‘If I put a knife

against your throat

would you fear

and run away

or would you stay and play?’

‘If I stuck the knife

into your throat

and gave it a gentle turn

would you cry out in pain

or moan in ecstasy?’

‘If I laid you on a bed

and slid a knife

just over your thighs

then up between your legs,

would you think me insane?’

‘And if I slid that knife deeper

into your sopping snatch

and cut out your womb

then glued it on my tombless cock,

would you worship me?’

I’ve watched you for days

spent nights writing you

beautiful things in thought, in poem,

and lastly,

drawing you pictures of you

just like that

with that knife so razor sharp

just the thought

of severing your flesh,

just the thought

of stealing your last breath

just the thought

of coming in your wounds

‘ooh’. . .like I said, it’s just a thought.

By Devlin De La Chapa

http://boyslut.wordpress.com

I ran. What do you do when you see that? You run right? You pick up your fucking feet and jet, no time to play hero when you see that. Fuck, I’m a coward, I could’ve helped. No it was over before it began, so I worked every muscle in my legs and pumped my way to the club district. Hoodie soaked by the light  drizzle,  jeans feeling tighter with the damp seeping though and my shivering skin ignited by the midnight dash.

“We’re going out tonight!” I called up at my mother’s bedroom, she would be somewhere between Ambien and sleep anyway. Krystal grabbed my hand and smiled, “This is gonna be fun, promise.” We sauntered out of the house with a devil-may-give-a-fuck walk, giggling at the world around us because we were ready to tease our way into several free drinks and dance like possessed cabaret stars.

The club was new, it was on the outskirts of our usual dives, which made it more enthralling. There was a danger to its very existence, and we thrived on that. Who could do the most fucked up thing, that was how Krystal and I had always played. Hang from the train bridge, like the Lost Boys had, stand at a railroad crossing backwards until the beast’s hot breath was on the back of your neck and hope you didn’t wait a second too long to get out of the way. A lot of our misadventures had to do with the train tracks, I was scared of them and Krystal knew it, that’s why she always dared me to them. She was fearless and she liked us to face things as if we had brass balls and a golden dick wedged somewhere between our slender thighs. Men, she would scoff, always think they’ve got the most machismo. Nothing beat us, we were the town’s resident bad asses. From spending nights in graveyards, to playing chicken with my mom’s Acura, fuck off you’re making us laugh. So we sprinted in the falling mist to our new spot.

Club Dead is what it had been lovingly named around town, because of all the violent crimes that took place in the neighborhood. The building itself also had a reputation for giving paranormal investigators a hard-on. Apparently a shitload of people died there, but our little town did love to cover things up, so we wouldn’t know anything about that. It was said to have been the old asylum, for the record I’ve never seen an asylum in our town so this could all be bullshit, and apparently some orderly went all Andrew Kehoe and decided that there was a fire sale and everything must go! They say he poisoned the administrator with cyanide and the shot the guards in the head, then he went to town on the staff and patients. When the cops finally arrived on site, the orderly, supposedly a man named Douglas Fennick, had tortured and killed the entire 187 people who were trapped in the building. I’m talking blood on the walls, people tied up by their intestines, women shot to Swiss cheese, patients hooked to the electroshock therapy at high voltage, execution style shootings in the shower room, pieces of everyone everywhere. The fucker was creative. This is a story found only by people like Krystal and me, everyone else goes on believing that it was a warehouse for a corrupt antique dealer who left it vacant once the cops booked him. Until three weeks ago the place was surrounded by razor wire and an electric fence. Yeah, I’m sure it was a warehouse.

