Dark Fiction - Sob, Gurgle and Scream

Sob, Gurgle and Scream

By Casey Douglass

The small claw pushed the bowl away, the heat-stained metal grating on the ancient rock tabletop. ‘I don’t want it!’

‘Come on my little chopping block, Mummy wants you to grow up big and strong, just like Daddy. You’ve got to eat your breakfast or that won’t happen!’

‘Like Daddy?’

‘Yes my darling plague bearer, he always eats his breakfast.’

A small smile shaped itself around stubby fangs as this fact was considered.

A large claw dragged the bowl back to where it should be. ‘Put your ear near the bowl and you can hear them sob, gurgle and scream. Well, that’s what the box says anyway.’

The little face looked down into the bowl, its nose wrinkling at the smell.

‘Can I have angel powder?’

‘Will you eat it all up if you do?’

‘Yes Mummy!’

Two onyx eyes continued to look into the bowl, edging nearer and nearer to the contents, until they were close enough to make out the shapes. What at a distance had looked like little stubby grubs began to coalesce into slithering bipeds bobbing and rolling in a red milky fluid. Their screams and shrieks tinny and at the edge of hearing.

A snow storm descended on the bobbling creatures, fluttering wings and golden hair falling like moth-dust, sparkling and fizzing as it hit the moisture below.

‘Thank you Mummy!’

The small claw picked up the spoon and mashed it into the heaving contents, turning it all into a gooey mush, each movement causing a crescendo of shrieks before crushing them into oblivion.

‘Eat up now, don’t play with your food!’

‘I’ve got to get them all Mummy, they tickle if they wriggle too much!’

‘That’s a good boy!’

‘Where’s Daddy?’

‘He’s working my darling black heart, toiling to put food on our table!’

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Dark Review - Splatterlands

A Review of Splatterlands

By Casey Douglass

I haven’t read many books that made me feel dirty. Splatterlands, published by Grey Matter Press managed to do that repeatedly. The stories inside are so gory, charnal and raw that the 13 tales flashed by all too quickly.

As the title of the book might suggest, this is a decidedly adult book. It features the strongest language possible, scenes of rape, sexual kinkiness, cannibalism and brutal murder, so if that kind of thing leaves you colder than a ravaged corpse, I doubt this book will be for you.

Below, I have given only the briefest titillation as to what the short stories are about. I don’t want to ruin their impact if you do decide to purchase the book.

The first tale is Heirloom by Michael Laimo. It follows a young girl who takes possession of her father’s antique rifle and puts it to uses that would surely void the original warranty if it was still in force.

The second, Violence for Fun and Profit by Gregory L. Norris, follows the fortunes of a poor soul who has fallen foul of the banking system and the arseholes that make the decisions. What starts as revenge soon turns into something far more profitable.

The third story is Empty by A.A. Garrison, a tale that features so much swearing and gore that the universe it plays out in begins to rip under the pressure.

Number four is Amputations in the Key of D by Jack Maddox, a fascinating look at the creative process and a way that an artist might find his true ability.

Five is Housesitting by Ray Garton, a cautionary tale about rummaging through other peoples property if ever there was one.

Number six is Dis by Michele Garber, a descent into madness and demon pleasing barbarity that twists the psyche into a wretched and brutal thing.

Tale seven is Dwellers by Paul M. Collrin, a mystical desert trip that turns out to be the most eye opening thing in main character Scrye’s life.

Eight is Party Guests by Chad Stroup, a look into the mind of Geoffrey, a ‘special’ young man who sees the world in his own unique and bloody way.

Story number nine is The Viscera of Worship by Allen Griffin, which follows the travails of a man who walks the dark path of Leviathan, out to test his faith and prove himself worthy of his God.

Number ten is The Defiled by Christine Morgan. A group of raping warriors comes up against a foe that just happens to treat them the way they most sorely deserve.

Story eleven is The Artist by James S. Dorr, a tale that finds the joy in meat being moulded into various forms.

Number twelve is A Letter To My Ex by J. Michael Major, a confessional suicide email filled with enough suffering to scar the recipient for life.

The final story is Devil Rides Shotgun by Eric Del Carlo. A struggling detective invokes outside forces in his hunt for a vicious serial killer.

