The Cannibal Within

by Mirabello, Mark

  How The Things Seemed To Change Form The three figures—still suspended in the air—slowly moved toward us on swirling balls of luminous gas. The method of locomotion was bizarre—even though Jehovah himself, maker of crop circles, allegedly travels in a whirlwind.

  As they drew closer and closer, I noticed the strangers seemed to change in size and shape. The transmutation was completed in seconds.

  The St. Anne figure changed first. No longer old and withered—she became young, nude, massive, and powerful, with blood-red, needle-pointed nails, fearsome, sharp teeth, and a monstrously obese body.

  Moments later, the Virgin Mary figure transformed. Her beauty completely disintegrated within seconds, and she became a nauseating ogress. Shamelessly naked and hideous beyond belief, she now had a pair of great ugly buttocks, a bloody vagina leaking some sort of slimy fluid, and two huge breasts that were pulpy and soft like rotten fruit. Her fearsome breasts—the nipples puckered with lust—moved to and fro like monsters when she breathed.

  Finally—and most revolting of all—was the transformation of the counterfeit Christ. Inexplicably, he was also suddenly naked—his loincloth seemed to vaporize before my eyes— and I observed his body change size and shape and color. He became ugly—loathsome—repulsive....

  He now had an oversized head with pointed teeth and a large, smooth, hairless body that was yellowish in color. Oddly, he seemed to resemble a monstrous fetus with fangs.

  His penis, which initially appeared small, thin, and malnourished, now appeared colossal—gruesomely exaggerated—in size. Throbbing with criminal lechery— sagging under its own enormous weight—it was as long and thick as a small human arm.

  Terrifying to behold, it reminded me of a large poisonous snake, a monstrous marine slug, or some freakish leather dildo. Gorged with blood and covered with swollen veins, it emerged menacingly from his groin.

  Such an evil thing, I thought, could not please any woman. An abomination, it could only profane and degrade.

  A Strange Dream

  As the strange beings continued to move closer, I apparently blacked out. Perhaps fear caused me to lose consciousness— perhaps it was the monsters—but I do remember that I had the oddest dream.

  I think it was a dream—some sort of vivid nightmare—for I was raped by Satan himself. Using my virgin body— immaculate, unsullied, and pure—his evil plan was to procreate the apocalyptic Beast.

  I struggled in the dream against the incubus—I recited the words of Psalm 91 which, according to the Jewish Talmud, had the power of keeping devils at bay—but the charm had no effect.

  ‘Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day,’ I recited in the dream, with a trembling voice, ‘nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.’

  But the devil continued his aggression. Ignoring the psalm of David, he forced his black and chancre-covered penis into the bloody darkness between my legs.

  ‘With my body,’ he hissed, ‘I thee worship.’

  I screamed and writhed—the union of our mismatched genitals was a savage and implacable—and I was delirious with pain and terror.

  I begged for mercy, and I shouted the name of Jesus—the love child of Jehovah—but the devil only laughed.

  ‘We will have a baby,’ he hissed. ‘Between puberty and death—there is birth.’

  Worse Than A Nightmare

  I awoke from the nightmarish hallucination shrieking. The reality in which I found myself, however, was equally horrifying.

  I was lying face down in the dirt—my mouth filled with mud. Oddly, my lips were covered with a black, fungus-like incrustation.

  A poisonous foam—some kind of odious-smelling ointment— covered my entire body. The vile substance, which had a harsh, acidic feel, had vaporized all my hair and had given my skin a jaundiced look. The freakish changes, I would later learn, would be permanent.

  I struggled to raise myself, but I stumbled. Everywhere, the mud was slippery with blood and vomit, the liquids of death.

  I fumbled in the darkness for the dagger—Maddalena’s black-handled athame—but I could not find it. The weapon seemed to have disappeared.

  ‘Help us!’ I cried, to any power that could hear me. ‘Help us! Help us!’

  I wanted to run—I wanted to run anywhere—but I could not move. Something was holding me from behind—something with a vice-like grip—something with clawlike hands. ‘Help us!’ I shrieked. ‘Help us!’