Club Dead loomed in front of us, just as nightmarish as we had expected it would be. While walking towards the flat black entrance, Krystal lost her footing and hit the sparse grass and rock lawn surrounding the building. “Mother fuck!” she shouted and leaned over to tend her battered knee. “Smooth moves, bitch, you’re gonna wow em on the floor!” “Hey shut the fuck up I tripped on something.” “Yeah those stripper heels.” She began checking the area where she’d lost her balance and pulled up a half buried defibrillator paddle. “What the fuck?” “I guess this place really was a hospital,” she grinned widely at me. “Whatever, some crackhead could’ve brought that or something, bad joke.” “Now you shut up! Where the hell is a crackhead gonna get an 70-year-old defib paddle?” Good fucking question, the thing was ancient, but unmistakable. “Fuck it!” I threw my hands in the air and started toward the door.

The place looked deserted at first glance, a thin layer of smoke hung in the air and seemed heavier along the floor. The walls seemed to be black, there was almost no light, except at faint pink glow further out in the distance. “Great plan, Krystal, a smog machine and one fucking club light.” The music was gothic hard metal, not even our scene. “Let’s get out of here we’re like the only people anyway.” “Shut the fuck up this is great.” Krystal plunged further into the darkness towards the reverb and slight illumination. I followed weakly into the belly of the cryptic building. The farther inward I moved the more people I began to notice. Almost smoke-like themselves, they were mounting each other and grinding slowly in the deep drop beat. Naked women with black hair and dark smudges on their bodies moved through the fog with thick cocktails. Men reached for them and began spreading their legs on the dance floor, reaching inside of them, smearing more darkness on their bodies. Krystal was gone and I was in the center of something otherworldly. A tall form approached me and began stripping my clothes off in a sardonic manner, I said nothing as he undid my jeans and peeled off my shirt, unhooked my bra and let my breasts fall freely. His mouth came in close but the face was not there, I could see no features just the idea of a face existing before me. Moving his mouth to my bare chest I felt the first awakening moment, needles attempting to penetrate me, a whole mouth of points biting into me. I shoved him off with my boot and ran.

Outside in the rain I screamed for Krystal but I knew she was still in there, in that twisted blasphemous reality, their den, whatever the fuck it was. I put my shirt on and pushed through the door of the club screaming in agony for Krystal. They looked at me silently and kept their rhythm. I pushed past them, fighting my way through what seemed like hundreds of faceless monsters, moving all the way to the back of the club where I escaped the massive terror that was attempting to overtake me. Then there she was, naked and blood soaked with something not quite human with its snout in her belly, rooting through her insides, my Krystal’s insides. I ran.

The downtown clubs still had some stragglers outside the bars, but it was a weeknight and they were closing shop early. I tried to approach several couples but my hysterical ramblings left me sounding like a drunk college student and they shooed me away to sleep it off. No police anywhere in sight and I was beginning to feel frantic, panic striking me in my gut like a fist. That’s when I heard it, the grunting breath. The guttural groan from what had been submerged in my friend’s vital organs moments ago, demon creature of indescribable horror. It had followed me. I barely had time to push myself through a back alley before its long clawed fingers reached out to snare my arm. At first I had judged it as human-like, but upon closer approach it was evident that this was nothing but a vile consort of hell. I didn’t believe in hell, but I believed in the disfigured fiend salivating at my heels. I turned off the side street from one of the clubs and darted into an alley, but the thing was fast. It dashed after me and I had to keep pace. I felt fatigue aching through my bones. I felt that I’d been running for ages, and I couldn’t stop. That’s when I spotted it, like an old friend, like Krystal guiding me to my last dare, the train tracks staring at me in the distance.

