The LongPig

holding handsHe wasn’t trying to kill me. Didn’t have a taste for me, he said, grease dripping through bloody gristle down his fat and scrumptiously bare tits.

I could never rely on anyone to look out for me. Not now. Not when I was a kid. Couldn’t rely on anyone to stand up, to protect. It was a shame, just a damn shame. Crying alone. Feeling ugly, measured in slights and trifles, until I met him.
So what!
I contemplate. I Annex. Then I plunge. Headfirst? Maybe.
So what, so what, so what . . .
Hey there, Puppet!
Hey there to you too, not your real name either.
You’re funny, kid. How old are you?
Old enough!
Old enough, huh? Wanna play a game then?
What kind of game? Subterfuge Twister? Where’s Mr. Mephistopheles in gingham and rubber pants?
Yeah, whatever, kid. You bet.
I’m bored, obviously, so it had better be good.
You won’t be bored, kid.
You sure?
Yes. I like you, kid, and nobody I know dies of boredom.
Sounds refreshing.
It is, kid. It is. Trust me.
Don’t know you. Can’t really trust you.
I know. Exciting, isn’t it?
Yeah, kinda.
So what do you say, kid? Are you in?
Yes, what?
Yes. I’m in.
He asked if I liked to eat, said he liked to cook for people who liked to eat. Liked to prepare things to be eaten. He sent me pictures. Lean cuts. Nicely marbled. Slabs pink, seasoned, and tenderized. Fresh. Fed on sunshine and green grass. He said he worked in an abattoir. Cages. Tables. Scalpels. Freezers. Steel on Steel on Steel. Didn’t contaminate the meat, he said. I thought that was good – at first. At first is a funny thing. Never means what it is in the end. We ignore things at first.
We don’t mind.
Want a friend.
Feeling desperate.
Feeling lonely.
No, we don’t mind a lot – at first. Charity. Oversight. Whatever. Then we see things we don’t want to see.
Things we can’t unsee.
Then at first becomes something else. Something needful, dark, and horrible. Something so satisfying. So right.
He wasn’t trying to kill me, at first, but when he wasn’t, I was trying to kill him.
By Cheryl Anne Gardner

The Devourer Emerges

dark sex

Sitting peacefully on her bed, Lauren listens to the sounds coming from the baby’s room across the hall. She hears Tim whispering to their daughter, Celia, as he rocks her and waits for her post-feeding burp. They’ve recently switched from breast feeding to formula and Lauren’s body belongs to her again. This thought sends her mind in a new direction and she stands up suddenly, and walks quickly to the closet. She smiles as she opens the closet door and then in two quick motions she is naked, her sweatpants and ratty tee shirt discarded carelessly on the floor. Still smiling, she remembers something Tim said when they had first started dating. “Sweat pants are sexy…on the floor.” She laughs at the memory.

The eyes of The Devourer hover unseen, looking down from the corner of the ceiling in the baby’s room, watching Tim as he gingerly places Celia into her crib. The body of The Devourer is sitting patiently in a shadow downstairs, beside the front door of Tim and Lauren’s house. Though they are separate they move as one.

Tim’s gaze rests on his peacefully sleeping child. He is incredibly proud of his ability to put her to bed. With careful steps Tim walks silently over the carpet, out of the baby’s room and into the hallway. The hardwood floor is cool on his bare feet as he moves quickly towards the bedroom door and pushes it open. Unseen the eyes of The Devourer follow behind him.  There is pleasant surprise at the sight of Lauren lounging seductively on the bed.

Lauren’s eyes meet Tim’s and then she glances down at herself. Tim’s eyes follow, taking in the sheer nightgown. The garment is molded delicately against her body. The gauzy, light blue fabric obstructs Tim’s view of her budding nipples, but her desire for him in this moment is obvious. Tim approaches Lauren as she moves on her knees across the bed to him and his hands reach out, yearning for the feel of her body against his. She eagerly takes his tongue into her mouth, slides her hand inside his waist band and cradles him gently feeling him as he swells towards her. With her other hand she loosens the drawstring at his waist. Tim’s pants fall forgotten to the floor.

The eyes of The Devourer watch from above. His hunger grows as the couple’s hands caress each other. He watches intently as Tim’s hand moves beneath the light fabric and cups Lauren’s breast. His thumb works in circles around her nipple, causing her to moan as it grows harder. Outside the body of The Devourer snaps the handle on the front door off and drops it carelessly to the ground and he enters the house. Once inside he silently takes his shoes off and places them on the family’s shoe rack.