  I felt spasms of pain in my lower body, and I felt something evil—something utterly obscene—deep inside of me. Immense in size, it seemed to be moving.

  The violent intrusion—whatever it was—was caused by something that was hard and cold to the touch. It made me feel unclean—dirty—polluted.

  Screaming again, I cried out to my friend. Alone and afraid, I felt small, helpless, and powerless.

  The Terrible Crime

  I heard a sickening sound off to my right—a sound that resembled the crushing of a crustacean’s exoskeleton—and I managed to look in the direction of the noise.

  To my horror, something was happening to Maddalena.

  I cried out to my friend, but she did not answer. I heard strange communications in my head—moaning, groaning, shrieking and blaspheming in a Babel of languages—but Maddalena was silent. At the time, I assumed she was mute with fear.

  I could not see my friend—the two monsters standing over her were blocking my view—but I knew something terrible was occurring.

  ‘Maddalena!’ I shouted. ‘Maddalena!’

  With detached ruthlessness, the monsters with her seemed to be committing an atrocity in a calm and methodical fashion.

  I cried out—a wild, maniacal scream—and it was then that I managed to catch a glimpse of my friend’s lower body. Her legs—wet with gore—were flailing in some sort of epileptoid seizure. In some areas, the flesh had been pulled completely from the bone.

  ‘Maddalena!’ I cried. ‘Maddalena!’

  Reacting to my shriek, one of the beasts stood erect and looked back at me. It smiled—a twisted, slightly reptilian smirk—and I could see fat, blood, and shards of bone in its teeth. The fragments were unequivocally human.

  ‘Death is inevitable and sometimes abrupt,’ hissed a snide voice in my head. ‘That is the way of nature.’

  What I Saw And Felt Behind Me

  Fully expecting to die—thinking I also would be eaten alive—I forced myself to look behind me. Like Orpheus— like Lot’s wife—I directed my eyes toward the forbidden.

  It was then that I saw another horrible truth.

  Sick with desire—aroused by his own raw, elemental sadism—the monster had forced his huge penis into me.

  I convulsed with disgust and agony—I could see his icy, tumescent organ glistening with my blood—but my repugnance seemed only to fuel his ecstasy.

  His thrusting quickened—his penetration became more furious—and I felt a powerful shudder—an uncontrolled throbbing—deep inside my body.

  He made a wicked sound—something between a sigh and a moan—and his face seemed to shiver with pleasure.

  The monster grunted—his muscles stiffened—and some kind of sperm—some kind of reproductive filth—jetted from his swollen penis.

  The discharge—ejected with great force—was cold and thick and slimy. Resembling congealed pus, it had an offensive, suffocating smell.

  ‘In your womb,’ said a voice in my head, ‘a meat-eating animal will grow. He will love warm places—but he will hate the light.’

  The Monsters Replace Us

  ‘Who are you?’ I sobbed, to the monsters. ‘What are you?’ ‘We are three,’ said the voices in unison. ‘Virgin, warrior, scholar.’

  ‘You are not human!’ I cried.

  ‘Then, perhaps we are finite gods,’ said a male voice. ‘Or, perhaps we are carbon-based demons. Or....’

  ‘Or,’ interjected a female voice, ‘perhap
s we are you....’ I felt a strange sensation inside my brain. It was not a cerebral inflammation, but some sort of telepathic penetration. ‘What are you doing?’ I cried. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘We are paranormal beings,’ said a voice. ‘Crawling into your soul, we can brutalize you without even touching you.’

  The molestation of a human mind by a transhuman—the criminal trespass on the sacred psychic space called self—is a horrifying experience. Thoughts, memories, desires— everything that is private, secret, and shameful—becomes known to them. A non-genital form of rape, it is the ultimate violation.

  ‘Please stop!’ I cried. ‘Please stop!’

  Nauseated with fear, I felt faint. Even as I swooned, however, I observed that the two female monsters seemed to change size and shape. Oddly, they became replicas of Maddalena and myself.