My watch read 1:07; there would be a 1:15 passing those tracks any minute. I’d long ago memorized the train schedule, to make my dares more bearable. I always knew when they’d approach and there was something comforting in the knowledge. I made it to the bridge in less than two minutes. This was the last test — give it a go or surrender to death at the ends of the needle teeth I’d had pressed into my skin earlier. It approached me in a playful way, stalking me down, grinning with its grotesque jaws, leering, knowing I was trapped on the tracks, on a bridge over a river and a drop that would kill me. But I stood where I needed to stand. I knew where I needed to stand. Checked my watch: 1:15.  Fuck, where was it? The thing was on top of me, face nearly pressed into mine as it opened and closed its foul mouth, sniffing me. “You almost escaped,” it said with a voice that sounded not like a human voice but like an animal that somehow made its vocal chords work to form words. Then I felt the shaking, the bridge platform moving, and the train speeding across, eating up the tracks, closing the distance between us and it. “Fuck you,” I spat, and then I dropped, right as I felt the engine on my back, just in time to miss the hit. I clung to the underside of the bridge with all my muscles screaming. I heard the train collide with it, and saw oozing blood start running down the girders.

After the train passed I loosened my death grip on the girder and hoisted myself back up to the platform. The carnage was spread across the bridge, pieces of the demon wedged in the tracks, leaking off the edges and dripping down into the river. There was no body left to be found. I made out an arm and what could’ve been a mutilated torso . . . or something, but clearly the train had taken its victim. I looked down the tracks and noticed that a vehicle had stopped up ahead about a mile. Filled with the adrenaline of my daredevil escape, I jogged towards it. Upon approach I knew they’d noticed something had been hit after the fact. I sidled next to one of the workers and tried to make out their hushed conversation before interjecting. “What happened?” I forced out with my calmest and most curious voice. It emerged like more of a squeak. “We hit something,” the conductor muttered. “I don’t know what we hit, but it was something, something big. Its body is stretched from here all the way down the bridge. At first I thought it could’ve been a man, but it’s just too damn big!” I looked at him square in the face with wavering eyes and quivering lips. “You didn’t hit a man. I saw it. It was something else, I don’t know, but whatever it was there was nothing human about it.” “BOSS!” called one of the workers. “Come here now!” We all raced to the worker whose head was poking under the front engine. “Look,” he pointed. We stared down at the once breathing putrid face that had slit open Krystal and gorged itself. Its teeth were in a permanent snarl and its face was smeared with black blood. “What the fuck is that!” the conductor exclaimed. No one said a thing. I reached in and pulled out the severed head of the beast, then I punted its wretchedness as far off into the river as I could. “It’s dead, that’s what the fuck that is.”

By Emily Smith-Miller

My ………… mouth,

devoured the arms of children,
………… their sweet ……
and …….. juices.  Their short
prickly …… lodged themselves
in my plaque-stained …….

Their thighs tasted the ……,
………… when rotisserie rare,
the blood seeped through the ……
in my ….. and pooled off my …..

But on ……., the …. of ……, I
ate the brains of a ….. little
bastard.  They were gray …. sour
… reminded me of ……. onions.
………., ………, the …………
brains enlightened me … to this day
children have …… passed vampire lips.

By Andrew J. Stone
http://andrewjstone.blogspot.com/

Girlie magazines dating back to 1972  are scattered across the floor.

 The skeletons of two pet canaries lie dormant inside a wire cage.

Bessie Mae died 8 months ago.

From her lips, and from her eyes comes nothing like before.

Leroy, her lover and her only friend, the man she lived with for

Leroy has no friends to detect anything that might be suspect.

He wants nothing between the two of them at all, and no one

comes near to interfere.

Their bedroom is padlocked, stale, stagnant with mildew, looking

the way it did before she died.

Foul odors ooze up through their bedroom ventilation ducts,

Leroy contends that a dead rat in the basement is causing the odors.

Leroy loves to lie about his sacred love affair.

Layers of dust blanket over the mahogany floors, and the maid doesn’t

come here anymore

Bessie Mae’s remains are wrapped in a scarlet housecoat,

Dried blood sleeps in a small pool beneath her bed.

In time they both will sleep, sole witnesses to the fiasco

their lives will catch them in; enduring it, holding

their tongues till time matters no more.

Nothing appears changed, lovers unwilling to depart.

By Michael Lee Johnson

http://poetryman.mysite.com.