Tim pulls Lauren’s nightgown from her body while downstairs The Devourer removes his shirt. He will not allow his clothes to be sullied by what is to come. Tim lowers himself to his knees and drags Lauren’s body forward. She falls onto her back, laughing and the bedspring rattles in preview. She smiles eagerly as Tim pulls her toward him until her legs are around his head. His tongue traces her soft outer flesh before plunging inside her and her grip in his hair lightens as the speed of his tongue increases. The Devourer hears Lauren moan as he carefully folds all his clothes and puts them on a chair by the kitchen table. The feverish bodies upstairs gently rock the house and their vibrations resonate through The Devourer’s body. He knows the layout of the house and moves slowly, soundlessly toward the stairs. His fingers glide across the walls as he watches Tim’s hands move up Lauren’s arching body, grasping her breasts.

He sees Lauren’s hands move to Tim’s shoulders, pulling at his shirt. Her ankles remain on his shoulders as he rises from between her legs and pulls his shirt off. The Devourer sees a look of pure adoration on Lauren’s face as she smiles up at her naked husband. Tim grabs her thighs and pulls her closer to him, her soft legs pressing against him. He grows harder, pressing against her quivering opening. Tim feels her growing wetter. The Devourer watches the growing sheen between Lauren’s legs from above the couple as her hand moves slowly, delicately taking his shaft and guiding him inside her with a passionate shudder of pleasure.

Through the darkness The Devourer climbs the stairs, pausing when he reaches the top. He waits for Lauren to close her eyes in pleasure before entering the hallway and when she does, The Devourer moves fluidly past Celia’s room. He pushes his nude body against the wall outside the open bedroom door. He sees Tim’s hands move down Lauren’s quivering body, raising her hips to allow for deeper penetration. The couple is lost in their own rhythm, completely absorbed in each other as Tim’s thrusts become more rapid. The increasing volume of their bodies coming together further mask The Devourer’s intrusion.

His eyes are fixed on the couple but The Devourer then sees his own body enter the bedroom. He watches his powerful shoulders flex as he stands behind Tim and waits. Lauren opens her eyes to her husband but quickly notices the intruding form behind him, the form with the hollow, empty eye sockets. She looks deep into the shadow, unable to comprehend what she is seeing and then, looking past the massive figure behind Tim she sees the two eyes hovering above the door. Her sensual purr turns into a shrill scream. Tim stops instantly. “Lauren?”

It happens in a moment that feels like forever to Lauren. The Devourer grabs Tim’s arms and holds them tightly, pressing his bare body against Tim’s.  He feels the thin layer of sweat rub against him as he lowers in mouth to his neck and tears into it. Tim’s pumping blood splatters from his body, the dark liquid flows freely from the wound. Tim gasps feebly, trying to breathe as the blood gushes from his body with increasing speed. The Devourer sucks deeply. He savors the feel of himself, pressing against the weakening body. Lauren is trapped by the weight of both the intruder’s body and that of her dying husband. She feels Tim’s warm blood on her sensitive skin as it flows down her bare leg, pooling at her groin. She feels Tim still rocking inside her as The Devourer feeds. Her legs still rest upon Tim’s shoulder as they begin to slouch and when her feet touch the intruder’s cold, hard flesh her toes curl.

Tim looks to his wife as his life ends, an apology in his eyes before they close forever. A tear streaks down Lauren’s cheek and then her husband’s corpse is carelessly tossed aside, striking the wall with a horrendous thud. She scurries backward away from the intruder but she’s too slow, he is upon her. Tim’s warm blood covers her bare skin as the intruder’s body rubs against her naked body. She feels The Devourer’s strength but the new mother thinks only of Celia as he pierces her neck and begins to drain her.

The Devourer is in awe of himself as he watches his strong body rise from Lauren’s bloody corpse. He smiles, seeing the power in his chest that’s glistening with blood. He moves with purpose to Celia’s room, blood trailing down his flat stomach and dripping in his wake, absorbed by the soft carpet in the baby’s room. His eyes return to his sockets. He feels his skin stretch before snapping back into place and he looks down at the baby in anticipation. He reaches for her, savoring what is to come. His massive hand encompasses Celia’s entire, fragile body. Jarred from sleep, she cries for her dead parents and wails in fright as The Devourer brings her to his mouth. He tastes her tears first and this brings a smile to his parting lips before he indulges himself fully.


