-dreaming,” I said.

  I broke eye-contact.

  “Oh yeah? Sounds intriguing.”

  She raised an eyebrow. I knew what was on her mind. Just as Sister had been - this woman was insatiable. Wonder if this is anything to do with what is in the water. Not only does the water help keep memories at bay but - also - increases sexual libido. I don’t know. She twisted her body up from the settee and sat up. She patted the cushion next to where she was sitting and beckoned me over.

  “Come here,” she purred.

  I hesitated for a split second before going over to her. I didn’t sit next to her. When I was standing in front of her I bent down and forced her legs apart so that I could get between them. She laughed. I pushed her back on the settee. She was breathing heavily as though getting turned on by the rougher treatment. I have a feeling she is about to be surprised. I leaned close to her face and kissed her. A small peck first before putting my tongue inside of her mouth. She responded positively. A quick thought flashed through my mind stating that I didn’t have to do this but I do. I don’t have a choice. The thought dissipated promptly.

  Sorry, Mother.

  I put my hands on her throat and moved my head away from hers. Her eyes were fixed upon mine. A smile on her face, a twinkle in her eye.

  “I’m so wet for you,” she sighed.

  I smiled.

  I squeezed her neck with my hands. Despite my intentions - she didn’t seem to register the danger she was in as I continued crushing her windpipes. I felt her hand reach down for my crotch. She thinks it’s a game. Something kinky to help bring her to another orgasm… I squeezed tighter as she wrapped her legs around my waist and - with them - pulled my body close to hers. Her skin was starting to flush from where I’d trapped the blood. Any second now, she’s going to start to panic. Can’t let go, though. Need to keep squeezing until she passes out. More than that - need to keep squeezing even after she is unconscious.

  Her eyes widened. Her hand moved from my crotch up to my own hands. She tapped on my hands first - a sign telling me to get off a little. Let her have some air. Sorry, Mother, not today. Today we go all the way. The tapping changed to a frantic clawing. Her eyes staring directly into mine still - all wide and scared… They’re starting to roll in the socket… Towards the back… Mostly see the whites of them now. The noises coming from her mouth, as she continued to gag, were fucked up. Can’t be much longer now. Must be nearly there. Her body was writhing around - trying to push me off - but I pressed down with as much weight as I could. Come on, Mother, just go to sleep… Her head rolled to the side and her body stopped writhing, her hands stopped clawing at mine… I didn’t remove my hands though. Needed to be sure she was gone.

  Another minute went by and I slowly released my hands from her (bruised) neck. She didn’t open her eyes, nor did she turn her head. I felt for a pulse. She was gone. I sat there a moment, unsure of what I was feeling. I had killed her - my once upon a time Mother - I should have felt sad. Maybe even a little bad for what I had done? But… I felt my crotch through my jeans. Definitely an erection present. Is that from where she was touching me through my jeans as I choked her; whilst she thought it were still all fun and games? Or is it from the act of taking her life? I tried to dismiss the idea of being turned on by her death but I struggled to. I touched my crotch and felt my cock twitch - as though it were trying to reach up to encourage my hand to wrap its fingers around it and gently wank it into a second orgasm. So soon after the first? Not even sure if I have that in me. Sure I’m young but… Lack of food equals a distinct lack of energy. Does feel good though, touching it. I continued to caress myself through the fabric of both jeans and shorts as I looked down to the gusset area of Mother’s leggings. I leaned down and breathed in her scent. I pressed my face against where her vagina would be - on the other side of the cotton. Rubbing myself faster now without even realising I had changed both pace and general method of touch. Whereas a second ago I was touching myself with an open palm - now my fingers were trying to grip my cock despite the layers of clothes between them (and my ever growing hard-on).

  I grabbed Mother’s leggings and gave them a sharp tug down her legs. Both leggings and knickers came down with ease as the top half of her body slumped to the side. I tossed the items of clothing to the side and put my face back against her vagina - breathing in her scent whilst it was both still warm and fresh (as fresh as it could be considering the lack of soap). My hand was back around my penis, wanking it hard and fast and I gingerly poked my tongue from mouth to cunt. A bitter taste as it touched her lips. A few licks and I knew - from doing the same to Sister - that I’d soon lose the taste as the grime was washed away with my own saliva.

  Part of my brain was screaming at me; asking what the hell I was doing. There was another part though which was screaming something else. It was telling me to stop licking and start fucking; take the tongue from her pussy and replace it with my hard-on. Fuck her good one last time, whilst there was still some warmth to be obtained and some juices to seep from within. You have one last time before you need to leave the house, the little voice kept saying, you need to make it a good one. For all you know, this could be the last person you get to fuck.