  ‘Since we are replacing these girls in man’s world,’ said a voice, ‘it is a shame they are not beautiful.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said another voice. ‘Only pretty girls—the ones with slender bodies heavy with breasts—only pretty girls have any fun.’

  I wanted to cry out, but I could not. The scream died stillborn in my throat.

  Feeling helpless and violated, I passed out. Only the blackness saved me from madness.

  Chapter II My Years With Things That Eat Humans

  ‘And the Serpent mounted Eve and injected filth into her; she gave birth to Cain. From thence descended all the wicked generations into the world.’

  Kabbala (Zohar 3:76)

  ‘The worms shall feed sweetly on him.’

  The Bible (Job 24:20)

  Inside The Abyss: What I Found In The World Of The Monsters

  For hours—even days—I was unconscious. During that period, my mind was in a bottomless gulf without walls and without light.

  When awareness finally returned, I found myself—naked, bruised, and bleeding—in a grave-sized cage made of stainless steel bars. My skin was still covered with dried semen—the spoor of the beast. Remarkably, I was still alive, but I felt bewilderment and fear.

  Terrible pain convulsed my body, for both my legs and arms were broken. I would later learn that the fractures— intentionally inflicted on all abductees—had a purpose. The leg and arm injuries made escape and resistance impossible.

  As I looked about, it was dark—although a strange, phosphorescent glow provided some illumination. The air, polluted by the stench of sweat, urine, and chemicals, was hot and stifling. A churning, spiraling fog burned my eyes.

  I could see little, but I could determine that my cage was inside some vast interior space—some enormous cavernlike chamber. Water was dripping from the rough-hewn walls, but the landscape of raw rock was devoid of all vegetable growth. Oddly, the place resembled a titanic mausoleum.

  I screamed, and suddenly the suffocating air was thick with fiends—vermin startled by the sound of my voice. I saw flying cockroaches, the spawn of some hellish sinkhole, I saw albino spiders, venomous and evil, and I saw enormous black bats, hideous with their shiny, membranous wings. All of these monsters—hissing in a maddening fashion—darted back and forth in the darkness.

  The Corpses I Saw From My Cage

  From my cage, I could see mutilated body parts—shapeless red heaps—scattered haphazardly on the ground.

  Skinned, eviscerated, and split in half—butchered and dismembered like animals—the corpses scarcely looked human.

  Adjacent to some grayish bones—bones covered with a strange fungus--I could see a statuesque torso of a black female. Strikingly flawless—with slender, panther-like shoulders, perfect, mahogany-colored skin, and firm, equally splendid breasts—it had neither head nor limbs. I had seen dozens of sculptured torsos in art museums—masterpieces made from imported Italian marble—but now the whole notion of depicting one body part alone seemed revolting.

  Some fifty feet from the torso—on the opposite side of the cavern—was the rotting corpse of a pregnant woman. Bloated with foul-smelling gases, her intestines protruded from her vagina and rectum. Between her decomposing thighs—in the cleft between damp hairs—I could see her rotting fetus.

  Adjacent to the fetus—near a bloody white bottom—was a severed human head. The head was mangled—the upper jaw and nose were missing, and the skull was fractured on the right side, just above the temple—but the remains of the face gave it the appearance of a young Asian woman. Were she alive, I remember thinking, she would be beautiful.

  As I stared at the young woman’s dimpled face, it appeared to be moving. Was she smiling in death at me? I wondered. Was she giving me an enchanting, sphinx-like grin?

  Then I noticed the reason for movement. The head was an abscess filled pus, stench, and corruption, and it was swarming with fat, loathsome, white maggots. These hellish creatures— squirming as they fed—made the face grimace and move.

  I vomited uncontrollably—a watery vomit mixed with slime and blood.

  Another Strange Dream: Whores, Priests, And Crucifixions

  Heavy with sleep, I slipped again into unconsciousness and had a horrible dream. The dream—the conjunction of the brutal and the fantastic—was based on a blasphemous passage I had read in Justine, a pornographic novel written by the Marquise de Sade.

  In the dream, I could see two crosses in the middle of a ghastly place—a parched wasteland covered with broken human bones.

