Page 2 of Eternity of Horror
Rolling my mother over, he took out his knife and carefully removed all of the flesh from her back, shoulder to shoulder, all the way down to her ass crack. When he was finished, he took me out of my highchair and swaddled me in my mother’s still-warm flesh.
"Anyway," I say to the nameless, sobbing girl who is currently chained to a wall in my basement. "What was your childhood like?" I affix the rat-filled bucket to her stomach before setting up the blow torch. I’m going to enjoy watching this play out.
Chapter 2
Lillith
Iwasn't always this way. I was a normal kid who lived above the family funeral home. Nothing odd about that. Sure, my fascination with dead things started early. Can you blame me? Conversations over dinner consisted of my dad talking about the embalming he did or how many bodies were in the cooler waiting to be prepped. At that time, my dad didn't allow me in the prep room because, technically, it would have been illegal. Looking back, I think it was more about him wanting to preserve my innocence. That changed when I was a teenager.
I have vivid memories of the day after my fifteenth birthday. My dad took me to his workshop for the first time. I was more excited than I was on Christmas day. A steel table in the middle of the room held an elderlywoman in her late nineties. She was still in her hospital gown because Dad wanted me to help with this embalming from start to finish. He showed me everything from cleaning her up, breaking the rigor mortis and setting her facial features, to cutting into her carotid artery to pump in the embalming fluid. He let me lift her eyelids to slip in the pronged eye caps before super-gluing them shut. He taught me that the eyes deflate shortly after death, so this gives the illusion that they are still intact.
Before that day, I would have told you that I wanted to be anything but a mortician. But after everything he taught me, I couldn't picture myself doing anything other than working with dead bodies. It quickly became an obsession. The more enthusiastic I was about my work, the more concerned my parents became.
Shortly after I turned eighteen, something inside me changed. I found myself having trouble falling asleep every night. I tried everything from ASMR audio to masturbating until my clit was raw. Nothing would work. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw death. Bodies from past cases, usually the most bloodied and horrific, would flash through my mind like a slideshow. I wasn't afraid though. I would open my eyes and feel like I could see their mangled bodies standing in the dark corners of my room, the moonlight reflecting off what was left of their dull sunken eyes. The thought of them watching me like I was the one sprawled out on the exam table excited me.
That's when I… well… so what happened was… I had to do the removal of this guy: late twenties, car accident. I picked him up from the Medical Examiner's office and the ride back to the funeral home felt… different. I had done a lot of removals and they all felt the same: nothing. But this one? I couldn't wait to get him into my prep room so that I could have a look at him.
My heart began to race as I peeled back the zipper of his body bag. This man was gorgeous. I mean, aside from the fact that his arm was no longer attached from just below the elbow, both his legs were crushed with bones poking through the skin, and he had glass embedded in his face, he was the most attractive man I had ever laid eyes on. And there he was, on my table. Just for me.
My eyes scanned over his whole body and I mean hiswholebody. I had to, right? It's my job. I'll admit that I may have stared at this dead cock longer than any living one I'd ever seen, which hadn't been many. It was just beautiful. I couldn't stop myself from imagining what kind of lover he must have been. Wondering if that cock got even bigger when blood used to pump through his body to fill it. It took me three times longer than normal to complete that removal because I was so enthralled by this man. That's when it started.
That night, I found myself in my bed, tossing and turning with restlessness, going through the usual checklist of tasks to try and get to sleep. They didn’t normally work, but that night was different. When I got to that last one, touching myself, it was like a new piece of the puzzle snapped into place. I closed my eyes, andthe first thing I saw as I slipped my fingers into my panties was his face. Those gorgeous, dead, gray eyes. The pieces of glass that split his tender flesh like it was wet tissue paper, and that fucking cock. By the time my fingers trailed down from my clit to my opening, it was a swimming pool of juices. I had never been that wet in my life.
I pictured him watching me. His lifeless eyes staring between my legs as my fingers spread the arousal around my flesh and hardened clit. The idea that he couldn't look away even if he wanted to, because he was no longer the puppeteer of his own body, made my pussy physically clench around my middle finger as I hooked it inside myself.
I lost track of how many times I fingered myself that night. My fantasies, along with my orgasms, became more intense as I pushed my imagination. When I dreamt of having his dead cock in my mouth, tasting and sucking, wishing I could feel it hardening against my tongue... I squirted for the first time. I never had trouble falling asleep again… or squirting.
Like most obsessions or addictions, you're always going to want more, right? I fucked myself every night to the thought of that man until another came into my prep room and took his place. After a few years of this, I needed to take it to the next level. It got to the point where I just felt panic in my chest when I fucked myself because the person I was fantasizing about was downstairs in my cooler, waiting for me. That panic got methinking... Why not let them watch? I mean, really watch.
Last year was the first time I did it. The odds were in my favor the day a man in his late forties, who had died of a stroke, ended up on my table. He was so cute. From his facial hair that I groomed and made clean and nice, a body that was perfect for a woman like me, to yet another gorgeous cock. It can be a little disappointing when you get a really pretty man but his dick is disgusting, or his balls are swollen to the size of a softball. Those only make a limited appearance in my dreams. He, however, was the first person involved in the evolution of my desires.
