Dangerous Delusion of Beauty | By: robert William Braswell | | Category: Short Story - Twilight Zone Bookmark and Share

Dangerous Delusion of Beauty

Dangerous Delusion of Beauty

Bill Peterson’s dreams of spending a moment alone to get a kiss from a particular beautiful woman unexpectedly come true one strange night.

Unaware of the woman’s true purpose in allowing such a meeting to occur, unwittingly he places himself upon a road which dead ends into a place where perceptions of the living mangle with the illogical and where he eventually succumbs to this bizarre reality to enter a different dimension – in his mind.

Inside man’s profound imagination of a true literal existence of different dimensional realities beyond all empirical perceptions, there exists one ultimate reality, one special place where daily occurrences of spiritual divinity, mystical magic and mystery beyond logical reasoning and intellectual comprehension occur. It’s a world where the spirit of God is alive in every soul of every man. All creatures live in peace and harmony in a land bountiful of God’s own imagination created specifically for only those proven to have the purest of heart.

But one day God as a test of faith sent a mysterious creature born of the Devil’s seed for all who enjoyed the many things he has given them.

And despite the creature’s abhorred appearance no one knew it owned a black heart until many years later…

Grotesque in appearance and having a soul filled with the evilness of God’s most sagacious sinner, it appears one night at the burial grounds of a small remote village hidden deep within the imagination of God’s own perfection.

And there among the dead where a man was just buried whose faith was not as strong as God wanted, this mysterious creature fulfills a pre-ordained ritual doing what it must to survive…

She came forth wildly screaming from out of the fresh grave to slowly spread her wings several feet. Hideous thinly skinned wings black in color however strong, glistening in the pale moon’s light preparing for flight once more to search for another victim. After thunderously flapping them several times to break the nights’ peaceful calm they return to her body to gently nestle once more upon her back.

Crouching upon the dirt as if a mythical infant just born unto her mother, she slowly stands but not without giving forth a mighty effort. Her agony is obvious her pain immense. Her loneliness entrenched deep within the bowels of a blackened spirit.

She ponders how to continue living having this perverse need to drink the blood from men whom she kills after seducing them. She despises being this monster of deception but she has no choice.

She reacts to her agony by instinctively arching her head back far to release an acute ear-piercing cry from deep within, the harsh haunting scream soaring far and above into the surrounding countryside terrifying all who hear it.

While standing her nakedness is revealed, such beauty never before seen by a man who has lived, for none have after viewing her. Long fiery red hair hanging down past her delicate face caress ample breasts that have allured so many, her latest victim’s blood still dripping from her succulent lips. Razor-sharp talons imbedded deep within her claw-like feet entrench themselves into the freshly overturned soil to help hold her afoot.

Lowering her head to view her victim’s blood-drained face once last time, she’ll always remember their lovemaking. This one cheated on his wife so she feels less remorse. But what about so many innocent others where she has entered into their dreams as they slept only to seduce them, then afterward slaughtering them so she can drink their blood?

Regardless of the past she must turn her thoughts to the future while looking up into the starry night sky and wondering who will it be next time, a sheepherder, a blacksmith? Will he be happily married, a thief or even a killer like herself?

Such thoughts only entertain her for it truly doesn’t matter. All men are the same she concludes, easily luring even the most noble of them into her bed with a gentle smile – however deadly that smile always turns out to be.

But time is of the essence. For after the sun comes then disappears once more she must kill another. Failure to taste the blood of another man by that time will result in her returning to Satan’s side as ordered by God, something she passionately fears.

So crouching quickly and extending her wings to there fullest she doesn’t waste any more of it, hurriedly jumping up several feet to catch the air beneath her wings lifting her high into the dark night…

Thousands of years later…

Cheryl seems like a nice girl but she’s not my type, having more the personality of a scatterbrain. I quit trying to pick up these empty-headed center-spread bimbo types after deciding a few years back that I needed much more than one-night stands with sexy drop-dead bombshells. A night of wild sex was always great but I’ve come to realize and accept a few years ago that a lifetime of love and devotion is much more gratifying.

So I said good-bye to her and her two friends when deciding it was time to leave after realizing time had escaped me. It was just after ten pm and I needed to get home and get some rest. Unfortunately I have to get up early to go to work.

So after stepping out into the chilly December night air, I zipped up my old worn faded army jacket to the top of my neck to help ward off the sting of the sudden drop in temperature. It must have fallen a good fifteen degrees while relatively solving the world’s problems inside Louie’s, my favorite watering hole.