There she is.

She looks fucking dead, man.

I know she LOOKS dead but she’s fucking not.

What did you do to her?

I didn’t do shit. I was working late last night and this tasty bitch comes in and I’m about to go all autopsy on her when the little slut opens her fucking mouth and tries to bite me!

Tyler, you do too many fucking drugs dude. Like stop taking that shit you sound like Evan.

Fuck Evan, that fried piece of shit! He owes me 20 bucks and a blow job!

Evan owes you a blow job?

NO MAN! I paid him 20 for this fine bitch to . . . You know what nevermind just check her out.

Uh I’m checking her out Tyler and I know you huff everything at that goddamn hospital you work at so necrophilia is probably totally straight but it’s not my fucking scene alright?

You are fucking dumb just wait a minute.

They stare down at her, obvious blunt trauma to the head, probably a car accident, most likely internal injuries, but her high cheek bones and aristocrat nose give away the fact that she’s absolutely beautiful. Her body is fine toned and elegant, with pert breast, perfect C cups. After staring mesmerized for a moment Tyler takes his hand and strokes the left breast feeling its abnormally cold sensation yet exquisite shape.

Mmm! She’s so tasty!

Tyler she’s fucking dead.

Her head jerks up and with violent reflex tries to rip at Tyler’s arm.

WHAT THE FUCK MAN!

HA HA! I fucking told you, where’s my money?

Jared hands him a crisp $20 and circles the steel table looking down on the girl who had moments ago been undeniably dead, her blonde hair matted with blood and her eyes unfocused, all that seemed active was her chomping mouth. The sound of teeth striking teeth made Jared shudder.

What is this man? What did you do to her? Why is she like THIS?

I told you J, she came in, she layed  on my table and as I put the scalpel between her titties she nearly took my fucking arm off. Voila.

She’s fucking dead.

No shit ass wipe. I did more tests on her than on a fucking lab rat and lights are on but no one is home! Her vitals are zero, flatlined, she’s got nothing happening, and yet here we are trying to keep her bitey bitch mouth from snacking down on our dicks!

Zombie.

Zombie.

No fucking way. What are you gonna do with her?

Well, I was gonna spread her little legs and stick my cock right up there until I blow my load all over her deceased tits. But, I don’t know what the fuck this is, which is why I brought you down here, I mean if I fuck her do I become all Night of the Living Dead?

You want me to do a toxicology report on her?

Yeah Mister Chemistry! Tell me whats going on in that sadly departed snatch.

You’re a sick fuck Tyler.

Taking blood and tissue samples while trying to avoid the avid nibbles of Miss Zombie USA, Jared studied her closely, noticing the marked bluish skin of a days worth of death setting in. Her motor functions were choppy and awkward, probably from the setting in of rigor mortis taking its toll. No there was no mistaking this girl was fucking dead, fucking worm bait, a goddamn cuntalicious corpse. What the fuck? He was starting to think like Tyler, he could feel his dick getting hard as he took the samples and tried to hide the desire he was feeling towards a decomposing Venus.

Got it?

Yeah. I got it. I have to take it back to my lab across campus I should have something by tomorrow.

That’s my boy!

Tyler slapped his shoulder and handed back the 20 Jared had given him for the doubts he posed. Jared walked to the lab while the clock was edging towards 3 AM. Sitting at the lab stool he pulled out his samples and started going over anomalies in their girls tissue and DNA. She was as fascinating under the microscope as on the table, her blood components had extra DNA identifiers and the tissue samples proved to react even though they were separated from their host organ. Jared managed to isolate the real intruder though, it was a clear virus he found in one of his samples. The virus was multiplying and replicating DNA strands with the added identifiers which meant the samples were in fact GROWING right before his eyes. They were growing separately from their host, it almost seemed as if they were trying to build a whole new girl, create some way to spread themselves. He picked up one of the lab rats and injected him with the smallest amount of her blood, then put him back to wait. Within 20 minutes time the rat had died and reawakened snarling and snapping viciously. 

