WINNER OF THE 2013 CRIMSON SKULL CONTEST: The People Downstairs Do Wicked Things by Peter Marra

Bloody-PumpkinThe moon was up and full and starting to shed red tears, which turned phosphorescent as they entered Mona’s blood stream. These tears kissed her red blood cells, strengthening her lust and her obscene cravings. Soon, her mouth tasted of iron and her eyes became the color of film negative. It was the best moon for Halloween.

She sat by the window that was slightly open, breathing in the October air which was still warm but carried the smell of decay. She looked at her fingers. She could still make out the pale skin on her left ring finger where her wedding ring used to be. No more.

“I’m gone. Can’t come back.”

The naughty spot. That’s what Mona craved. Just something to get her higher. She had just moved to the neighborhood, having recently re-located from the suburbs, a rather fast exit. She knew this place was a dump, but she was finally away, nestled in shadows of seclusion, surrounded by vibrating noise – a low hum that always lay under her thoughts. Thoughts that were often evil in nature. Mona loved her new apartment – it was across the street from the boardwalk – smells of danger and rot caressed her senses, begging her to partake, mixing with the sounds of the wooden rollercoaster and the odor of hotdogs and blood.
She hadn’t finished furnished it yet, just an small antique wooden table, a wooden chair. Both had been purchased from the junk store down the block, next to the carousel. Bare walls, bare bulb overhead.

The Sex Shop around the corner had piqued her curiosity. She had passed it last night on her way back from the storefront Chinese restaurant, but she doubted she would ever pay it a visit; those places were pretty dull: bootleg dvd’s and lame sex toys. The patrons were usually either smelly and old or perverted younger men – all sweaty; sweaty and sad. Stink of semen and sweat. They were the lost tribe of disastrous desires hiding in video booths while they discharged and wept. Mona didn’t understand why she was remembering this now.

“But it’s the best moon for Halloween.”

Vacant eyes. She sat on the window ledge letting the warm autumn air slowly climb up her legs, invading the black triangle under her black leather mini-skirt. With the fingers of her left hand she massaged herself. Afterwards she held her hand up for inspection, taking note of the fluid clinging to her fingers.

It was approximately 8 pm. There were no trick-or-treaters in this neighborhood.
The amusement park was still open. Today was the last day of the season. Open until midnight, then not again until the spring. Open Easter Sunday. Closing on Halloween.

Mona sang a gentle song to the item at her feet: a few days ago she had decapitated her husband’s head and placed it in a Plexiglas cube. Hermetically sealed. No chance of decay. After eating his heart, gobbling it up with glee, she had sawn off the head in hubbie’s basement workshop. Some of the blood and flesh had been consumed also, but not by her. That was the deed of the her friends the followers of the Black Science. It was their trademark. His eyes were sewn shut. Her wedding ring was sewn inside his mouth.

“You look good,” Mona said.

He didn’t answer. She held the box up to her face and gave the box a slight lick with her tongue, leaving a saliva mark which looked elegant in the moonlight that was creeping into her room. A slight pang of sadness, but Mona’s electric disease squelched down any regret. A soft sucking sound could be faintly heard.

“No. Not here.”

“I don’t know why this happened, but I’m glad it did. The cops must have been curious, just before they ejaculated in unison, I really put them into an arousal fugue state. I just adore being the center of attention. Dead men tell no tales, neither do well fucked dead cops.”

Mona placed the cube on the window sill.

“The sea air has many health benefits.’

distant distant slowly through my veins watch her work at it but no relief cobblestone memories I can’t recapture unable to leave the basement
a collection of things waits for me inside wait for time wait for the previous slave
I knew I was it I was toxic for time the door swung open and I stabbed blindly eradicating arousal

She lit a cigarette and exhaled smoke out the window. She thought of how she would entertain herself for the rest of the evening. After all, it was Halloween. She pulled open the table drawer and withdrew a glassine packet, rubber-stamped with the words “Black Sunday,” along with a spoon and an insulin hypo. Mona didn’t remember the dealer who had given her the packet. It was rumored to feel like a mixture of crank and junk. She poured the contents into a spoon, added a few drops of water from the glass of water she had left on the table earlier, and heated the spoon briefly over a match flame. When she shot up, her head bolted back and her clitoris spasmed. Plasma juice shot into her cervix. Waves of languor fucked by friction and energy rushed through her body. Mona’s skin suffered a cold burn. The burn subsided after a few minutes and she felt complete. A quick bolt of vomit shot out her mouth and landed on the floor. Very clean. No mess on her or her outfit.

when done I stuttered backwards talking teetered and sat down to watch the fungi colonize then I ravished then I punished “please wait” roughly tilted emotion-motion my mind is quite funny. quite funny. those chemicals.
because post-mortem deterioration had forced a climax too soon upon a cross
an autopsy was really hurting let’s attend to important business because of a death, cleopatra arrived she was so much braver than they were

Mona pulled on her engineer boots, opened her compact mirror and admired her shoulder length black hair, her bangs which rested on her eyebrows. As she pulled on her black turtleneck, she heard undecipherable murmurs. She decided to wear her motorcycle jacket since it might get chilly later in the evening. Bidding her spouse goodbye, she walked out the room, down 1 flight of stairs and out to the street.

