The SICK Chronicles: An Anthology of Extreme Violence and Gore

by Nelson Samuels

  He begins to drag the old lady by her left leg across his yard and toward his rabbit pen. As he pulls her into the pen, he tosses her leg down, and walks to his tool shed. Jeremiah finds his best shovel, because his oldest member deserved the best, and takes it back into the pen. Digging a hole underneath the rabbit’s cages, he buries Mrs. Johnson, and covers her body with the shit layden dirt. The Pastor unzips his pants, removes his penis, and takes a piss on the freshly covered grave.

  “Jesus Christ, I’ve been holding that piss in for a while now!” he says. A horn blows from within Jeremiah’s front yard. He zips up and glances out to see that his neighbor has arrived to pick up his butchered rabbits. “Great, now I can get paid,” he steps out to greet the man. “Hey neighbor!” Jeremiah says.

  “Hey Pastor!” the neighbor says as he steps out of his vehicle and shuts the door behind him. He wasn’t a member of Jeremiah’s church, but everyone in the area called Jeremiah Pastor. “Do you have company?” the neighbor asks in reference to Mrs. Johnson’s car. Jeremiah feels his face grow flush with surprise as he’d forgotten about the car, even as he’d been walking up to greet his neighbor.

  “That’s Mrs. Johnson’s car,” the Pastor says.

  “I thought it was. Is she around? I’d like to say hello. It’s been a coon's age since I’ve seen the old gal.” Jeremiah slowly wipes his brow with his hand.

  “No, she’s not around,” he wasn’t sure what to say. He’d never been a quick thinker in difficult situations when it was needed most.

  “Oh yeah? Why’s her car here then?” the neighbor seems to be growing suspicious.

  “I’m working on it for her. She’s having some car trouble,” the neighbor stares blankly in silence at Jeremiah. The Pastor begins to grow increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. “She should be here any time now to pick it back up.”

  “Okay, well let me get this out of the truck for you,” the neighbor says as he opens his truck door and leans in, taking something from inside. He turns back around holding a revolver, and points it directly at Jeremiah.

  “What the hell Jim?” Jeremiah asks.

  “I should ask you the same thing Pastor! Or are you really a Pastor?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit! I saw what you did to Mrs. Johnson from my front yard you asshole, and I’ve already called the law!” the neighbor says. “Don’t even think about moving!”

  Jeremiah, obviously unable to defend himself at this point, turns around to try and run into his home. The neighbor fires his gun, hitting the Pastor in his ass.

  “Fuck!” Jeremiah screams out as he finally enters his front door, bolting it locked behind him.

  “I told you not to move fucker!” the neighbor says as he drums his fist upon the door. Jeremiah opens the drawer from the desk that was just inside the door and removes his own hand gun.

  “I’ll return fire!” Jeremiah yells back. Sirens can now be heard in the distance. “Shit, this day has not turned out the way I planned for it to,” he says to himself. He sits down by his front door, with his back to it. He places his hands to his head in obvious frustration and disgust with himself. “Ahhh!” he yells out.

  “Come out with your hands up!” the police were now outside.

  “All I wanted to do was fuck my rabbits in peace, and all it took was one old lady to fuck up my whole goddamn day!” Jeremiah places his gun to his temple.

  “Jeremiah, come on out, or we’re coming in!” a voice exclaims.

  “Come on in and get me motherfucker!” he fires the gun, the bullet going through his temple and out the other side.

  Jeremiah was dead.

  PART VII

  AFTERBIRTH

  The incidents you are about to read in this story are based on the actual events that I witnessed over two days of the filming of the pornographic snuff film “Afterbirth”. The names of some of the people involved have been changed for the protection of both them, and their families, but the realities of what happened, have not.

  DAY 1

  “Wait! You want me to do what?”

  “I’ll repeat it one last time, Jerry!”

  “That’s all I ask, Frank. Just go over it slower this time.”

  “Do you see the woman lying on the bed?”

  “Yes, I see her.”