That infamous howling wind coming in off Lake Michigan chilled the air down in a hurry. The sound of it swirling in between the surrounding buildings seemingly cried out raucously for some much-needed rest. It was crisp and unmercifully penetrating, probably blowing at least forty miles an hour.

Facial muscles began to vigorously stiffen as the savageness of it slammed my exposed flesh. And, along with this nagging sinus condition that seems to never leave me, the freezing temperature only made me more susceptible to catching a doggone cold. I loathe the cold weather.

It also sleeted during my time just spent downing several Coronas. Frozen rain decorated the neighborhood’s streets and sidewalks with a shimmering glitter as the streetlights from above gently reflected out from within them.

Loosing track of time to escape the humdrum of my existence has become an easy thing for me to do. Alcohol numbs the mind and senses’ sometimes thinking it’s a shame when I feel less pain. But it allows me to forget, for a short while at least, the eight hours I spend five days a week on the shipping docks over at the Distribution Center on Holloway.

The job’s a bust. Loading and unloading various types of heavy machinery from forty-foot flatbed trucks while sitting atop an electric forklift all day long is not very satisfying. But it keeps a roof over my head when the rent gets paid on time.

And the fact that heavy smokers with dementia-like attitudes having a flair for the overly dramatic surround me all day long, push my definition of dull to the limit. The way these insufferable whiners (day-babies – a more definitive term I prefer) talk of their wives, all of them must be screwing the mailman or the neighbor’s teenage son.

My name is Bill Peterson and I’m a fifty-eight year old divorcee living on the South side of Chicago. If I could just win the lottery I’d move away from this lousy neighborhood, better yet from the entire town. Pimps, hookers and drug dealers seem to own these streets practically twenty-four hours a day. The atmosphere is not what I call particularly wholesome.

Even the Police Department, who are paid with my tax dollars to protect the innocent, don’t come around this side of town much. There’s just too many street gangs made up of punks with guns who shoot first and don’t bother asking questions later.

The unspoken word on the street is if you’re not tough enough to handle it then move before you become a statistic. I’ve been fortunate I guess. During my nine months living here I’ve encountered only a handful of the locals, mainly to buy dope.

Don’t do it anymore. Tried it while my tour of duty in Viet Nam and quit after I returned to the States. The fact that I’m also six foot seven, two hundred and thirty-five pounds may also be as to why these cockroaches don’t screw with me much.

I begin my short walk home by carefully sidestepping the slippery sleet. The small flashes of light bouncing up from the ice unwittingly keeps catching my eye, as the alcohol continues to dog my sense of thought. It doesn’t take much for me to get distracted when my brain is laden from drinking a tad too much. Still echoing in my head is Get Off Of My Cloud by the Rolling Stones, the last song I heard as I left the bar.

Unsuspectingly a voice suddenly sneaks up from behind asking, “Hey buddy, wanna a blowjob for twenty bucks?” It was deep, haunting and disturbingly overflowing with testosterone. I stop, sluggishly turn around to see an old man in drag probably in his sixties squinting at me as if trying to see whom it was he was speaking to.

A short black wig sits atop his head in sharp contrast to the glossy bright red lipstick smudged around his thin taut lips. The heavy rouge caked upon his chin and cheeks must have been an attempt to hide the still noticeable beard stubble beneath. Black fishnet stockings laden with numerous tears woefully mat down the dark hair on his pathetic bony white legs.

The old fart has a whimsically quality, much like a clown performing in the center ring for Ringling, Barnum and Bailey. I wanted to conclude that he must have wondered too far from some local nursing home. But in reality he’s probably homeless looking for some fast cash to buy crack or a bottle of booze.

Regardless, I’m amused by his eccentric appearance. I’ve seen male prostitutes on the street before, but never one as disgustingly ugly as this one.

I attempt to chase him off by simply saying, “I’m going to turn you from a rooster into a chicken if you don’t scram you bitch!”

A not so surprising resounding, “Screw you!” immediately comes slobbering forth from toothless gums. Then just before making a hasty retreat he flips me off, no doubt fearing of what I might do to retaliate to such incredible insipid behavior.

And as I observe him running away, or rather attempting to in his much too tight denim skirt, once more my mind can only sarcastically surmise, ‘Yep, no doubt, nighttime brings out the best in people.’

I roll my eyes up and shake my head from the incredible perverseness of it all. And immediately after turning back around to continue on my way home I scan the sidewalk ahead for any other dirt bags waiting for a chance to make a quick buck.