“Good evening naughty boys and girls!”

Turning left, she rounded a corner and looked down the street to get her bearings. The street was barely illuminated by 3 antique streetlamps. At the end of the street was the Sex Shop she had noticed earlier. Mona made the decision to go pay it a visit, since she really had nothing else to do and the drug was making her twitchy and feisty.

The street smelled strongly of urine and something else she couldn’t comprehend. As Mona continued to stroll, the mystery odor ate at her.

“aaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee, fuck!”

She turned around quickly when she heard the guttural wail off to the side; in a barely lit building entrance two figures appeared to be grappling. As Mona approached the two silhouettes the image came into focus, the film stuttered and burned. Two females held each other tightly, one had just gouged out the eye of the other and thrown the orb to the ground. The disembodied eye stared up at Mona from the sidewalk. Mona picked it up and handed it back to her owner who was still screaming in pain.

“You’re welcome.”

Mona continued on her trip, which ended when she stopped at the entrance to the Sex Shop. The display window contained two mannequins that were dressed as naughty French maids, their bulbous plaster udders barely contained by their outfits. The floor was littered with sex toys and assorted sex paraphernalia. Mona entered.

Criselda was sitting behind a display case which served as a table for a cash register. The cash register was antique, inherited from her father who had opened a bodega at the same location for many years. He was gone now. The Sex Shop barely made money but it served other purposes and she liked being the sole proprietor. She had just opened a book and started to read when she heard the door alarm go off. Mona’s form slinked into view in the security mirror overhead. Criselda’s fingers trembled and her mouth went dry.

“Hi I’m Criselda. Whatcha need?”

“Just looking.” Mona turned and looked directly at Criselda.

“I like your sweater, “ Mona said. “Mohair?”

“Yes. I always wear it when I wear leather pants.”

Criselda got up from behind the display case. She walked over.

Criselda looked up and down at Mona, her ebony eyes drinking her up. She took Mona’s left hand and looked it over.

“I see a ring is gone,” she said as she slightly caressed Mona’s ring finger, “Was it your choice?”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

As she said this, Mona felt a little tingle in her crotch. The moist breath and smell of Criselda made her a little dizzy.

“Don’t be so nervous. I’m not going to do anything. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Criselda grabbed Mona’s left hand, taking it and placing it down the front of her leather pants, on top of her crotch. Mona’s fingers parted the lips. She detected that Criselda was wet but there was something pearly hard between the lips of her cunt. Mona withdrew her hand and smelled her fingers. The smell on her digits was a combination of vaginal liquid and saliva. She placed her hand down the front of Criselda’s pants again and decided to explore.

“In case you were wondering, it’s teeth.”

“What?” Mona asked.

“It’s teeth, vulva dentata, it runs in my family. I have it. My mother has it. My sisters, my grandmother and aunts in Mexico had it. ”

Mona just stared at her. After a few seconds She tasted her fingers. Her new acquaintance smiled.

Criselda looked at Mona’s eyes, then she pulled up Mona’s sleeves, exposing the track marks.

“I see, I see…” Criselda smiled.

Mona tensed up, then said, “Why is the display case dark? Did the light blow out?”

“What? I didn’t realize…,” Criselda went back behind the case and switched on the light. Mona sucked in her breath as the tableau came into view.
The decapitated head of a middle – aged man was propped up behind the glass, around it were scattered some bones and cat skulls. Towards the left was a crucifix and some dried up flowers. The eyes were gone, the flesh was starting to shrivel. Three mice were wandering around sporting atomic smiles; they briefly glanced at the humans, then turned away.

“That’s my dad,” Criselda said, “We were just chatting when you came in. I made him die in the best way possible. I had to jump him one night, took him from behind. Got him on the floor, had my box-cutter, ripped him from ear to ear. I remember he heaved as I remained on top of him, then he collapsed flat to the floor. It was fuckin’ amazing! Made may pussy twitch! For a long time I stared at the puddle of blood underneath him. Blood never looks the same in real life as it does on TV. After awhile I got a hacksaw from downstairs and removed his head. Had to wait awhile for the blood to drain out. Then I placed him in the case. Later on I added some decorations, as you can see in the case. Not sure what the mice are doing in there. That was a couple of Halloweens ago. It’s been there ever since.”