  “She’s about to give birth to a child at any moment. My team and I will be filming the entire birth,”

  “Okay, and?”

  “And, after the baby is born, I want you to step in the frame and fuck her bloody, wet pussy real hard. Do you think you can manage that?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can do it. Was that it?”

  “Pretty much,” Frank, wearing his favorite “Fuck Serbia” t-shirt, smiled and began to walk into the adjoining room. He turned, focusing his attention back on Jerry, “Oh, and try to smile!”

  “Like this?” Jerry asked demonstrating his biggest grin.

  “Yeah, that’ll do kid. That’ll do,” Frank walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Action!” he yelled at his crew. A dark-haired, pale faced young woman with gaunt features lay on a bed in the center of the room, and began to scream as a doctor wearing a surgical mask walked between her legs, and instructed her to “push”. Jerry attentively watched from the hallway as the woman gave birth to a baby girl. The doctor snipped the umbilical cord with one practiced swipe of his gleaming surgical scalpel as the rest of the afterbirth freely flowing from her vagina, as a nurse caught it in a bowl before it landed on the floor. The doctor snipped the umbilical cord with one practiced swipe of his gleaming surgical scalpel. Frank motioned for Jerry to come into the room.

  With an abundance of energy, Jerry removed his clothing, and stepped between the woman’s legs. With an unexplainable excitement, his penis had become erect, and he forcefully inserted it into the woman’s bloody lubricated center. Jerry began to thrust and vibrate his hips as he heard the baby cry in the background, but seemed undeterred from his actions by the sound, until the doctor placed the child in his line of sight, and held it upside down by the leg. The doctor placed the baby face down onto it’s Mother’s stomach. Jerry, growing concerned, glanced over at Frank.

  “Keep fucking!” Frank instructed, Jerry nodded his head in agreement and did as he was told, continuing to thrust his member deep into the woman’s bloody vagina. The doctor placed the handle of a wooden spoon in the tight anus of the baby, and left it in place. The baby screamed out in agonizing pain as it’s rectum began to profusely bleed, and it defecated on itself. The doctor laid his finger over into the product of the babies pain, and then placed it into his mouth. His eyes closed as he delighted in the taste of the newborn’s rectal nectar.

  “What are you doing?” Jerry asked.

  “Such a good girl!” the baby’s Mother said as the nurse placed the bowl of afterbirth to her mouth and began to drink of it’s contents. As she brought the bowl down from her mouth, Jerry noticed that bits of placenta and blood dripped from her lips. He began to gag.

  “Just keep fucking! Don’t you stop now!” Frank said. Jerry closed his eyes, in an attempt to block out the scene that is taking place in front of him. As he began to get lost in his mental fantasy, he heard the baby girl scream again, and was quickly whisked back to reality. He opened his eyes, noticing the doctor had slapped the baby across it’s tiny face, and was placing the scalpel to it’s neck.

  “No!” Jerry cried out as the doctor sliced the baby’s throat, it’s blood flowing down the Mother’s stomach and onto Jerry’s cock.

  “Cum, Jerry! Cum!” Frank ordered. Jerry, realizing he was there for a job and wouldn’t be paid, closed his eyes once more. He was back in his fantasy. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.

  “Ahh…” Jerry removed his penis and ejaculated onto the woman’s stomach, his semen lying gently on the deceased baby’s face. Jerry fell to the floor in a fetal position and begins to cry. “What have I done?” he asked.
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  “You’ve just created cinema magic, my friend!” Frank said. “Genius! Simply genius!” He looked at the doctor, “Kill the Mother, but fuck her before you discard the body,” he then turned to his assistant and the cameraman, “film it all, and we’ll call that a wrap for the day.”