I enjoyed all of the stories but the stand out ones for me at least, were: A Letter To My Ex, Heirloom and The Viscera of Worship. The first is just mind numbing, the second so rudely sexual and the third so dark and meaty that they stayed with me the longest of any of the tales.

There were a couple I didn’t enjoy, partly due to their writing style but I won’t single them out as it will be a very subjective thing from reader to reader.

I would happily recommend Splatterlands to any lover of the extreme side of fiction; someone who doesn’t feel averse to the feeling of sleaze seeping into their mind until they can almost taste it.

Rating : 5/5

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Dark Fiction - Infernal Dating

Infernal Dating

By Casey Douglass

as part of #fridayflash

Epoch 16 Day 34 : InfernalDating Message from Incu69:

Hi handsome.

Epoch 16 Day 34 : Reply:

Hello yourself. That’s some set of wings!

Epoch 16 Day 35 : InfernalDating Message from Incu69:

Thanks! Two millennia of pilates honey!

Epoch 16 Day 36 : Reply:

So what do you like to do?

Epoch 16 Day 36 : InfernalDating Message from Incu69:

The usual things really, feeding on desperate boys, watching TV, walks beside the lava sea. How about yourself?

Epoch 16 Day 36 : Reply:

I don’t like feeding on desperate boys lmao. I like quieter things. I’ve been ill for five hundred years. Some fool blessed me and now I just can’t do what I used to.

Epoch 16 Day 37 : InfernalDating Inbox Empty

Epoch 16 Day 38 : InfernalDating Inbox Empty

Epoch 16 Day 39 : Email from Agnathia:

Hello you. How’s the online dating going? Hope you are inundated with nice young ladies by now!

Epoch 16 Day 39 : Email reply:

Hi Aggy. I had one message the other day but she has gone quiet now.

Epoch 16 Day 40 : Email from Agnathia:

Oh that’s a shame. Keep going though, you’ll find someone soon I’m sure.

Epoch 16 Day 40 : InfernalDating Inbox Empty

Epoch 16 Day 41 : InfernalDating Message from WISp_in_my_eAR:

Hey, how are you? Gorgeous horns!

Epoch 16 Day 41 : Reply:

You are too kind. I’m okay thanks, how are you?

Epoch 16 Day 44 : InfernalDating Message from WISp_in_my_eAR:

I’m great baby. What are you upto?

Epoch 16 Day 44 : Reply:

Just some writing at the moment. How about you?

Epoch 16 Day 45 : InfernalDating Inbox Empty

Epoch 16 Day 46 : InfernalDating Inbox Empty

Epoch 16 Day 57 : Email from Agnathia:

Hey, any luck yet?

Epoch 16 Day 58 : Email Reply:

No just another one who went quiet.

Epoch 16 Day 58: Email from Agnathia:

Really? That website is pretty good. I’m going on a date with someone who I met on there tonight actually.

Epoch 16 Day 58 : Email Reply:

Have a nice time.

Epoch 16 Day 58 : Email from Agnathia:

Thanks x-p

Epoch 16 Day 58 : InfernalDating Message Inbox Empty

Epoch 16 Day 59 : InfernalDating Message Inbox Empty

Epoch 16 Day 78 : InfernalDating Message Inbox Empty

Epoch 16 Day 102 : Email from Agnathia:

Hey, just to let you know I’m getting married on the outer ring. That guy I was dating is soo my partner in crime. We just share everything. We love the same sins and just know what the other is thinking before anything is said! I’d love to invite you to the wedding but we are already rammed. Hope you understand?

Epoch 16 Day 102 : InfernalDating Message Inbox Empty

Epoch 16 Day 123 : You have deactivated your InfernalDating profile. Any time for which you have already paid is non-refundable. Please state your reason for leaving...You have selected No. Profile deleted.

Epoch 16 Day 124 : Internet Search Initiated : Hot nymph on incubus action

Epoch 16 Day 124 : Internet Search Initiated : FREE Hot nymph on incubus action

THE END

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Dark Fiction - The Goat of Hades

The Goat of Hades

By Casey Douglass

as part of #FridayFlash

Phil trudged along the narrow dusty tractor track, the incessant buzzing of flies darting around him starting to get on his nerves. It was getting late but the hot summer evening was as stifling as ever, the setting sun smirking as it bathed the fields in a fiery golden glow.