At this moment, the door alarm went off again. They turned around and saw a middle-aged man in the store. He was perspiring. Criselda smiled.

“May I help you?”

“You got video booths here?”

“Yes in the back. I’ll show you.”

“Wait. Wait. How much?” the patron said as he leered at the women. Mona felt more puke working its way back up, but another wave of the drug rush kicked in and the urge went away. She felt as if her eyes were on fire.

“Since it’s Halloween, the first 10 minutes are free!”

The happy patron smiled. “Where is it?”

“In the back, I’ll take you there.”

She left Mona standing there as she walked the man to the back of the store, past the racks of slutty lingerie, leather, gear, sex toys and bondage equipment.
Mona watched as they disappeared behind a red velvet curtain. She heard a door open and Criselda’s words fading “it’s right down the stairs.” A few minutes later Mona’s ears were enticed by the low sounds of moaning and screaming. Infernal soundtracks for her pleasure.

After about ten minutes Crisleda re-emerged alone. “He’s down there enjoying himself.” Criselda smiled.

“Oh! How many booths are down there?”

“Twelve.”

“Want to see? We’ll bring the next one down together.”

“I’d love to.”

walk down down down watch the victims squirm taste burnt metal skin smooth trapped sweaty fur and leather in the october sticky rain she’s reaching toward the shiny things and stops just before the monster beyond the stars as told by the people below the ground look down fuzz fall fuck

The door alarm sounded once more. Both women turned around quickly and stared at the thirtyish male who had just come in. He was in a business suit. He also inquired about the peep booths.

“Sure we have ‘em pappi,” Mona said. I’m Mona, this is Criselda, we’ll take you downstairs and show you. We have quite a nice setup. Don’t we?

Criselda was slightly taken aback by Mona’s sudden assertiveness, but nodded in agreement.

“Nice suit! You a salesman?” Mona continued.

“No, not at all. I’m a trader,” he said indignantly.

“Oh! Sorry about that!” Mona apologized, ”Sure, let’s go downstairs. This way behind the curtain. By the way, in honor of Halloween, the first ten minutes are free! Criselda please lead the way!”

Mona escorted the gentleman, taking his arm as they followed Criselda behind the curtain and down the stairs. Mona noticed that his eyes were riveted on Criselda’s ass, tight in the black leather pants. There was a smell of mildew and that unknown odor that Mona had detected on the street. At the bottom of the stairs was a decrepit door that was covered with cracked red paint. Criselda opened the door and they stepped in. The room was dark except for a row of 12 peep booths. Each booth was identified by a neon number.

“Lets all go into booth 3, it’s big, it’ll fit all of us,” Criselda said. The man eagerly walked ahead toward the third booth.

Criselda led them to booth 3, opened the door and they all stepped in. The light came on. The booth contained three stools. Criselda had the man sit on the middle stool and Mona and her on either side. Criselda put a red token into the slot and the black barrier lifted in front exposing a window two feet by two feet wide. Criselda grabbed the man by the neck and pressed his face against the glass.

“Take a look, baby!”

Mona also looked and what she saw excited her immensely. There was a circular red stage lit by one floodlight. Under the light was the patron Criselda had lead down earlier. He was naked and tied to a chair, blood poured out of his mouth painting his naked chest. He was moaning and weeping. His penis was erect because someone had fastened a cock ring around it. Strips of skin had been removed from his chest. His tears were plentiful. His feet were fastened to the floor with long nails Two women, naked, were on their knees on either side of him, drinking from deep gouges in each wrist. He twitched every so often.

“Those are my babies, Crisleda said. See how beautiful they are? My daddy didn’t like them! So sad!! See his mouth? His tongue is gone, he tried to eat me out. Shit, was he surprised when my cunt ripped his tongue out!”

“I thought we were going to watch porn! Not a haunted house!” the man complained, “What is this Halloween shit? You dumb cunts! This shit don’t even look real! I’m getting the fuck out of here! Fucking skanks?”

“Wait wait pappi. Don’t get angry,” said Criselda.

“Fuck you, spic!”

When she heard the insult, Mona’s anger kicked in, fueled by Black Sunday.

“Wait, wait baby! Calm down! You’re making me so hot!” Mona purred.

Mona winked and moved in as if to kiss him. He calmed down and smiled. He took her lead and leaned in for an intimate moment. Mona took his top lip in her mouth lovingly, bit down hard and ripped it clean off his face, sending blood flying over the window, the booth, and her and Criselda. His screams only increased her anger and frenzy and the wetness between her legs. Criselda caught the fever also and ripped his ear off, spitting it onto the floor.