  DAY 2

  After the events from the day before, I sat in the bedroom I’d been assigned in the home where we were filming, questioning myself as to why I was even there to begin with. Why had the director Frank asked a horror writer such as myself to come and witness such horrific events. As I sat there in deep thought, my heart still racing from what I’d seen, having never slowed down in the first place, the reality of the situation came to me. He’d mentioned being a fan of my writing. Frank said that the brutality of The SICK Chronicles spoke to him on a level unlike anything he’d ever read before. I often questioned myself when writing my stories as to their real purpose. Were they stories, metaphors for life, or art? Did they have the deeper meaning beyond the violence, sex, and gore than I intended them to, or was I just fooling myself in believing they did? Was I now witnessing a manifestation of the fictional monsters I wrote about in the very real person that was this director? Or was I the real monster for even inspiring such violence in people to begin with? As I sat in this lonely bedroom in the backwoods of Georgia, the lingering smell of old cigarette smoke stinging my nostrils with every breath that I took in, this is what I thought about. Then a knock at the bedroom door brought me out of my deep thoughts, and back into the hell I was now experiencing.

  “Are you ready, Nelson?” Frank asked me as he stood at my door. I slowly stood up and put on my best fake smile.

  “I’m ready,” I said as I began to follow him out of the door and down the hallway. He was filming everything in an old barn that he’d converted into a homemade studio at the back of the property. As we entered it, I looked for any signs of the previous days carnage, but there was none. He apparently employed a great clean up crew, as there was no evidence that anything had ever happened.

  “Have a seat over there,” He said to me, motioning toward a chair in the corner of the room. The same one I’d sat in the day before.

  “Frank,” I said.

  “Yeah, what is it?” he asked.

  “What’s my purpose here?”

  “You mean you don’t know?” he asked me with obvious confusion at my question. “I want to be the inspiration for your next story,” he said with a smile. Not knowing what to say, I smiled in return, and satisfied, he continued about his duties. Maybe I was a fool in being shocked at his response. Was it really so hard to believe that someone as crazy as himself would read my stories and eventually want to inspire one of their own? Probably not, but it wasn’t something that a simple author like myself should’ve ever have to have faced. Whatever I did, however I responded to what I would continue to witness, I couldn’t show any weakness. I feared that if I did, I wouldn’t be allowed to live to tell this tale. I was now under the impression that Frank wanted to test me. To see if I was true to who he, in his mind, believed that I was. Were the thoughts I’d placed on paper those of a raving mad man, or just those of an author with an overactive imagination? This was his quest. He wanted to see if I was real, and if I wasn’t, I felt he was going to make sure I never wrote another story such as the ones I’d written and sold as The SICK Chronicles, again.

  To my horror, the man that played the role of the doctor from the day before, walked into the room holding a burlap sack in his hands, and in dumping it into the floor, the remains of the baby fell out. Frank quickly turned to see how I’ve responded to what's just happened. I, of course, showed no emotion. Satisfied, he gave further instructions to the man.

  “Drop your pants and fuck it,” he said. The small skeleton crew got into their respective places, turned on cameras, and made sure the scene was properly lit. The man, who I’ll refer to as the doctor from here on out, dropped his pants, and removed his flaccid member. “Action!” Frank yelled across the room. I wasn’t prepared for this. Of everything I’d written in my stories, from force feeding shit to a priest, super gluing a dick into a man’s ass and then ripping it out, even writing my own unspeakably horrid baby scene in “Innocence Lost”, didn’t prepare me for what I was about to witness.

  The doctor picked the baby up off of the floor and gently brushed it across his penis until he became erect. I wanted to turn away, but again, didn’t want to show any weakness, as Frank was constantly looking to see how I reacted. Placing the babies remains up to his mouth, the doctor placed his tongue into the little ones ass, and began to stroke his dick with his free hand. Stone faced, I watched the scene further unfold as the doctor removed his tongue from the deceased babies anus and proceeded to place his dick into it’s asshole. Slowly, he began to fuck the baby, pressing it’s tiny body against a wall, each thrust pressing tighter on it’s tiny skull. A woman with black hair and wearing nothing but a large strap on dildo, walked up behind the doctor, lubed it up, and forced it up his ass. The doctor placed both of his hands onto the wall as he leaned into her thrust, all while he continually fucked the babies remains. Frank smiled as he whispered instructions into his camera man’s ear. I watched in horror as the woman began to thrust harder into the doctor, and as she did, his own thrust into the baby, pressed it so hard against the wall that it’s tiny skull burst. It’s blood and brain matter began to slowly drip down the wall and the front of his legs. I place my hand over my mouth, but as Frank turns to see how I react, I quickly remove it, and only smile and nod in appreciation of what I’m witnessing.