He looked up from his phone and could see the back of his house looming in the copse in the distance. He loved living here, nice and quiet with great views, but it was a pain in the backside to get back to civilization. He swished a finger across the icons and began searching for take-aways.

‘Chinese...na.’

To his right, a wire fence conspired to keep a few motley looking sheep from wandering away. The smell of animal crap and sweaty fur made Phil’s nose itch.

‘Pizza...nope.’

He batted a fly away.

‘Psst!’

‘Indian...could fancy an Indian.’

‘Pssssst!’

Phil looked up and glanced behind him. Shaking his head he went back to his phone screen.’

‘Oi!’

Phil jerked upright and stared all around.

‘Down here!’

The voice came from Phil’s right, but he couldn’t see anyone.’

‘Down!’

He swivelled his eyes down lower. A mangy black goat stood at the very edge of the wire fence, its glistening nose pointing straight at Phil.

‘Bingo!’ it said.

Phil felt his back and shoulders relax, the tension stuttering through his body and flowing away with each deep breath he forced into his lungs. ‘Oh this again!’ he said.

‘I don’t know what you mean, but I need your help!’

‘Oh do you! Might I say that’s not very clever, a goat in a field of sheep!’

‘Drop that tone mortal. I am the Great Goat of Hades! Show me some respect!’

Phil's vision began to shimmer and go dark around the edges as he stared at the goat, its black fur darkening, its eyes beginning to glow a little bit red around the edges. ‘Very impressive, but I’ve had worse.’

‘I will kill you!’

‘Then who is going to help you? I don’t see many candidates!’

‘I don’t have time for debate. This vessel was moved here by the farmer and had a shock collar put around its neck.’ The goat craned its neck, the heavy buckle of the collar glistening in the fading light. ‘Take it off me!’

Phil stared around him and shook his head. Everything else looked so normal, the settling dusk, the birds roosting, even the jogger in the very distance with a pink t-shirt on. His mind went to his stomach which was gurgling and felt like it was holding his other organs hostage. He sighed and stepped over the fence. Better to get it over with.

The black goat turned and raised its chin, its small wispy beard matted and tangled into a briary point. ‘Good!’

Phil got behind it and stood over its back, one leg either side. He reached down and pulled the collar around so that he could get at the buckle more easily. He unfastened the flappy bit and paused. What had he done before when stuff like this happened. Oh yes.

‘Wha-,’ was the only sound the goat emitted as Phil yanked hard on the tongue of the collar as he stood up to his full height, his knees pinning the back of the now kicking animal. A horrible gurgling sound filtered out of the creatures mouth accompanied by a thick black jet of faeces at the other end. Phil gave a mighty heave and was rewarded with a sharp cracking noise. He let go, the lifeless goat falling to his feet.

He stood still and panted, his hands shaking and greasy with sweat. A cool evening breeze blew across his brow, the moisture on his face lulling his mind. He heard muted scuffling from a way behind him. Turning, he looked at the huddled sheep that had now taken up residence in the furthest corner of the field. He looked down and nudged the black shape with his foot. He smiled.

‘I could fancy a kebab!’

Stooping, he lifted the thing over his shoulder and ponderously straddled the fence to get to the path. The flies buzzed around him with renewed ferocity, diverting his attention just enough that he didn’t feel the ground shudder ever so slightly. He grinned as he walked, his mind clear once more. It had been years since he’d heard voices, but he knew how to shut them up. That rabbit at Easter when he was ten, the dazzling little white dove that glowed and that grinning smirking reindeer with the red nose. Oh yes, he knew what to do!

--THE END-- 

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Dark Fiction - Campfires

Campfires

By Casey Douglass

Inky black distance melts into spots of flickering light, some shine brighter than others, some dwindling by the second. The glows flicker with the movements of people, bound together in mutual support and dependence. Scuffles and chitterings reverberate in the unseen depths, the darkness too deep for the mortal eye to pierce.