By M.R.  Gott

For more with The Devourer check out Where the Dead Fear to Tread

Three Poems By Christopher Hivner

Created Below
Unshrouded death
spinning like a fucker
through my raped brain
unabated to my memories
of you and the rail-thin
specter punches
a cold claw into my
gray matter dragging youshrouded
out in a rheumy clump on
the end of a curved talon
raking a course tongue
between your legs slipping inside
deep inside and tasting
how much you wanted him
every time you screamed out his name
when we fucked and you scratched my back bloody
to lure him and now that I’ve
crushed your skull
I’m trapped as a vessel
for the incubus to have you and all I can do
is sit in the dark
and stare at your corpse.


If You Pay Me
I will kill your husband
I will follow your wife
I will create an accident
I will “send a message”
I will dispose of the body
I will burn the motherfucker down
Call the number,
bring cash.
If you pay me
I will do anything for you
. . . or to you.


Miller Kother
I should be able to control myself
but when you’re around
I smell your blood,
my nostrils flare
with the scent of iron,
my muscles harden
and my bones ache
to strip your flesh
for consumption
by my children.

I must learn control
to survive,
if I slaughter you
I will have no fantasies left,
no dreams to follow,
no aspirations
to drive me forward.

If I am to lead
the tribe
I must satiate
my desires elsewhere.
If I am
to be remembered
among the hallowed warriors
I must kill my enemies
and leave you be.

Mother, you are safe
for now.

By Christopher Hivner


bloody handI masked taped my right hand with a roll of quarters inside the palm.

Each blow I delivered cracked a different bone in his shattered face which started looking like a freaking accident at a ketchup factory. But believe me this was all by design. It was by re-design. I began re-designing his facial features until he lost voice and vision and every ounce of dignity.

He stopped moaning and I felt it necessary to begin kicking his ribs until their splintered ends pierced his lungs. Ironically this is a sure fire method to determine if he is still breathing. Dark red fluid streamed from every opening in his pathetic excuse of a cranium. I was baptized in the blood of my hated enemy and but felt clean.

I sent so many blow and kicks to his face and ribcage I became sore and somewhat fatigued. It was a humid night and that often drains your energy reserves further when engaging in strenuous exercise. I think I lost in water what he lost in blood.

I could see urine on the ground and smelled his bowel movement in the air. He pissed and shitted himself like the weak willie I expected to find in this parking lot. These scum bags are always big and strong around women until a Man enters the picture.

I new his goddamn name, his schedule, his physical description and his car. But most of all I knew this piece of puke nearly raped my mother at the hospital where she had worked for thirty two years. I rewarded the janitor who saved her and he told me everything. Did he live or did he die? Who the fuck cares?

My mother would never approve of any of this. I doubt you’ll tell her either.

By Mark Rossi


There were many things about his lower class flatmates that annoyed Augustus Farnsworth IV, but none more so than the fact that the six of them had to share a single bloody toiletbathroom.

As someone who grew up on a property, so vast, he could attend to his functions in a different W.C. every day of the week, this was taking some getting used to. Alas, until such time as he decided to sire a child for his parents, in order to ensure that the Farnsworth bloodline would march on, he was, financially at least, on his own.

He turned the bathroom door handle to find it locked as per usual. When he enquired how long the current incumbent would be, the only response he received was the sound of a turd plopping in the toilet bowl. Not the wittiest retort he’d ever heard, but it spoke volumes as to how strained relationships had become between himself and the common clay around him.

And yet this impudence did not anger for he was pre-occupied with a nagging that had been with him for several days. Something was missing from the flat, something just was…



As he waited to use the facilities, he graced the kitchen to make himself a coffee.

Emptying crockery from an overflowing basin, he stopped dead at the sound of stagnant dishwater gurgling down the sink.

He rushed through and banged furiously on the doors of his flatmates, only Gaz did not appear.

“Have any of you heard our toilet flush in the past three days? “, he asked.

They all shook their heads.

“Have any of you used the toilet or did you just wait until you arrived at work?”

A tidal wave of epiphany drowned them all.

With one firm shoulder charge, Augustus barged through the cheeseball lock on the bathroom door.

The stench was inconsolable.

And there, sitting upon the throne, trousers around his ankles, eyes wide open in terror, was the three day old corpse of Gaz.

Augustus noticed there were flies everywhere, yet none of them flew, so bloated and sleepy  were they  from feasting on their human banquet.


He couldn’t help looking between his ex-flatmate’s legs.  Even from this distance he could see a pulpy tartare of flesh, by a pubic verge, where once his genitals had belonged.


Holding his breath, he crawled forward and peered into the splattered bowl , just in time to see a chunk of putrid intestine drip, from a raw mutilated anus, into the mouth of a rat, as big as a cat, that scurried up and leapt towards the throat of Augustus Farnsworth IV.

There would never be a V.

By Kevin Duncan