“It’s real pappi, it’s real… It’s real just like your eye that I’m gouging out!” His shrieks grew very loud and vomit was coming out of his mouth. A soft rip-squish and the orb was free. Criselda showed him the eye in her hand – a lump of flesh and a couple of veins perched in her hand, dripping goo to the floor of the booth. Sister Streetfighter.

“Here! Look at it with your last fuckin’ good eye. Asshole.”

The man slumped over onto the floor.

“That was fun,” said Criselda.

“I think he passed out,” said Mona.

“Good. Pull his pants down, get him hard.”

Mona did as she was told and when he was erect, Criselda, pulled her pants down, exposing her vulva, which was moaning. She sat down on top of his cock and when it was fully in, bore down. Mona heard a soft ripping of flesh and she noticed a flood of blood gushing out from beneath Criselda, who was oblivious, her neck bent back, eyes rolling up, tears exuding from the corners of her eyes.
Criselda spoke in tongues as her climax waned.

“Fuck! Fuck! I needed that!”

When done, Criselda dismounted and pulled her pants up.

“Come on mammi. Lets drag him out to the stage. I’ll tell the girls to get another chair. Business should be booming tonight. Come on. I’ll introduce you to my girls. I think you’ll like them. They don’t talk very much though. Ooof! He’s heavy. Yuppie businessman asshole! Cheap cocksucker! I’ll get some mops and Clorox – we have to clean this shit up. I have a feeling we’ll be busy tonight.”

It was now 4 a.m.
Mona and Criselda surveyed the peep show area under the Sex Shop. There were 7 males ranging in age from 30’s to 70’s, each tied to a chair, each drained of blood, each mauled beyond recognition. Criselda’s two daughters lay curled up in fetal positions, sleeping on the floor, sated and content, enjoying sweet dreams of torture and bliss. Mona was coming down from her drug high, slight depression was kicking in, the night’s activities a soft slow blur that she would always remember. Her mouth tasted like iron.

“We’ll clean this up later. No one is going anywhere. The girls need their rest. Let’s close up and go to the beach,” Criselda said.

“Listen, I have to clean up,” Mona said, “We’re covered in blood, semen and who knows what other shit. I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“I’ll take care of that. I live above the shop. Let’s go.”

The women went upstairs. After Criselda locked the shop door from the inside, they went up a hidden staircase to Criselda’s apartment. Mona liked the apartment: it was a hybrid of Victorian splendor and early 70’s décor. Not exactly the stuff of suburban dreams, but it worked and somehow it made Mona comfortable.

“You know,” Criselda said, “I’m alone here. The girls have their own room to stay in. If you have no place to go you can stay with us. There’s an extra room, you can furnish it anyway you want.”

“I’ll think about it. Do you have any clothes I can borrow?”

“Sure. After we’re cleaned up and dressed do you want to go to the beach? The sun will rise soon. Plus the beach is officially closed now, so there will be no city officials bothering us.”

“Sure. That would be nice.”

Later the two new friends sat on the beach very close to each other. They were wearing identical white lace dresses. Mona’s head lay on Criselda’s shoulders. The sun was just starting to peek up. Mona had enjoyed getting dressed with Criselda.

watching seagulls wet females laughing children with their families dads looking down white lace remember her white lace hold this thought forever white garter belt black lacquered toenails translucent glowing droplets of blood on the upper thigh teeth glow glow glow don’t leave the shadow people will come back

For the first time in a very long while, Mona was at peace. Revenge was complete.

“Criselda?”

“Yes?”

“Next season, when the rides are open again can we ride the Carousel?”

By Peter Marra
http://www.angelferox.com
Peter’s earliest recollection of the writing process is, as a 1st grader, constructing a children’s book with illustrations. The only memory he has of this project is a page that contained a crayon drawing of an airplane, caught in a storm. The caption read: “The people are on a plane. It is going to crash. They are very scared.” His parents were always disturbed by that 1st book and particularly by his love for writing.

His poems explore alienation, addiction, love, the havoc that secrets can wreak and obsessions. He has been published in many online and print publications, including Literary Orphans, Danse Macabre, Maintenant 4 & 5, Caper Literary Journal, and Why Vandalism?, as well as an interview in Yes, Poetry. A record of his published work may be found at http://www.angelferox.com. Peter’s e-chapbook, Sins of the Go-Go Girls is published by Why Vandalism? Press and is available as a free download at Why Vandalism: Sins of the Go-Go Girls (Four Scenes) by Peter Marra

3 responses to “WINNER OF THE 2013 CRIMSON SKULL CONTEST: The People Downstairs Do Wicked Things by Peter Marra

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