A glow fizzles out somewhere distant, silent screams racking the ether with undulating streams of terror. Golden glows of ignorance in the sea of the Stygian dark, the diminishing dazzles rife with resignation and yet doubts gnaw.

A lone figure stands near one such fire, arms spread in farewell as it walks from the known into the unknown. No cosy death in sparkling decrepitude here, but walking out to meet its demons and show them that it will not bow nor walk the paths the herd otherwise follow. 

A wanderer, a shaman, a true soul is forged.

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Dark Fiction - Resolution

Resolution

By Casey Douglass

The bulging net bounced along angrily behind him as he stomped along the cobbles; low guttural snarls and murmurings punctuating the thuds. He blew the air from his lungs and heaved his burden up the stark stone steps, the hard grey surface twinkling with late evening frost.

‘Careful!’ a grating voice slinked through the holes in the net. ‘You might slip and break your neck!’ The thing laughed like a chain-smoker, rasping and struggling for air.

The net was dragged into an open courtyard area, the stars of the night sky gazing down on the tableau. The tall figure let go of the ropes and left the quivering net, his quiet footsteps walking around and around.

‘Let me out Gillespie! You don’t want to do this!’

‘Do I not?’ Gillespie walked up to the net and crouched down, his dark coat tales fanning out behind him.

‘No! I can make a deal, there’s no reason why we can’t be friends!’ A splotchy hand pushed its way through the rope fibers, its long black talons greasy with dark liquid.

‘What did you have in mind?’

Gillespie watched as the skin on the hand rippled and shifted, the talons retracting, the skin turning a more healthy colour. A dainty hand waved at him, red nail polish and a scent of perfume completing the change.

‘How about it?’ a husky female voice said, the sound caressing his ears, the tone promising unthought of pleasures.

‘Put it away before I cut it off. You lot are always the same.’

The hand shot back into the darkness of the net with a booming snarl. ‘Should it have been a man’s hand?’

Gillespie stood slowly and stretched his arms over his head, his back arching. The first fireworks of the evening were bursting into the sky already. He walked to the parapet, making sure to tread on the net as he passed over. An angry yelp brought a slight lift to the sides of his mouth. This was a good place, the lad had done well. He placed his hands on the frigid stone and looked down across the city, the castle wall below him illuminated in the shifting colours of numerous spotlights. Cheers and laughter floated up on the night breeze, the chill air losing its battle to keep people inside. New Years eve. It was always the same up here. He wasn’t one for celebrating, but it was certainly useful.

Gillespie turned and eyed the large rocket on its launch station. It was the height of a man and deep red with a cone shaped top. He smirked; it looked just like something Wylie coyote would strap himself to when chasing the road runner. He made a note to ask his assistant where he had procured it. He hoped to himself that for his sake, it wasn’t A.C.M.E.

He ran a hand over his grey stubble, the lines on his face nestling against his fingers as they traced their way up to his brow and, as usual, to run along the still angry looking scar. It was an occupational hazard.

He produced his pocket watch and flipped it open. Snapping it shut angrily he strode over to the now motionless net. He stooped and wrenched it up and over his shoulder.

‘Wait! Wait!’ his captive cried.

He moved to the large rocket and pinned his struggling charge to it with his hand, the other feeling for the dangling ropes and coiling them around and around. A warm stench blowing into his face caused his eyes to prickle; it was rank and smelled charnal. With a satisfied grunt he knotted the ropes securely and stood back, his breath coming in small gasps.

‘You are ill Gillespie! How about I heal you?’

‘I’m not ill. It’s just your foul breath.’

‘No, its not. I can hear your breathing. You have something brewing in there Gillespie, something nasty.’

‘We all have our time.’

‘Hogwash! You take what you can get, allotted or not!’

‘Like you?’

‘Yes like me! I got into the sanctum and lifted the hourglass, and see what I have achieved!’

‘Yes but your time is up.’

A firework fizzed up from the darkness below, sputtering out in the sky with a small flower of white sparks.

‘It doesn’t have to be.’

‘Oh it does.’

‘Why? Because you say so?’

‘Because you broke the rules.’