However, the mighty wind continues to pummel my face, forcing me to keep my head somewhat down to avoid its sting. Its sharp keen edge was already beginning to briskly pierce the tips of my ears.

In a couple of minutes I come upon Angelina’s Butcher Shop, a relative small business where I often stop to buy a regular supply of hamburger, hotdogs, etc. Angelina herself had just stepped outside, apparently closing for the day much later than usual.

I stop a few feet short to where she was rolling down the new protective steel mesh cage recently installed on the shop’s outer perimeter. And with the howling wind so fiercely deafening, she seemed unaware that I was near.

She was robbed just last week thus the probable reason for the added security. A good guess would be somewhere deliciously next to her person she’s probably now packing a pistol. I make my presence known by attempting to speak above the screaming wind.

“It’s about time you close.” My voice apparently was obtrusive, catching her completely unaware and causing her to react with a sharp suspicion of imminent danger.

She reeled her head around incredibly fast with eyes completely annihilated by fear. Her spontaneity, blistering razor sharp eyes and half-crazed expression frightened me in return, so much so that I reacted by recoiling away from her with tense apprehension. She probably would have shot me if that pistol were in hand.

But upon recognizing me quickly as one of her regular customers, vulgarity violently erupts regardless like fiery molten lava from her tantalizing lips, lips by the way I’ve secretly desired to kiss.

“You son-of-a bitch! You scared the living shit out of me! I damn near had a heart attack! Jesus Christ, don’t you ever do that again!” I never thought her capable of such words.

However, her anger readily melts into one of keen sensitivity upon immediately realizing I meant her no harm. I’m sure the fear she put in my face helped her come to the conclusion.

Then her trademark smile, one seemingly forever filled with teasing invitations to share good conversation over dinner and a bottle of 1997 Joseph Phelps Merlot forms on her face, a face that stays with me every time I exit her shop.

“I’m sorry Angelina. I certainly didn’t mean to scare you,” apologizing instinctively when guilt begin to tug on my coattail.

Then out of nowhere there was a brief exhilarating moment when our eyes seem to touch. It was sheer titillation for me. It was like she was daring herself to expose a personal thought or feeling toward me beneath that delightful exterior, seemingly like a bit of a shy curiosity perhaps. It felt like we were dancing to a quick two-step, practically blowing me out of my shoes. She’s never before displayed any interest toward me.

But the moment was practically over before it got started when she suddenly looks away to continue securing her shop.

Angelina is a woman of exceptional beauty. Has the body of a big time model say maybe a Giorgio Armani or an Abercrombie and Fitch type. She can’t be more than forty years old, five foot five and a hundred ten pounds. Electrifying hazel eyes, red hair hanging down way past her shoulders, definitive high cheekbones, a fair complexion and a succulent pouting upper lip that never quits screaming seemingly pleading with me to kiss her. Regardless of the intimidation she makes me feel from such alarming good looks, she overwhelms every male sense God gave me regardless.

Ever since I first entered her shop I’ve been smitten, but undoubtedly along with every other man that’s ever had the pleasure of encountering her.

I remember that first day as if it was yesterday. The apron she had on as she stood behind the counter waiting on customers, tightly wrapped around that smoldering body soaked in blood from slicing God knows what kind of meat, coupled with her flawless face filled me with a fiery wickedness reserved only for the fiendish Devil.

It was the one-two punch of her peppery hot looks smothered with something so unappealing that the contrast between the two was such an intense visionary experience that it awakened those feelings I discarded a long time ago for fear of another failed relationship. Weird, I know. But experiencing such a renaissance of emotion has been very uplifting.

And as I presently continue observing her, my brain eagerly grabs the opportunity to secretly scan her entirety. Even through her heavy winter coat my imagination looses control, practically exploding out from every pore of my face.

Then unexpectedly she stands to face me politely saying, “Had to fill a big order for a New Year’s Eve bash over at Armando’s Pub on Highland. You know, the usual ribs, polish and dogs…” cutting her own sentence short to stoop over once more to padlock the last bar into the latch cemented in the sidewalk. Again my eyes went about the pleasantness of absorbing those curvaceous qualities that were definitely original in every sense. Absolutely no one on the planet is built like she is.

When she was through she stands for the final time informing me, “Ground round will be on sale all next week. Make sure you stop by.”

“You can count on it,” I warmly respond as if having the quaintness of a sexually frustrated priest secretly chained to a lifetime of celibacy. Haven’t been with a woman since I got divorced.