Fuck.

Jared headed back to the basement where he knew Tyler and his new girlfriend were holed up. He just hoped that the dumb fuck hadn’t done something monumentally stupid.

Tyler! Fucking TYLER!

Tyler rounded the corner at Jared with sickly skin, holding his stomach.

Tyler what the fuck is wrong?

I wanted her so bad Jared . . .

You didn’t.

She was just lying there tied up with her legs open, that sweet pussy man . . .

You didn’t.

I had to Jared! I was dying and you were taking forever! I figured what was the harm. . . .

Tyler slumped down grasping the wall for support.

I found out what it is Tyler, what she is. She’s infected on a massive level with a lethal virus.

Fuucckkk. . .

I don’t know what I can do Tyler.

What do you mean what you can do . . ?

Well you’re infected. This is a bad virus. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this but I came prepared because I know what kind of fuck up you can be . . . all the fucking drugs Ty.

You came prepared with wh-wh-what?

Jared opened the duffel bag slung around his shoulder and pulled out the 9mm Glock his grandfather had left him some years ago, he’d never thought he would have a use for it. Most things aren’t anticipated.

FUCK YOU JARED! PUT THAT SHIT UP!

Tyler lunged for him, but his motor functions were deteriorating quickly, he was dying.

I told you Ty, don’t be a dumb fuck, don’t screw around with things you don’t understand, don’t stick your dick in a FUCKING ZOMBIE! You never fucking listen to me, and the worst part is this isn’t even gonna do it. This is just gonna kill you and knock your ass out, like pretty jaws over there.

Jared please . . . I know I’m a fuck up but I don’t deserve to die . . .

I’m sorry Ty, you’re already dead.

Jared shot Tyler point blank in the head. He pulled out a body bag and nitrile gloves. Stuffing Tyler in the bag was oddly satisfying. Fucking dick, he thought. Then he moved onto her. One in the head knocked her down and he repeated the process. The basement had a path straight to the incinerator, but dragging the bodies together was hard and Jared didn’t know how long they would stay out. He dragged one for a little while, then went back and dragged the other. As Jared rounded back to pick up Tyler’s bag he looked on at the empty bag covered with blood.

Tyler! I know you’re here! You don’t understand Ty I had to kill you like that! The virus was already taking over!

Jared spun around looking up and down the corridor, frantically gazing in all directions at once. Then the mind numbing bite came at his calf as Tyler’s zombie form pulled him down and began to tear at Jared’s flesh while he struggled to free himself.

NO! NO! NO! Noo noooouggg. .  .

Tyler was digging through his intestines eating greedily at them and ripping at his internal organs, stuffing himself on his friends innards. Then a sound made Tyler look up from his meal, the bell for first class release and the sound of raucous co-ed voices piling above him. He began moving in a different direction.

By Emily Smith-Miller

Satan in my coffee

on a Tuesday morning

riding shotgun

to work with Bob

and his cat-Black,

in a white Chevy truck

black coffee

I need cream

to make it brown

and sugar,

lot’s of sugar

to kill the strength

to calm the storm

brewing earlier in my

roach infested coffee pot

‘they lay eggs, you know’

Bob says to me

the cat hisses

it despises roaches like dogs

particularly the one

crawling out from my thermos

By Devlin De La Chapa

 http://boyslut.wordpress.com

She owned a goat and the neighbors knew it. She kept it in her backyard and would feed it in the mornings. Sometimes the neighbors watched when she fed it. The fence around her yard was low and they could see everything.

 One morning she came outside naked. The neighbors were watching her through a slit in their curtains. She was naked and carried a pail to feed the goat. They watched as she fed it, the goat’s mouth in the pail, the naked girl feeding the goat. They watched her, saw her smile as she looked down at the feeding goat. It was right there between her legs, eating from the pail. The neighbors kept watching.