  Gold, the feces of hell, was scattered everywhere. Swarthy priests—all of them small, ugly, and effeminate—were busily collecting the nuggets. Nearby, a syphilitic old whore— studded with ulcers—was watching them. The whore was laughing.

  She must be alive, I thought in the dream. According to legend, dead souls cannot laugh.

  Nailed to the crosses were two thieves. Naked except for crowns of thorns, they were called ‘Perverted by Wealth’ and ‘Degraded by Poverty.’

  Crucified in an inverted fashion, their protuberant bottoms were visible. In the cleft of the buttocks—in a certain small and obscene orifice—was something that resembled a bleeding heart.

  Although most people are dyslexic in nightmares, I could read this inscription on each of the crosses:

  ‘He who died on the cross was only its first victim.’

  My Life As A Breeder: How The Monsters Collect Human Wombs—Bloody And Fertile— And Use Them To Produce Food

  In the years that followed, I was raped periodically by the monster. Since he seemed to enjoy sexuality at a primitive, blood-soaked level, the rape always included violence.

  Traumatized by the abuse—fists and feet, teeth and nails were used against me—I came to believe that all sex is pathological.

  Ultimately, I realized that we feel our organs—including our sex organs—only when they are sick. Since genital orgasm is the most powerful of all feelings, it must be the greatest of all sicknesses.

  ***

  Since the monsters are extraordinarily fertile—as fertile as cockroaches—I would produce many mutant babies for them.

  All my children—the fruit of monstrous crime—the mongrel product of a human eggs biologically polluted by transhuman sperm—were loathsome in appearance.

  The least revolting ones had misshapen heads and ice-blue eyes. Soft and fat and evil-looking, they had an extraordinarily thin and translucent skin that was almost transparent. Their shrieks and cries, which were oddly hideous, resembled the squealing of piglets.

  Those with birth defects—some had abnormal growths, some were born without anuses or uteruses—were even more horrifying to behold. I still see these mutants in my nightmares.

  ***

  All the babies—whatever their appearance—had short, sad, pathetic lives. Treated like caged zoo animals—faceless homogenous victims—they resembled sinners in the hands of an angry god.

  Their existence was meaningless—between the screaming at birth and the howling at death—they knew neither joy nor love. In their lives, there was only pain, grief, and madness.

  Some of the babies—the most fortun
ate ones—were eaten immediately by the monsters. Fresh from the womb—with bacteria-free intestines—they became a sterile and delicious feast.

  Some of the babies—the few females who were not infertile hybrids—were designated as future breeders. These were all predestined for rape.

  Like their mothers before them, the breeders would know the pain and gore of childbirth. Squatting in their own filth— their distended bellies covered with stretch marks, scars, and stitches—their lives would focus on their wombs.

  Most of the babies, however, were fattened for the slaughter. Crowded into undersized cages—deprived of all physical activity—force-fed with milk from brownish, scab-infested teats—they lived two years of misery.

  Ultimately they would be seized—beaten to a jelly—and then eaten alive.

  The Horror Of Passing Time

  Night passed into day, month into year, and I quickly lost all sense of time. In the words of Yukio Mishima, time ‘dripped away like blood.’

  Treated like an estrogen-injected breeder—a fecund producer of infantile meat for insatiable carnivores—I had to cling to my sanity in this world of menace and terror.

  I was normally kept in absolute darkness—an oppressive blackness seems to have a calming effect on caged humans— and I spent most of my time in tormented sleep.

  At one time I loved sleep—‘when the body sleeps,’ declare the legends, ‘the soul is awake’—but in the realm of the monsters it was different.

  Horrible dreams—lewd and repulsive in nature—constantly afflicted me. Bubbling up from my animal id, I had weirdly erotic visions.

  In some nightmares I saw a bloody vagina. Shamelessly exposed—its lips were thick, upturned, and deformed—it was smeared with fresh honey.

  Thousands of fruit flies—drawn by the honey—swarmed over the slimy vaginal lips. The tickling of the flies—an unpremeditated act of bestiality—caused frightful and delicious orgasms.