She gives me an quick smile before turning away to cross the street’s slippery asphalt to retrieve her mint-conditioned ’65 Chevy Impala Caprice parked inside Rosario’s Parking, a public three-story garage secured by a ten-foot chain-length fence surrounding its perimeter. A gate near the building’s front entrance always has an off-duty cop stationed to let people in and out, especially this time of night when the seemingly aimless show up to conduct their privately owned businesses.

“Watch your backside,” I yell as she gets farther away. Without looking back she acknowledges my comment with a quick wave of her hand before the armed guard allows her to pass through upon showing him her parking receipt. It made me feel better knowing she’d be in her car soon and on her way home.

As I watched her disappear from sight down the road I bust my own balls by saying, “You could have asked her out on a date, you chicken shit!”

None-the-less, I turn back around to continue once more on my way home walking another block before coming up to the narrow alleyway I’ll sometimes use for a shortcut. With the lousy weather I figure the sooner I get home the better.

The freezing cold was already chaffing the skin on my half frozen hands making them sting. Mistakenly left my doggone gloves at the bar. I raise them up to my mouth to breathe into them giving them and my face some needed warmth.

And upon entering the narrow darkened passageway, the wrath of the extreme cold seemed to intensify when the once harrowing wind immediately quieted down to a mere echoing whisper. The alley lined with walls only three feet apart built from brick that’s now frozen made the barely moving air seem even more dense.

Then the thought of sitting on the couch at home getting warm sipping a little eggnog spiked with rum begins fueling my desire to quicken my pace. It would be the ticket to a good night’s sleep.

“Damn, it’s bitter tonight. Should have had a few more beers to keep me number,” musing out loud as if trying to magically protract the cold for another day. My crystallizing breath remains hanging in the icy air a few moments longer without the wind quickly dissipating it into nothing.

Then without warning an excruciating pain sharply caroms up from the bottom of my foot, forcing me to vehemently quip, “Ouch! What the hell?” I stop to hurriedly look down to see of all things, an icy-covered syringe sticking out from the bottom of my tennis shoe. The tip of it was poking me in the doggone foot.

“Man, that smarts!” squawking ill mannerly while simultaneously yanking it out and tossing it away several feet. Upon its removal the impacted pain only partially subsided. For a burning sensation remained feeling much like a bee sting.

“This hurts like hell,” angrily voicing the obvious. “The sooner I get home the better so I can disinfect the stupid thing. Don’t want to get a darn infection.”

“Damn junkies,” also sarcastically barking over my sudden misfortune.

I don’t have much of a temperament for heroine addicts or other drug abusers over their self-induced shortened lives. It seems caring for one’s self dissolves into an empty thought inside these people’s brains. I know it’s an addiction but if they don’t reach a point where they get bored with it all and want to seek treatment, then what’s a normal person to do? The pain in my foot is a reminder of my attitude toward such individuals, propelling me to once again chime with disgust, “Damn junkies!”

But before taking a step I test my foot so see how painful walking on it was going to be. And after gingerly placing it down upon the frozen ground and applying just enough weight to see how it would react, the stinging sensation only increased with the added pressure.

“This is just frigging great. Damn neighborhood, damn town!” harping and now proceeding with a necessary slight limp.

But after walking only four or five steps my head begins to experience an unexpected dizziness, however slight it was. I readily dismissed it thinking my missed supper replaced by a bellyful of beer is the reason for feeling as such.

But the sensation keeps increasing at a surprising phenomenal rate, quickly saturating my head and woeful stomach forcing me to stop and throw my hands up to lean against the cold brick for support.

Feeling abruptly like I was being swept up into a whirlwind of sorts, the increasing nausea-like dizziness made me feel quickly from the norm. And I was forced to close my eyes to try and settle my snarling insides in hoping my guts wouldn’t suddenly come spewing forth.

“Whew, man, this really feels ah… weird,” barely muttering while trying to catch my breath as the rhythm of my heart mysteriously quickens. ‘This feels like serious shit.’

I noticed the veins in the back of my hands spasm with every heartbeat, propelling my thoughts toward deeper confusion as to what was happening. Beginning to vigorously sweat as if from some extended workout, it became impossible to think about anything else.

‘What the hell is this? Am I having a heart attack?’ This whole thing was just too damn weird. ‘Never had beer hit me like this before.’

In staggering contrast to just a moment ago, even leaning against that very wall was becoming a major challenge when the thing began swaying up and down as if it were some kind of weird living entity. Closing and reopening my eyes with the purposeful intent of wishing whatever this invasion is would magically go away wasn’t working.