‘Rules! Rules are created by the people in charge so that they are the only ones allowed to break them.’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. It has taken many days to put right your dabbling. Thankfully most people will never know how close the world came to it.’

‘To what? Empowerment? Justice? You think this will get you into Heaven?’

‘No.’

‘Won’t “He” reward you?’

‘Yes “He” will. You just have the wrong “He.”’

‘No never!’

‘Yes. All I needed was your admission of guilt Larnax,’ Gillespie’s voice was deeper and stronger now, his breathing deepening and slowing to an unearthly degree.

‘Why?’

‘Checks and balances.’

‘That’s all?’

A clock in the distance began to chime the first stroke of midnight. A cacophony of cheers and fireworks burst into the night air, the odd stray note of music accompanying it.

‘That’s all.’

Gillespie raised a finger and flicked it towards the short fuse. It sputtered into life, showering the ground with hot yellow sparks. The net began to struggle and writhe as the line of fuse fell away, the rocket rumbling and vibrating. Seconds passed and it looked like it would not lift, but finally with a shuddering whistle it rose, the high pitched noise masking the screaming of the thing tied to it. It shot up into the sky, the air left in its wake hot and shimmering and smelling of gunpowder. Other fireworks bloomed around it like electric fountains as it reached its apex and exploded with a rumbling boom. A sickly green miasma seeped into the sky like a pestilent cloud, the reflected light of the explosion reflecting from its particles like tiny crystalline pebbles.

Gillespie stood and watched as the night winds began to disperse it, pulling his high collar up around his ears. It was always too cold up here. He listened to the sound of running feet in the courtyard below and squeaky iron gates being opened and clattering closed again. The footfalls grew nearer, on the frosty steps now. A gaggle of revellers rushed onto the open courtyard, staring around them, their faces falling as they struggled to find anything worth looking at. The courtyard was empty. No rocket stand, no footprints and no Gillespie.

The End

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************************************

Happy New year to everyone. Hope it brings you everything you are hoping for. 

Dark Fiction - Ritual

Ritual

By Casey Douglass

As part of #fridayflash

Kenneth felt the plate crack in his hands, the noise itself muffled by the sudsy water.

‘Bloody hell!’ he shouted.

He held on to both pieces and lifted them from the water. They chinked as he pressed one on top of the other and headed across to the kitchen bin. He stomped on the peddle, the tiny mechanism launching the lid into the wall with a metallic clang. He dropped the two halves inside, swearing as one malicious corner scraped along his thumb. The lid closed with a thump as he assessed the damage.

‘Good afternoon Sir.’

Kenneth spun around to face the voice behind him. He let his hand fall to his side, his dripping blood forgotten. A stout fat red thing sat on the draining board, for all the world looking like a demon.

‘Correct! Bravo!’ Two taloned hands clapped rapidly, like the sound of someone popping lots of bubble wrap.

‘What..?’

‘Who would be more polite my dear boy but I’ll excuse your ignorance of etiquette, you look a bit frazzled.’

Kenneth moved nearer, a slight whiff of sulphur and scorched flesh hung in the air, the demon giving off the faintest shimmer of heat haze. He watched it lift a wrist and gaze at a small heavy looking watch.

‘What do you want?’

The demon prodded the watch with a long finger and clucked.

‘Too much heat! Oh sorry...to cut a long story short, from the moment of your birth, your every action, thought, desire and chance happening was preordained to form part of a ritual, known as the Great Completion. When it is finished, in...oh around five minutes, my master will achieve his desired result and the world will change to his will. Do you follow?’

Kenneth shook his head slowly but the colour draining from his face showed that he did, at least partly.

‘Everything I’ve done?’

‘Yes.’

‘Everything I’ve said...will say?’

‘Yes, including that!’

‘What will happen?’

‘And that! Oh I do apologise...the truth is I don’t know, I’m just here to play my part, to watch out for “the other side” if you know what I mean.’

‘God?’

‘Could be. Could be Angels, could be any “being of a higher frequency.” That’s how we have to refer to them now, political correctness and all that. I still call them robe lifters though, if I’m honest.’ He gave a wry smile and winked.