  A masked man walked into the scene and handed the woman a large knife in which she placed to the throat of the doctor. As he began to reach climax and come, ejaculating into the babies remains, she sliced his throat from left to right, pulling back on his chin, and nearly beheading him. She licked the blood than ran down his back, pulled her dildo from his ass, and as the doctor’s lifeless body fell to the floor, she turns to the camera, smiles, and takes a bow.

  “Cut!” Frank yells as he turned to me. “How was that, Nelson?” he asked.

  “Oh, very nice,” I said as I stood and approached him. “That’s given me a lot of great material for my next story.”

  “Great!” he said. “That’s my goal. After while should be really fun for you then,” he said with a smile.

  “What’s after while?” I asked.

  “A circle jerk unlike any you’ve ever seen,” he said as he patted me on the shoulder and walked away.

  We had lunch, or at least I attempted to have lunch. No one else seemed to have any trouble eating their meal. To them, everything going on seemed to be normal everyday behaviour. Frank expected, from my written material, for it to be normal for me as well. In a sense, I guess it was. I did think about these sorts of things on a regular basis. I had to in order to construct the sorts of characters and stories that I did. However, even though I realized the types of individuals I wrote about really existed in the world, which is the main reason I write them as real and raw as I do, it didn’t change the fact that witnessing it in person was on a completely different level altogether. In my mind, as an author, and even personally, I feel true horror should never have a happy ending. So my stories never do. Very often, life hardly ever does itself. People are evil, and life can be as equally evil and cruel as well. I have always tried to keep things in my tales as true to life and real as I can, and it’s unfortunate that Hollywood, as well as other authors, don’t feel the need to do the same.

  As I sit and think about these things over my lunch, partly proud of my accomplishments, and the other part now regretful due to the experience I’m having, I watch Frank laugh and carry on as if this is a normal day for him. Perhaps it is. Perhaps he’s the very person I write about. True evil. The question is, do I draw my inspiration from people such as himself, or do they draw it from authors such as me? This haunts me as we finish our meals and I’m led back into the studio out back. Seated
in my chair once more, I watched as a group of six men walked into the room. Each were naked, some I recognized from lunch, some I didn’t, and each had a seat in a circle in the middle of the room. The carnage from the earlier morning’s scene still remained, but no one seemed to take notice, or even mind. Frank stripped off his clothes, and joined them, completing a circle of seven.

  I take quick notice that no one is behind the camera, and that the man that normally operated it was also seated in the circle.

  “Is the camera running?” Frank asked allowed. I saw the man I was referring to nod in response to him that it was. Satisfied, each man gripped the man to his rights penis, and began to furiously stroke it.

  Things seemed normal at first, well as normal as any seven man circle jerk can seem I guess, until I noticed each had a small hatchet lying in front of them. Only God knows how I didn’t notice this to begin with. Maybe I was distracted by the fact that there was about to be a fucking circle jerk in front of me, I don’t know. Each man picked up the hatchet with his free hand and held it chest high.

  “As we ejaculate, we offer ourselves to you, in the hopes that you’ll accept us into your kingdom of damnation. Our semen is our offering, our blood spilled in sacrifice to you, our maker. It’s you, Satan, that has blessed us with the gift of child, passion, sex, lust, and death, and it’s in death that we will now serve you!” they said in unison as each man buried his hatchet into chest of the man next to him. Each one ejaculated as the hatchet tore into the chest cavity and blood began to flow into the floor. Frank, and all of the others fell over in death.