But the brick wall was baffling every sense I owned. Never in my life have I witness such an incredible vision of an innate object behaving in a manner like some apparition, undulating as if its molecules were reconstructing or re-animating themselves to correspond with each seeming fierce monstrous wave created as if from some incredible storm at sea. It was absorbing all my concentration.

I suddenly stumble to almost fall, only to catch myself as my shoulder jarred into the wall.

Tingly impulses and extreme twitching especially noticeable in my hands and fingers were obvious from my trembling.

Then like some muscle malfunction in my own neck for God’s sake; my own head forcibly slams into that brick wall freaking me damn near beyond reproach. The impact felt like a baseball bat swinging at full tilt.

‘Damn, that hurt like a son-of-a-bitch…!’ in pronouncing my thought coming without reprehension. The impact was excruciatingly painful, rattling my brain to force it to feel as if it was now separated and attached to nothing.

“My beer spiked maybe? Don’t get it, man,” were words sputtering out reacting to my dilemma, shooting forth on their own accord to assuredly protest this incursion upon me.

But they were fortunate words to openly say, for they bounced into my ears potent with hidden meaning. It had to have been the abrupt shock of the re-scrambling of brain molecules after my head hit the wall that allowed for a clear thought.

It dawned on me the damn syringe I stepped on, so previously oblivious but now undeniably obvious, has to be the reason of this occurrence. Probably had bad heroine, crack or some other drug still clinging to it, the needle entering my blood system after piercing my skin.

‘Just frigging wonderful.’

But in knowing the source was a fact late in coming. For its continuing powerful penetration was leaving me no other alternative but to only react. And with the way my strength was and is continuing to drain out from me, it seems logical that collapsing or even passing out is now a real probability.

The ground has always been prudently accepted as dirt and nothing more. But it began to seemingly encroach upward toward me, strangely as if inviting me to embrace it with a full body extension.

Then it happened…

Sounding as if the entire planet exploded mightily like a thunderous reverberating eruption blowing my eardrums into a thousand pieces, the frozen ground seemingly did rise up to painfully smash my face, my head thumping the frozen ice below to which I fell no longer able to stand.

And now partially buried in the wintry white crystals and certainly feeling like some disoriented lamb being ominously led to its own slaughter, encroaching unconsciousness immediately swarmed to overtake me, sparing me the agony of this indignity even more.

And now oblivious to everything especially the human rats roaming the city, I unwittingly was inviting them to come now and conduct their personal agendas without retribution.

A few miles away Angelina is pulling her car into the garage of her quaint condo on the North side of town, a community only for those who can afford the better things in life. She no sooner walks through the front door than the phone rings disturbing the settled quiet within.

Not having the need for any light to find her way, the sexy butcher sways through the familiar darkness of her living room toward the telephone sitting atop the end table next to the couch. Without hesitation, she picks the receiver up to gently place it next to her ear. When she speaks, the tone of her voice suggests she knows who is calling.

“Hello,” softly saying while the streetlight just outside her window directs its night-light purposely caressing her satin lips.

“Come down here quick. I’ve got something you ought to see. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” spoke a voice with tempered glee.

“I’ll be right there,” voicing her words with usual dead calmness. Her eyes however, show an arousal within gorging themselves with excitement.


It was many hours later when…

‘Ugh, my aching head,’ I think those were the words I initially remembered thinking as consciousness began to slowly creep back, although don’t get me to swear to it. My head was feeling like someone had taken a jackhammer to it.

Initial moments were unclear, still sensing my brain’s refusal to fully awaken. My eyes remained closed. I’m not sure why. Probably fearful of what they might see after experiencing such delusions of sight. But the thought of never wanting to again experience such an abnormal state of mind rang through loud and clear.

My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as if made from lead. Couldn’t move a muscle even if God himself demanded it. No doubt readjusting to the gravitational pull of Mother Earth was going to take awhile especially at my age. Regardless, I sensed the worst was behind me God willing.

Then… faint voices began seeping into my eardrums, voices for the moment that meant nothing. And with my senses still slumbering I drift back into a deep sleep but this time on a level of normalcy.

I really don’t know how long it was before I was awakened by the smell of Passion Perfume by Elizabeth Taylor, one of my favorites. My ex wore it often.

Then unexpectedly fleshy lips, soft, feeling wet and exceedingly succulent, begin deliciously messaging my own…

In reacting to such a pleasant way to be awakened, my eyes dart wildly open to see of all people Angelina, the sexy butcher seemingly pressing her entire face into mine. Besides being instantly hypnotized by her piercing hazel eyes, I could also feel them practically penetrating thru to the back of my skull.

