It was cold that night. It was so cold that my Hampton had regressed into my body along with all the other scrobbily hanging bits. That was just as well because I had been told that we were both on target for the monstrous file-sharpened teeth attached to the gargoyle faces of the dwellers of the crypt.
The crypt was open but the steps were slimy and dank. We held onto each other for safety but the closeness did nothing except accelerate the initial fear which clung around us in a sweating aura. She fell first and her scream rebounded and resonated from the ancient walls which replied in kind, screeching, wailing, greeting, and seeming to move in a clinging dance of horror and torture.
My whispered enquiry as to how she was, rebuffed with silence, a silence that stretched out into the church and reached to the vaulted ceiling touched by the daemons and gargoyles clustering around the clerestory.
I fell across her cold body and found not only was she dead but already the life had been sucked from her, and all that remained was a wrinkled, twisted, awe-struck shell of nothingness, the only warmth a drop of blood I found on my finger caught up from the savage rent in her neck. Her delayed scream echoed from the accepting walls checked by centuries of ill built humours. My ears were blasted by the additional howls of the dead locked in to the mortar and the stone. My body arched in pain as my ears were assaulted, attacked, assailed and lashed at by the creatures locked away in time.
The door behind me crashed shut; there was only one way and that was forwards into the unknown towards the creatures that were rumoured to play in dances of death and destruction. There was a light, always a light, always ahead, always round the next corner, inviting, asking questions giving no answers. I was no longer cold it was now so warm that sweat was trickling into my eyes down my neck, along my spine. The warmth did not produce fear yet I was shivering as though in an ice room. I moaned. I wanted to lie down to go into some blessed oblivion but there was nothing blessed in this place only the Goat - and his minions - were rampant here.
The sound came slowly, beating insidiously into consciousness. Beating, beating and even then a strangely uneven rhythm and, with the beating, came the cries as though rising torture was being applied to live bodies. And live they were because now I could see them - the light had changed from a cold blue to an orange-red that surrounded the scene of deprivation, degradation and despair.
The women were naked, some crucified being lashed by excrescent existences that belonged in the mindset of the mediaeval gargoyle sculptors, yet, here they were live and flogging with knotted ropes and lashes, with flails and scourges in a rhythmic frenzy of blood, sweat, and vomit. Close by the whippings a great sarcophagus was being slowly and methodically shut onto the naked body of a beautiful pure young girl, the needle-spike points screwed into the door, pricking and pushing into her skin causing the Devils who closed the door to scream and cackle as blood began to run and then to spurt and gush until the door clanged shut.
Elsewhere scolds' bridles were forced onto the beautiful but screaming faces of other girls causing them to piss unrelievedly onto the beaten earth floor.
This gave Devils the opportunity to drink with glee before streaming some of the water back into the bridled faces. The same girls had others around them strapping them into cruel belts of metal that pierced and tightened on their most private parts causing the goblin-esque Devil's to caper and squeal around their victims.
I watched with devious delight as a particularly voluptuous female was belted and raised above what I knew to be a cradle, its three legged body topped by a pyramid ending in a point. Her screams as she was lowered towards it were beautiful to hear and lovingly entered my mind and heart as I saw the pyramid and her body meeting in a bloody embrace.
At last I was ready and I stripped off my clothes and leapt into the joyful fray accepting that my doom - as others would term it - was to be with these like-minded for eternity.
A contest entry
- CONTEST: HIDEOUS ADULT HORROR & BLOODTHIRSTY BONE-CRUSHING EROTIC TERROR (No one aged under 20) by Count Orlok.
350 points, ended November 2, 19 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Feel free.
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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Very interesting read! The crypt was an exceptionally gruesome place to have landed. but, then his fate was sealed from the beginning! Erie tales of part two perhaps?
Wonderfull written!
~Sie
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I liked this, especially the Hampton bit. This has quite a lot of unnecessary cruelty and sadism in it so it might well win something. Please accept my apologies for the delay in judging this contest but I am recovering from having been crucified by some amateur vampire-hunters.
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What a excellent short story. I only wish I could write something this well. Kudos to you dear sir for this is talent that shines. I would say I'm jealous, but what would be the use as I will never write something this good. I'm glad I read this write for it would have been ashame to have missed it.
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This is simply a superb write. Richly adorned with becoming adjectives, and like any good short story written with a nice twist. Articulate, gruesome and most deserving of a trophy. You're a sick codger ain't ya.
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You are bloody amazing mate!
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I would like to comment on many of these items separately..
1] "It was so cold that my Hampton had regressed into my body along with all the other scrobbily hanging bits." I am very impressed that you know the word "hampton". I personally would prefer to spell it with a lower case H but your use of upper case is a reasonable aberration. I am unsure about "scrobbily" and I will need to look it up in my dick.2] "My whispered enquiry as to how she was, rebuffed with silence, a silence that stretched out into the church and reached to the vaulted ceiling touched by the daemons and gargoyles clustering around the clerestory." I find "daemons" to be effing pretentious but I forgive you for this as you have looked up "clerestory" in your dick.
3] "Her delayed scream echoed from the accepting walls checked by centuries of ill built humours." Ill built humours? Give us a break, per-lease, Don. This is bollocks.
4] "...there was nothing blessed in this place only the Goat - and his minions - were rampant here." I have to agree with you. You need to keep an eye on that Goat.
5] "...lashed by excrescent existences that belonged in the mindset of the mediaeval gargoyle sculptors, yet, here they were live and flogging with knotted ropes and lashes, with flails and scourges in a rhythmic frenzy of blood, sweat, and vomit." I liked "excrescent existences" even though it is total bollocks. And you can't beat sweat and vomit, can you? **** (4 stars)
6] "Elsewhere scold's bridles were forced onto the beautiful but screaming faces of other girls causing them to piss unrelievedly onto the beaten earth floor.
This gave Devils the opportunity to drink with glee before streaming some of the water back into the bridled faces. The same girls had others around them strapping them into cruel belts of metal that pierced and tightened on their most private parts causing the goblin-esque Devil's to caper and squeal around their victims." I have to say this makes my own verbosity seem Batjemanesque by comparison. Bridled faces? Goblin-esque? Scold's bridles? (surely a plural possessive, mon cher Don?)...And the rest is excellent.
I am sure that Count Orlok, the contest holder, will be hard pressed not to award your magnificent opus the gold. Or at the very least, the bronze. Judging by what the competition is, gold seems more likely If he fails to do so, rest assured that I, brave butch Barry, will kick him in the arsehole.
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I shall do you the honour of replying separately to your dignified comments:
1. I am mortified. I thought that I had invented the word scrobble but, apparently, it is in modern parlance "netlingo" for downloading music in some odd fashion. The capitalised Hampton was arrived at by my "Dragon Naturally Speaking" software and I liked it so I left it.
2. No I did not look up clerestory story in any of my Dics, I knew the word, understood the word, and used the word -- so there! Daemons was also arrived at by my DNS software even though Demons is in its library. I thought that daemons looked right for the story -- by the bye, I am never pretentious.
3. Ah, but it is delightful to read - innit?
4. Yes.
5. You have to admit I am good at bollocks. Thanks for the totally justified **** (4 stars).
6. Batjemanesque - don't you mean Betjemanesque, Robin, you boy wonder, you? You have an absolutely gut-wrenching "yes" for the "scolds' bridles" - I do find some plurals tres difficile.
All the rest is excellent - I concur absolutely and positively.
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I thought "Batjemanesque" was quite witty, myself. And plural possessives are indeed a f*cking problem for some of us, I do feel, moi-même.
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Youreally should stop feeling your moi-même unless you want to damage your eyesight.
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