  Guess which voice I listened to?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BEFORE

  A Mother’s Love

  Mum had come to visit me. She looked pale. She looked as though she’d been crying. I didn’t say anything to her about her appearance. I didn’t question her. I just figured that - if she wanted to talk about it - she would do so when she was good and ready. Besides which, it was a day after dad had told me I wasn’t welcome around their house anymore, I had an inkling as to what was bothering her.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  I hadn’t told her about my funny five minutes on the chair a few days ago; the rather pathetic attempt at suicide as though it were going to cure all of my problems. She probably would have wanted to know about something like that. She’d probably have wanted to help me - especially if I was suffering in any way, shape or form. I just didn’t want to upset her - and I knew it would do exactly that.

  “I’m good, thank you.”

  We were in the kitchen. I had filled the kettle with water from the tap and was waiting for it to boil. She was lucky, I hadn’t been expecting any visitors and hadn’t gone out for any shopping. Only just had enough milk left for a cup of tea each.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” I told her.

  “Not interrupting, am I?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “It’s nice to see you.”

 
; She smiled. The kettle clicked and I lifted it from its base and poured out two full cups of boiling water into the mugs I’d previously fetched from the cupboard.

  “Your dad spoke to me,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “He told me you two were taking a little time apart from each other?”

  I wondered whether he would even bother saying anything to her or whether it would have been down to me to find excuses not to go and visit them. Clearly he at least had the balls to say something. Well done, him. A little time apart from each other though? Was that the best he could come up with? So vague. How long was a little time? A week? Two weeks? Indefinite?

  “That’s right,” I told her in the hope she’d carry on talking and fill in the blanks as to what he’d said to her.

  “How do you feel about that?” she asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Really?”

  “You know things have been… strained… between us for a while now.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “So, the way I see it, this could do us some good.”

  She smiled but I knew she wasn’t happy. A rogue tear dropping from her right eye gave her away. She felt it on her cheek and wiped it away with the back of her hand. Was I to mention it? Couldn’t ignore it.

  “It’s okay,” I told her, “things will go back to normal soon enough. If anything - things will be better than they have been for a while. You watch. I’ll find a decent job, I’ll make something of myself and - maybe - I’ll pay him back the money I owe him. Soon enough we’ll be talking again. And more than that, he’ll be proud of what I have achieved.”

  I could smell the bullshit leaking from my mouth. Even when I had had a job, even when I had had a lovely girlfriend (who dad got on with), even when I had been paying my way… He still hardly had had any time for me. There was a man - if ever one existed - who wasn’t meant to have children. He was too selfish for them. He wanted to live his life with the woman he married and anything else… That just ruined what he’d planned.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked again.

  I nodded.

  “I’m fine. I promise.”

  I reached over to her and gave her a hug as though to reiterate that everything between us was cool. Everything between us - mum and I - was cool. Nothing would change that. We didn’t really say it to each other as we didn’t feel the need to but I loved her and she loved me. I gave her a squeeze.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you too,” she answered.

  Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to say it.

  * * * * *

  NOW

  Losing It

  I was kneeling on the floor next to Mother’s body. My semen was dripping from her vagina, down onto the settee where her body rested. I had ejaculated but it wasn’t the same sensation I was used to feeling when I’d cum all those times before. It felt… I don’t know… It just wasn’t the same. Despite the amount of sperm trickling from her - it felt as though it had been empty.

  I looked up to her pale face. Her head was still to the side, eyes still to the back of her head.

  “Get up,” I told her.

  She didn’t move.

  “Mum, get up! Stop messing around! Wake up!”

  She didn’t move.

  I screamed out loud in the hope she’d suddenly blink and look at me, maybe even smile and tell me that she loved me, as she had when we were in the flat together sharing a cup of hot tea.

  “Please, mum, stop being silly. Wake up. You’re scaring me…”

  I didn’t want her dead. I’d acted hastily. I’d been stupid. I wanted her with me. I wanted to leave this house with her. I wanted us to go back to our old life together. Just the two of us. We’ve got rid of Father. We’d got rid of Sister. It would just be the two of us… Mum and I. I shook my head. What am I doing? She’s not my mum. She wasn’t my mum. The woman here and the woman in my flat - whenever that memory was from - they’re not the same person. They’re not. They’re different. One is real - the one in the flat. This whore… This cunt… She is an imposter. She deserved to die. Just as Sister had deserved to die and Father too… Where ever he is… He deserves to die too. I shook my head again. No. They don’t deserve to die. They didn’t deserve to die. None of us deserved this. We deserved to live our lives - not in here but out there in the real world… Before this shitty experiment… None of this should have happened.

  I screamed again.

  My head was hurting. Banging. An ache that made me feel as though it were likely to explode in brain and skull fragments. I can’t do this. I need to get out of here. I need to get away from all of this. I need to…

  I need to die. Just as Sister needed to die, just as Mother needed to die - and Father. I should kill myself… I should…

  No.