She seemed so surreal I was convinced Jesus Christ was nearby for surely I had died and gone to Heaven. I blinked hard to see if I was dreaming but fortunate for me she remained, her lips continuing melting into mine.

‘Yep, must be dead,’ deliriously concluding.

Her beauty demanded my full attention. How could I not give it? Her breathing was slow and purposeful, her eyes hypnotic and unblinking. Heat emitting from her lips steamed my inner passion near the throngs of urgency. The woman was damn near on fire.

I reciprocated with heavy breathing and feeling my hormonal glands swell.

I was on my back sensing I was lying atop a table. Had no idea where but what does it matter? I was too focused on Angelina being delightfully devilish fulfilling those many dreams I’ve had of her.

She was straddling my midsection, her weight suddenly shifting sending my insides silently screaming. I sensed purpose poised for passion in her movement. She wanted me in the worst way … or so I thought.

Her salacious lips then unexpectedly retreat, but only an inch or so. Her hazel eyes, dancing from the excitement within remained open, seemingly locked in position staring at me. Her pouting upper lip slightly parts from the other allowing her inner steamy breath to escape but barely, gracefully falling embracing my face, her heat gorging every pore it touched.

I raise my head wanting to taste more of her, my heart beating uncontrollably. Our fusion made me hotter than hell and I was suddenly secretly praying to hold on to all I had to offer.

Then unexpectedly…

She climbs off me to stand on the floor. And it was all I could do just to look at her with sudden surprise alongside very excessive heavy breathing. Was she not making it obvious she wanted me?

She begins to talk in a seemingly aloof manner, something I’ve never heard or seen in her before. Regardless I remained within the clutches of her exorbitant beauty trying to catch my breath.

“You know William, you don’t mind if I call you William do you? Sounds so much sexier than Bill,” her voice inviting and sultry, but her words short and crisp as if she was suddenly declaring a different direction of purpose than what was apparent.

“But ah, William, I’ve noticed how you look at me whenever you’re around. You remind me of so many other men who have ended up here on this very table.” A smile then a chuckle sounding a bit peculiar trickles out from her lascivious mouth: a mouth that was disappointingly no longer attached to mine. “I swear, all you men are like children in need of something sweet,” remarking with sumptuous zeal.

I naturally thought like any other human male having these primitive biological urges on the cusp of gratification, ‘okay, now that this conversation is over can we get back to what we were doing? I’m really not in the mood…’ helplessly cutting my own thought short as I wontedly stared into her alluring bright eyes pulsating my heart profusely. I certainly didn’t have any intentions of having a single thought much less conversing.

But having a thought I did when it dawned on me what she just said. ‘Others? What others… on the table? What was that about?’

“I’m going to tell you a secret, William, and I want you to listen very attentively.”

Angelina, one of God’s loveliest creations appearing transfixed as she wildly stares into my eyes with seemingly more than just a keen interest. Continuing titillation by her presence alone gave me curiosity as to what she might be thinking.

“I want to inform you of the actual reason why I decided to, uh, allow you to think that you were going to make love to me again.” Such a charismatic voice sounding seductive as the Caribbean twilight is hypnotic.

Her words of allowing me to think were a bit surprising. They had my hormones scratching their bobbing heads on which direction they ought to be going.

“What are you talking about? I thought we were...” curtly stopping my plea when realizing from her laser-like stare she had no intent of continuing getting to know each other on a personal level.

“Really Angelina, wouldn’t you prefer to get back to what we were doing?” I asked damn near pleading with a tinge of fervor in my voice. I haven’t felt such arousal since viewing my first Playboy at age nine.

She takes a couple of steps up toward my head to look down upon me with obvious expressive intentions of having no further plans of entertaining my libido.

Regardless, the close proximity of her physical presence sent my hormones pulsating fiercely, scrambling in many directions between short gasps for much needed oxygen. My confusion over her subtleness was viciously attacking them splintering that seemingly stimulus nerve center inside my brain.

Then in a teasing manner with which she assuredly sounded, she said, “Have you found yourself constantly sexually aroused during the last nine months especially while you’ve been asleep, my delightful intuitive William?”

Okay, this is the thing - I know I’m not a genius but now I know she’s not one either. Didn’t she notice my excitement?

“Actually, William, I know for a fact that you’ve been in need of excessive sexual gratification, much more than the average man. You have an incredible sensitive libido and I’ve loved every second that we’ve been together.”

“What are you talking about?” innocently asking while purposely scrunching up my eyebrows in an effort to get a little understanding from her in hoping to keep the fire burning inside my gut.