‘What now then? What will-’ Kenneth dropped to his knees, a trembling convulsion shaking his body as his mind cottoned on to some stimulus that his conscious mind refused to recognise.

‘Don’t worry, its almost time.’

A white feather fluttered down from the ceiling and landed on Kenneth’s head. The demon jumped down to the floor furiously waving his claws.

‘No no no! Bugger off!’ He snatched the feather and shoved it inside his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he gazed upwards. ‘They don’t learn!’

Kenneth’s vision began to blur, his head pounded like an anvil being smashed with a lump hammer. He cried out as the pain shot down his spine, causing him to fall flat out at the demons feet, consciousness and life drifting away with every passing moment.

‘That’s a good lad.’ The demon patted the back of his head tenderly.

Another white feather floated past the demon’s head, and another, then another. Within seconds the room was stuffed full of the slow drifting pillow stuffers. The demon opened his mouth to yell but inadvertently sucked in a great swathe of them, choking and tickling his fangs. He coughed and spluttered, his red cheeks now tinged with blue. The ground began to rumble, the cutlery in the drawers rat-a-tatting along with the bass beat.

‘Master!’ he shouted, ‘It’s not my fault!’

A wrenching force rippled the carpet tiled floor, a gaping tear slowly widening to the size of a small car. A flame lanced up from the hole, incinerating the snow of feathers in seconds, their blackened skeletal remains turning to dust as they hit the ground. The demon coughed out the last few that were lodged in his throat and sat down heavily, the rumbling beginning to subside.

A black figure slowly rose from the hole, levitating on a cloud of dark boiling ether. It spoke, it’s voice was whispered and slick like the lichen on a damp grave.

‘Drumax return! There was a problem with the ritual.’

Drumax nodded nervously.

‘My fault?’

‘No.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘A miscalculation by the overseer. All enforcers are being recalled to the circles for a full debrief.’

‘I thought the other side-,’

‘No! Part of the working was off by a fraction. There is now a chicken factory in Kiev with a few thousand bald chickens.’

Drumax let his mouth fall open, it was either that or smile, and he didn’t dare do that with the Reclaimer in front of him. He looked down at Kenneth, the body was beginning to stiffen. He shrugged, no point feeling sorry for him, occupational hazard, being a sacrifice and all.

He slowly got to his feet and joined the Reclaimer on his black cloud. As they sank slowly from view, the rumbling returned, slowly pinching the hole in the floor back together again. Just as it almost met in the middle, their conversation began again.

‘Fancy making a mistake like that!’ Drumax said. There was a slight pause before the other replied.

‘The devil is always in the detail.’

The sound of Drumax’s laugh was cut short by a loud slapping noise and a small whimper. The floor met with a thump, the ash covered kitchen and body looking like a picture in some ghoulish catalogue for zombie home improvements. The window was slightly open to the outside world, but all the neighbours would detect was the slight aroma of some strange barbecue lingering in the frazzled air. It was Summer, after all.

THE END

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Dark Fiction - Jump

Jump

By Casey Douglass

As part of #fridayflash

‘Okay mate you’re ready to go!’

Lewis felt the slap on his shoulder run through his body, passing through his stomach and severely aggravating the butterflies already rustling inside him.

For the last couple of minutes, he had been staring at the tips of his shoes, trying not to look down past them, and concentrating on balancing while the straps and harness were swivelled and clicked into place. He felt trussed up and safe, until he glanced down beyond his feet and the small metal platform.

Bringing to mind something he had read in some self help book, he tried to look at the big picture one piece at a time, so as not to overwhelm his mind. He started with the river. His breath caught in his throat, pressing down on his gullet uncomfortably. The river looked like a muddy trickle of brown, running through the deep gorge with a meandering path, the section under him wide and strewn with large boulders from the steep walls around it.

His eye travelled to one bank, up the scree and over the dead trees laying lazily on their sides, and onto the sheer face carved from some kind of grey stained stone. His head slowly lifted as his view came to eye level, the same height as the suspension bridge he stood on. His mind began to rebel, the urge to step back and walk away making the skin of his forearms itch. He allowed his gaze to carry on up to the sky and the metal structure above him. Sunny blue azure and painted olive green metal, not the best combination. The slight breeze managed to whistle as it passed through the bolted structure, howling quietly through some hole without its rivet. The sun vanished behind the one cloud on the horizon and Lewis felt a chill.