 When the goat finished feeding, the girl set down the pail and stood there. She grabbed the goat’s horns and stepped closer. She spread her legs a little and the goat started sniffing her. She reached with one hand and grabbed some leftover food from the pail and shoved it inside her. The goat kept sniffing, then flicked its tongue at her, getting it inside her, getting at the food she had there.

 The neighbors couldn’t believe what they were seeing. She grabbed the goat’s horns and pulled the head closer. They could tell she was excited by the goat licking her, eating its food from her. She had now become goat food and from the look on her face as they watched through the slit she was going to be addicted, so they made a point of watching out for her in the mornings when she got off on her goat.

After several mornings of this, they noticed that the goat seemed to be more ravenous when he ate the food from her. He sometimes would buck his back legs and lunge at her, his horns at her exposed belly, naked as she was. They watched and watched, morning after morning, until one day she didn’t bring the pail, just herself. She grabbed the horns and shoved herself on the goat’s mouth. The goat lunged at her, sticking its nose in her, its mouth and tongue appearing to devour her. It kicked its back legs hard and knocked her down, eating at her, even though there was no food in her; she had become its food and it was eating, eating, eating her, not just licking like before but biting her and pulling her flesh apart, sticking its horns in her and thrashing her open, cracking bones. The neighbors couldn’t move from the slit, couldn’t say anything, they could hardly think, hardly even breathe. Their hearts were racing as they stood at the window and watched through the slit as the goat ate her, tore her belly open and devoured her insides until its fur turned from white to red.

 The neighbors did nothing, even though they knew they should. They should do something.

 But what?

By Jeff Callico

warm black milk in a red glass

goes down slowly with a slight gagging

while the buzz light flickers at full throttle

preliminary thoughts

she spoke about the grimy window

that she used to look through

while wishing that her naked feet were

massaged by cool sand in the evening

framed by the constant weak

murmurs of the ocean lecturing her

behind her back

behind her back

turn around look at it

if she could only perform

a vivisection and reclaim what they had taken

then she would be a success

a tight furry creature oozing mucous

capturing the electric light never returning it.

in manhattan

life proceeded as prescribed

lying spread eagled in a red brick circle

nails through palms

nails through feet

acid dipped arteries

memories drift then

 slide back in as thin-lipped razors

a mildewed structured

marble markers behind wrought iron

turn your face against the stone

turn her face against the stone

feel the cool licks below

lie in light that’s

colored by stained glass

clasp each other’s hands

lie in wait

waiting for them to arrive

By Peter Marra

www.angelferox.com

She lived on the edge, the edge of the cemetery, that is. Their trailer was silver and ostentatious, an eyesore for the dead. Her mother put pink flamingos in the square of fake yard that they could call their own, along with other kitschy things reserved for parks designed to house such living quarters. They even had a fake white picket fence that just stuck in the ground, giving their mobile home a comical mimicry of traditional establishments. She was no less strange than the locale of her portable prison. Watery grey eyes rimmed with heavy liner, fried black hair from her mother having curled the locks at temperatures too high and leaving them to sizzle, and thin anemic translucent skin caked in powder. Sadly, Mona  fit in perfectly with her surroundings: a trailer park on the verge of death, graveyard trash. Her mother was a shrill woman who dressed in low-cut blouses and gave ‘it’ away to anyone who would lower her bills, buy her a meal, give her a ride, lend her $10 or to simply fix the crapper of their tin palace. She was a cliche before she even opened her mouth. Lipstick on the teeth, bleached hair with the roots spiking through, chain smoking Virginia Slims and wearing tight polyester leggings that rode up into a grotesque cameltoe. Mona never had a chance.