His eyes were already wide open. I have that tape I could have used to keep his lids from shutting, but it was like he was waiting for me. He died just so we could have that moment together. It was fate.
His head was resting on the block. I turned it toward my chair so that he could face me. If the cool air in the room hadn’t already been making my nipples hard, his eyes on my body as I swayed side to side would have done the job. They were so hard, it hurt in the best way. I’m not a dancer, but I did my best for him. I think he was pleased, especially when I started to undress.
As I was adjusting the table height and position so he was in the perfect spot, his hand slipped off and grazed my ass. My face immediately flushed, and I couldn't help the giggle that escaped.“Sir, excuse you. Behave…” I flirtingly said. In my mind, I wished he wouldn't. I returned his arm to the table and walked to my desk to take a sip of water and a deep breath. It was time.
I took a couple of steps closer to him, my heart roaring in my chest as I turned around so my ass was about a foot away from his face. Hooking my thumbs into my pants, I slowly peeled them down as I bent over, giving the handsome corpse a wonderful view of my cleanly-shaved pussy. Looking down as my pants and panties dropped to my ankles, I could see the slick remains of how fucking wet I was for this man.
After kicking off my bottoms, I got in my chair, making sure the angle of his head gave him a perfect view of my young cunt. Pulling my legs back, my pussy spread naturally, and I felt a tear of fluid spill out and roll down my ass. It felt like I was about to cum just from his empty eyes watching me. I slipped two fingers inside with such ease; the wet sounds clicking in the silence of my prep room. I made the cutest moans for him. I just know he loved the sound.
I pumped my fingers into my pussy. It wasn’t long before I was contracting around them and squirting across the tile floor. I pushed hard, trying to reach his handsome face just to see if I could, but the spray fell short of the steel table he was on. The idea of cummingonhim kept my fingers buried inside my pussy, swirling and pumping my way to another orgasm. I knew I wouldn't squirt as much as the first time, but I still hoped. Instead, it poured out of me and down my chair. The high that I felt after that, fuck… it was even better than the first time I masturbated to the thought of the car crash guy.
“Anyway, it was all downhill from there," I said as I cleaned off a man's thick fingers, stiff with rigor mortis. I slipped my pants and panties off before putting one foot up on the steel prep table between the cleaned hand and his torso. "What was it like for you growing up?" I asked as I helped him find my corpse-hungry cunt.
Chapter 3
Osiris
The sounds of rats squeaking as they chew through the dead girl on the floor of my basement is the perfect white noise for coming up with new haunted house ideas. Every year since I killed Father, which has been about ten years now, I put together an extreme haunted house. It's open one weekend a year and is only found by word of mouth. No advertisement. No promotion. Can’t have too many eyes on what it is I do there. That'd be bad for business.
There are many haunts that do an extreme night or weekend. These are the types of events that require people to sign liability waivers, surrender their cell phones and recording devices, and be given a safe word. At places like that, they might grab your hat off your head, tie you to a fence, rub a bladeless chainsaw on your legs, or stuff fake bugs in your pockets and down yourshirt. Those are good for a quick thrill and a laugh. My haunt changes people. The ones that survive, that is.
There is no waiver, no safe word, and no warning at my haunt. The extreme gore, the blood, the torture, the death, the sex, it’s all real. Guests who make it through my haunt and leave aren’t aware that I allowed them to do so. They are the ones who pass on the stories. Enough people make it through, so their stories sound reasonable, but few enough that most think it's just an urban legend.
I can hear the rats getting louder as I scribble down ideas at my desk. My babies are hungry and must have eaten most of the girl's insides by now. I get up from the desk and grab a carrot from their tote of food. Stepping in front of the corpse, I look down at her contorted face, a reflection of pure pain. With her mouth and eyes wide open, I smile at her last moments of life that have been frozen by death. She was cute, too. I take a bite of the carrot and then place the rest of it on her dry, discolored tongue. I hear scurrying inside her chest as the rats fight over which one will get the snack. Her throat swells as I watch the winner climb its way up. Claws tearing at the meat and arteries as it struggles to climb the length of her neck. I see the carrot move slightly, signifying that its little hands are at the other end. Then I see it slowly disappear. Her throat expands again as the rat retrieves its snack, pulling it toward the others waiting in her hollowed gut. A low growl rumbles through my chest… I need to fuck something.
Looking around the workshop that is my basement, Itake inventory of the bodies I currently have on hand. Some corpses are from last year; I’ll set those up as props. I use some of the fresher ones, like Bucket Girl, to test out new ideas. I palm my cock through my pants as I examine all the rotting bodies, trying to figure out which one will be my cum dumpster. Some are too old, too decayed. Some are too mutilated. The prettiest one has an unusable cunt full of glass. I may or may not have fucked her with a fluorescent light bulb, stomping on her uterus until it shattered, only to repeat the process over and over until the bulb was gone. It was a fun little magic trick. Needless to say, I’m not shoving my dick in a pussy filled with shattered glass.