‘This is the first time we’ve kissed.’ Lagging a step behind every time she opened her mouth was becoming more pronounced the more she did so. I didn’t truly understand where she was going with her words. And it was odd, seeming to me she was taking some kind of sex survey. A more deepening sense of disappointment was wrenching its way deeper inside my gut.

Then in a strange impassive matter-of-fact manner, an attitude which to me isn’t truly deserving of her beauty she remarks, “William, you have been under the influence of a female demon spirit.”

Her statement seemed fatuitous throwing my thoughts towards more inner turmoil. By the seriousness with which she was speaking, my non-reaction probably appeared pretentious but unwittingly so.

Is this some kind of game she’s playing? I began to wonder ‘why am I here?’

However her alluring eyes so electrifying kept drawing my male instinctive ness in toward her, forcing me then to rethink that just maybe I’ll play this game whatever it is.

Who knows, in being this sexy demon it could be her way of adding spice to that special moment when we hopefully collapse into each other’s embrace in a moment of ecstasy, however lingering that special moment is becoming.

Then very excitingly much to my delight she leans forward approaching my ear, her blistering steamy breath seeping inside melting her whispering words of “I’m she.”

Her sensuous breath so explosively red-hot caressing my inner ear made those once scrambling hormones now hurriedly reassemble, but this time with seeming nuclear-powered blasting rockets strapped to their tiny little backs awaiting my command to charge.

But aggravatingly, her pretensions of being this demon spirit seemed to be prevalent in her thoughts. And regardless of visions of lust deliriously swirling inside my head mixed also with this willingness to endear her agenda, I still found it a bit strange when she began informing me of a bizarre tale too absurd to be real.

Her seeming arrogance was adhering itself inside my head tarnishing that once mental image of her that admittedly was placed on a pedestal.

“I was of the human flesh in those days, having been around since before when God first created Adam. I was his first wife actually, not Eve. In those days I went by the name of Lilith.”

I excitably stared into her eyes filled with nothing but amorous intent hoping whatever she was talking about was going to lead to some crazy wild sex. My insides were still screaming regardless of getting sidetracked in my efforts to have her. And her powerful pouting upper lip continued drawing my attention in like a magnet. So very patiently I listened to her speak as if a good Boy Scout working on a merit badge promoting good human relations.

“Over many years an evil demon called Samael began impregnating me over and over giving birth to many daughters whose sole functions in life was to be that of a succubus, a half human half demon-like being who has sexual intercourse with men as they slept only to kill them afterward.”

Okay, even this is a bit weird for me. The prospect of us copulating just flew out the frigging window. She’s sounding as if she might be a few cards short of a full deck.

Regardless of my disillusionment over the way things are developing, suddenly I noticed something inside of her ignite as she spoke. It was a bit strange but this luminous glow began emitting from her face, her eyes in particular, probably from deeper emotion exploding.

Beady eyes now wildly displaying more zeal behind them from when she was actually kissing me. Come to think of it, her eyes looked nothing like they do now, scary crazy eyes full of uncontrollable emotion as if convulsing.

This new energized expressive nature was stimulating the wrong part of me – the insecure part of my brain.

In seemingly being here under false pretense the derision in my head made it difficult to remain fully focused on her or her words. And as a result my thoughts began to wander.

Previous surroundings that were negated because I was so absorbed by Angelina’s presence begin to emerge into view. And the very first thing I noticed was the thing closest to me which was once again the table I was lying upon.

But what gave me a brief moment of uneasiness was what I discovered attached to that table that blasted my already beleaguering brain.

“What the hell…?” shockingly responding when discovering I was actually tied down to the table the entire time without realizing it. I was so enamored of Angelina’s presence that nothing else truly mattered except for our special moment.

Leather straps that were bound tight round my wrists and ankles with the other ends secured underneath the table to all four legs had my senses recoiling. On impulse I gave my bonds a hard thrust up to see just how secure they were. Disappointingly they seemed putatively so.

Instinctively I give Angelina a quick look to ask her why the straps? But then another thought abruptly interrupted me as I looked upon her beauty presenting itself of ‘Kinky maybe.’

Just maybe it’s part of this game she seems to be all wrapped up in. Such logic seems to fit right in with this new behavior she’s displaying. So all too willingly I naïvely dismiss it when my stubborn libido swayed me to assume she was purposely being mischievous, mysterious and playful.

So purposely I allow myself to appear not concerned over my restraints just to show her I’m willing to play her game whatever it is. She then smiles down at me before continuing.