  I can’t.

  I’ve been here before. I can’t do it.

  I need to go home. I need my mum. My dad, even. I need them both. They’ll be able to help me through this. They’ll be able to help me move on. They’ll be able to help me forget the terrible things I’ve been forced to do in the name of science… No…

  I need…

  I need food…

  Yes, food. I need to eat. The hunger driving me to distraction. Need to eat something. Fillet steak. Nom nom nom. Eyes cast back to Mother’s body. No longer a sex toy, no longer a human… Now just a piece of meat. Fillet steak. Blue. Just the way I like it. Need to eat. Need to keep this hunger at bay…

  I lunged forward, mouth open, and sunk my teeth into her fleshly thigh. I clamped my mouth shut and pulled away with a huge chunk of flesh between teeth. The taste. Oh God the taste. How I missed it. Fillet steak. That’s what it is. I chewed down hard. Had to. Only way I could get it into smaller pieces. Have to chew hard. Fillet steak.

  When it was small enough, I swallowed it down. My stomach instantly started to gurgle. No doubt it was gurgles of appreciation. Not much meat on a kitten and that was the last thing I forced down.

  I leaned down and took another bite from her thigh and another piece of flesh from her leg. As I chewed it and swallowed it down, I immediately started to feel better about what was happening. Not the fact that I was in this situation in the first place - nothing will make me feel good about that - but rather where I should go next. I knew, now, that I needed to go home. I needed to go back to mum and dad. I needed them to help me move forward from this shitty set of circumstances. Dad? What am I talking about? I don’t need him to move forward from this. I just need mum.

  Swallow.

  Bite.

  Chew.

  Wipe mouth with back of hand.

  Mum always had a way of making things seem better. Whenever I had a problem, I knew I could go to her and we would talk it through until I felt better about it and had a clear idea in my head as to how best to tackle the issue until it was one hundred percent resolved. She’ll be able to help me get through this. I know she will.

  Swallow.

  Gag.

  Bite.

  Chew.

  Pause.

  I just need to make it to where she lives. Or where I had lived. No. Wait. Can’t go back there. Even if I can escape this Hell-hole - even if I can make it back to where I once lived - they’d be looking for me there; the assholes who set this place up. As I keep saying, they won’t want me out there in the real world. They have seen what I have become. They know what I am; a cannibal, a murderer, a demon. They’ll want me confined to a cage for life, or even put down like a rabid animal. They can’t risk me out there hurting people or telling them my story. Wait. They’d know about my parents too. I must have told them about mum and dad. I must have said something to them. Did they ask for Next of Kin on the form? I’m sure they did. Not one hundred percent positive. I can’t be one hundred percent sure. But… Can’t remember the last time I filled in a form which didn’t ask for such details. They’d look for me there too… They’d come and find me and they’
d find mum. Maybe even dad. They’d find us and put us all down with a bullet to the back of the skull. Would they though? I mean, would they really? Or have I just seen one too many films? I was unemployed. I remember that much. Did I waste away my days watching movies? Is that why my imagination is so active?

  I spat the Fillet Steak out and screamed a roar of frustration.

  My head is a mess.

  Everything is a mess.

  I just need to get home. I need to be with my mum.

  I need her help.

  * * * * *

  BEFORE

  What She is There For

  I watched from the top of the stairs as she walked out of my life. I wanted to call out to her, sure I did, but she had made it very clear that she no longer wanted to be with me. Mum was standing by the front door; a sympathetic look on her face. Not just for me but for my girlfriend (my ex-girlfriend) too. Break-ups were never fun and it was hard to put the blame solely on one person. Don’t get me wrong, this was all her fault. She was the one who left me. She was the one who no longer wanted to be with me. The one who didn’t love me. I wanted to be with her. I would have done anything to keep hold of her so - yes - in this instance it was all her own doing. But mum never judged people. She felt sorry for the pair of us because it was never nice for either party when a relationship crumbled. It wasn’t nice for the person having their heart ripped out and stamped on (that would be me) and it wasn’t nice for the person who had to put someone else through that pain.

  Mum opened the door and said goodbye to my ex. My ex - a sheepish look on her face - said goodbye too as mum closed the door - blocking my vision from seeing my ex head off down the driveway and out of my life. I sat on the top stair. I felt completely numb. Maybe a little bit sick even? Mum walked to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at me with that same sympathetic look she’d given my ex.

  “You heard then?” I asked her.

  “Hard not to. There was a lot of shouting,” she said.

  I felt embarrassed. Not just because I was so worthless that I had been dumped but because mum had heard us. No doubt she heard me begging for my relationship to have another chance. I must have sounded pathetic.