They encouraged her to make friends when she was little, socialize with the other kids, but even children can smell second-hand smoke and burning garbage. She was left alone as a child, wearing oddly fitting thrift store clothes and severely disturbing the teachers with pictures of funerals and open caskets. It was no surprise that she started working at the mortuary next to the cemetery when she turned fourteen. Mr. Grieves, the owner, was possibly her only friend. Kids would hiss obscene things at Mona during class and at lunch: “Did Grievesey touch your cunt and make you moan MOAN-A? Did you give him a handy in the back with all the dead bodies? Do you give your pussy to old Grieves like your mom throws her snatch at every dick in town? Is that how you got the job MOAN-A? Did you show him your little titties and let him cum in ratty hair? Is that why it’s so frizzy, all of Grieves’ cum sticking it together?” She never said anything, to any of them. She just ate cheap white bread sandwiches with peanut butter on them. She couldn’t even afford the jelly.

One day Mona didn’t walk to school, she didn’t ride the bus. Instead she pulled up in a sinisterly sleek 1959 hearse Cadillac. When she stepped out of the car Mona’s hair was full and straight, richly black and beautiful. Her translucent skin seemed to have turned from sickly to a more fine porcelain, and her typically wet eyes were bright and sharp. She was wearing a stylish red pencil dress, which hugged the curves no one had ever seen under the ill-fitted hand-me-downs she usually sported, and her legs stretched long and lean in a smart pair of shiny stilettos. Her carnivorously crimson mouth looked as though she had perfectly applied a coat of fresh blood to her sensuous lips. Mona was a bombshell.

“I wanna make you moan Mona!” several boys shouted at her as she stepped confidently across the high school quad. The teachers did double takes when Mona’s clear voice rang out in class with a sultry “here” at roll call. The girls who usually tortured her during her lunch hour couldn’t even see her through the throng of suitors crowded around the cafeteria table. Lacey Sullivan, grade A twat and life long terrorizer, finally approached her with haughty disdain in the hallway, blocking her path.
“What happened to you MOAN-A, finally start sucking dick like your mom to earn some extra cash? Or did you make a deal with the devil?”
Mona smiled sweetly.”I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough, bitch.” She let the last word roll off her tongue in an evil foreboding way that actually left Lacey speechless

That night there was a party in the graveyard. A Mona party. A party that no one at Westwoods High School would ever consider missing. Their favorite object of torment had turned into Betty Paige over night and was rocking the headstones with three kegs and a live band — what fucktard was going to scratch that off the social event list?

The mouth breathers started spilling in when dark settled over the cemetery, yowling and yelling their battle cries for beer and booze. Tromping through the soft burial ground littering plastic red cups in their wake, while willing breasts were groped by horny hands. The band played on. They danced and fucked and drank, a sinner’s ball of hedonistic overkill. Topless girls played hide and seek behind grave markers, and football studs did keg stands only to spew their foamy guts on Randall Newman’s final resting place. No one saw Mona. Some said they’d talked to her at the beginning of the evening, she’d given them a red cup and pointed them at the keg. A few boys claimed they’d fucked her behind her trailer while she touched her toes. Several girls insisted that Mona was now, and always had been, one of their closest friends and that she was planning something spectacular for the end of the evening. Everyone lost their minds, and passed out on the cemetery carpet of well tended grass.

A pair of slick black high heels entered the graveyard gate and tiptoed over a multitude of unconscious teenage bodies.
“Do you think this enough?” Mona asked with laughter in her voice. “It’s most of the senior class and a couple of randoms.” The deep sharp laugh of a much older man came from the shadows behind her.
“Yes, my dear, I think this is probably enough.” Mr. Grieves emerged at her side with a wide grin and a handsome face. “Well,” he said. “Now the fun part.”