‘When you’re ready!’ the organiser gave him another pat on the shoulder, then gestured with his head to the queue of about a dozen people all waiting for their turn. A solitary car droned past on the deserted road.

‘I’m all connected?’ his voice cracked as he spoke.

‘Yeah, and that bungee chord is strong enough to support a thousand pound in weight. You’ll be fine, everyone feels scared just before they do it. Then they do it and can’t stop smiling after!’

Lewis managed a wry smile, noticing the sensation across his lips. A voice in the back of his head shouted Murder but it was too late. Lewis spread his arms out wide, closed his eyes and fell slowly forwards, pushing away with his toes to make his feet clear the edge.

The wind smashed him in the face and filled his ears like static, a feeling like pins and needles, but ramped up, more like nails and knives. His eyes were ripped open, the lids fluttering and flapping like an old flag in a hurricane. Time slowed, seeming to hang and float just as he did. He opened his mouth, his every muscle straining.

‘Get out!’ he shouted, the sound barely leaving the line of his overbite.

You need me. Where would you be without me! You’ll regret this! the internal voice whispered.

‘No! You made me...cheat on the girl I loved! You...made me spend hours and...hours over petty 
things, thinking...they were all that mattered. You perverted...my mind!

You think you can get rid of me that easily. You think this plan will work? All I did for you was meant to make you strong, wake you up and stop you being such a damned pussy!

Lewis concocted a strangulated laugh.

‘And look at me now! A pussy wouldn’t be doing this!’

No...you have improved in some ways I’ll admit, but you are still done for.

The ground loomed nearer now, the white tips and ripples of the white water clearly visible further up stream. Lewis closed his mouth in concentration, he had to think.

Ah here we go...the plan! Last chance to go back Lewis...last chance.

Lewis brought to mind his passenger, the sickening stranger he had met in a dream one night, the festering old man who had somehow managed to seep into his mind and stay with him upon waking. There he was, Lewis could almost smell his body odour of old newspapers and faeces.

Very good! Quite accurate. Don’t forget the smell of blood too!

Lewis ignored the interruption and carried on with his task, imagining and visualizing to the best of his ability, which was very difficult with the ground rushing up to greet him.

You’ll be sorry!

Lewis’ vision flashed white and he suddenly found himself back in the dream, the crusty man leering at him with anticipation.

‘Out!’ Lewis screamed and hurled himself towards him. Their hands locked and they spun around and around, the old man laughing with giddy glee.

Weeeeeee!

‘Get out now!’

Weeeeeeeeeeee!

‘Damn you!’

Lewis felt a pressure tugging hard at his ankles, his internal organs feeling as if they were trying to crawl out from his mouth, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He blacked out.

‘Are you alright?’

Lewis opened his eyes with a flicker and saw the concerned face of the organiser hovering a few inches from his. He squinted as he slowly sat up, his head spinning.

‘What happened?’

‘You fainted I think. You shouted all the way down but when the rope kicked you back you went quiet. We pulled you up and you were sparko.’

‘How long was I out?’

‘Not long, a minute or two maybe. Look at my finger.’

Lewis watched as the digit moved left and right.

‘I’m cold.’

‘You might be in a bit of shock. Go and get a burger or something, that will help, trust me.’ 
 

Lewis felt a hand under his arm pull him upright. He swayed groggily for a moment.

‘Thank you. Don’t think I’ll do that again though.’

‘Some people only do it once and it’s enough, nothing to be ashamed of.’

Lewis nodded and slowly walked down past the queue, a scream coming from behind him as another punter launched themselves into the void. He tried not to meet the eyes of the people patiently waiting their turn, but soon saw that they were engrossed in their own fear and butterflies. Near the end, he passed a pretty woman in a tight pair of jeans. His hand shot out and slapped her backside. She turned and stared at him angrily, a largish man turning and eyeing Lewis with a threatening expression. Lewis smiled at the man.

‘What? You got something you want to say to me you pussy?’

THE END

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