Mona and Mr. Grieves dragged the limp bodies of her classmates into rows. Grieves smiled as Mona went around to each of them and cut open their shirts, painting a large pentagram on all of their chests. While she made the initial preparations, Grieves began uncovering a series of open graves. The party had taken place no more than a fifty yards away from roughly a hundred gaping holes.                                                                                                                                                               “I have everything set up just the way you showed me,” Mona beamed up at him, licking blood off her fingers.
“You did so good, my love, my pet, my apprentice . . . they look so lovely all lined up like lambs for the slaughter. Are you ready for the finale?” Grieves seemed to be getting younger by the moment; wrinkles were smoothing themselves, and his face appeared to have passed from its forties into its thirties in the time it had taken the couple to complete their mutual tasks.
“Now remember, my darling, you must perform the ritual on each of them the same way you did on our first victim the other night.”
“Fucking cunt deserved what she got.” Mona heaved under her breath and spat in anger at the sacred ground.
“There, there, pet, is that any way to speak about your dear departed mother?” Mona grimaced and removed a scathing blade from a sheath around her inner thigh.
“Time to play kiddies,” she oozed, walking towards her first victim.

“Lacey, oh Lacey!” she cooed at her blonde childhood tormentor. “Time to wake up!” She drew her hand back and slapped her hard across the face. Lacey’s eyes fluttered open as she attempted to focus on the images before her.
“Wha-what? M-m-mona?”
“I told you you’d learn my secret soon enough bitch!” With swift downward strokes Mona sliced the pentagram through Lacey’s supple belly. She barely had time to squeal before Mona slit her throat and began collecting sweet human nectar from the welling red flower. With a full vial of fresh young blood, she performed the last step of the ritual: cutting up under the ribs and removing her full heart muscle. She dug her nails through Lacey’s tender fleshy entrance and felt her life force still fluttering and warm on her fingertips. Once the heart was secure in Mona’s hands she took the first ripe bite before passing it on to Grieves. Mona moved on to get to work on the rest of her graduating class, their bodies lined up ready for ritual sacrifice. Bellies full with aortic juices, the pair rolled the bodies of their massacre into the dug up graves and patted the dirt on the final hole just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, leaking oranges and pinks into the skyline.

“Congratulations to all our seniors,” Mona giggled, her mouth stained with dried blood that had run down her pointed chin. Mr. Grieves, looking like a young Hollywood actor with fresh youthful skin, circled his arms around her waist and clamped his teeth lovingly on her throat, gnawing at her savory skin.
“My dear,” he whispered. “It is time for us to make our getaway.” Mona grabbed a large molotov cocktail she’d fixed earlier from a nearby headstone and walked to the border of her cemetery. She watched the flame twist and lick hungrily as she placed it next to the gasoline soaked rag.  Then she smashed the thing through the open door of her trailer hell.
“Burn, my lovely.”

By Emily Smith-Miller

white handkerchiefs with

stains that she and i don’t talk about anymore

but it’s an implied

secret that we smile about occasionally.

brick stacked

upon broken brick

upon glass bottles

black. naked.

silhouettes lightly touch

before evaporating

moans escape as

a gaseous existence

timed to the slight keyboard sounds

of the surf organ sleaze

she wanted to cry in joy again

we gave each other fantasy and

a criticism construction

built slowly that collapsed

forever hers

forever mine

back to whispers

back to silence

about the documents

entitled the standards of care

as a symbol to her

the other species found the problem

her legs squeezed together

her nerves removed

her sinews dissected

heart set aflame and

sacrificed to the sun god

as she was disturbed

by the naked walls

as she was disturbed

by the non-stop sounds

constantly arousing her

then ending when she slid free

her hands free

then she stung

a serious tone as

she was sucked by the institute into

a black waltz

that left him watching

eyes surrounded

by pearls

fucked by the color spectrum

with blue as she permitted

her tics grew steadily

as she feasted on flesh

from the physicians that slowly

castrated themselves as she

dined

waiting for the surgeon as she squeezed

then rubbed her face across the danger

as the exhaust kicked into overdrive

“your screen is blank”

By Peter Marra

www.angelferox.com