“While men feared my daughters and I for this very reason, mothers also feared attacks from us because of fearing their own daughters being kidnapped to serve me in the same capacity.”

“Over the years Samael filled me with so much evil that one day I was driven to leave Adam and turn my back on God. Then as punishment for doing so God forced me to forever roam the seas only attacking men on ships at sea many years later, killing them for the sole purpose of drinking their blood to survive.”

‘Drink their blood, uh?’ Some severe acute mental deficiency has turned this sex kitten into frigging vampire. Hell, I can’t touch her now. She has to be an escaped resident of some mental institution.

Once again I look away from her to further scan the room to then notice an elaborate array of butchering equipment and tools hanging on the walls and lying about on other tabletops and counters.

Items such as an electric meat grinder and slicer, various sized meat cleavers, knives and saws, mallets, several meat hooks, sharpeners and a large door to what looks like a walk-in refrigerator or freezer were unmistakably tools of her trade. A couple of deep well sinks sat in the far corner.

Regardless of viewing her now as three sheets short in the wind, her sex appeal remains when that sultry voice so deliciously delicate slips into my ear interrupting my sight seeing tour.

“But after many years, God then had a change of heart ordering me to return to my husband’s side. But by that time my heart was so hardened that I refused his command once again. So as further punishment for my continuing disobedience he then unmercifully slaughtered a hundred of my children and cast them and me into Hell to serve the insatiable Lucifer, where I was then reborn of this cursed demon spirit.”

“Amazing,” my voice sounding full of enthusiasm as if I was truly astounded or cared.

“One day I was forced to flee Satan’s domain when he wanted me to slay all of my remaining children as servitude to him. I refused and fled back to Earth with my children in tow to now roam endlessly as this seducer of men to drink there blood to sustain this creature I’ve become.”

She had such a deep sincere look about her that I found it difficult to not attach myself in some way to her words regardless of thinking her story is pure bullshit. Such tales are for science fiction writers. She has to be a nut that’s reached its maturity that’s already cracked.

“And I’ve been fleeing the Devil ever since.”

‘Shit lady, I certainly hope you’re done with this nutty tale.’ Her demeanor was laughable especially since she was relaying her words in the manner of utter importance.

“William, what I’m leading to is this; I have purposely entered into your dreams the past nine months as you slept. It was not only because of your own desires for wanting me so but also because I needed to be in them.”

‘Needed?’ Creating confusion must be her way of impairing the weak, for surely I have been.

“Twice I came as your ex-wife reanimating her human corpse.”

‘Yeah, I remember that one, started off as a frigging nightmare...’ sarcastically quipping without fully realizing what she had just said. The disillusionment kept coming with each passing second. .

“Another time I came as that hottie on the cover of the latest issue of Juggs Magazine sitting on the nightstand next to your bed. You hadn’t forgotten that night have you?”

‘Okay, this is too weird. How did she know I have that dirty book right where she said it was?’

I reply in genuine regardless of insecurity spreading within. Only doing so in hoping to show her some realism in this pretentious attitude I now deemed necessary just to get through this confusing liaison.

“This is quite a story you’re telling me. But where is it leading?”

“I’m very familiar with your dreams of us making passionate love, William. I know how sometimes you’ve waken up completely absorbed of sweat rapped in wet sheets from our intense lovemaking all thru the night.”

With an off-kilter smile she announces with a strange-sounding finality in her words “William, I’m going to take you unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before.”

My hormones quickly snap to attention saluting their commander (me) for his endearing patience. Victory is at hand!

But my dying chicken began choking once again when she declares “If I don’t do what I must Satan will stake claim to me and return me to his side.”

Then shockingly…

Two arms appear out of nowhere from up over my head to startle me, large muscular arms damn near the size of tree trunks.

Lunging toward me with hands the size of a gorilla’s they adhere themselves quickly to both sides of my head as if bolted attempting to reshape my skull by squeezing it…

Intense pressure begins bombarding the inside of my head along with excruciating pain sizzling throughout my entire body. Causing my muscles to unnaturally spasm, I begin to feverishly twist and jerk as if being jolted with a high level of electricity. Screaming deliriously, the unnerving high-pitched sound came bursting out from the tops of my lungs. And within a few moments I was feeling like I would surely die.

My attacker forcing incredible pressure upon the temple areas was sending nerve sensors into a non-acquiescent frenzy. Twitching nerve endings made up of millions of minute microscopic sensors sending small electrical impulses directly to the brain figuratively and dramatically felt stripped naked and scrapped over with something feeling like sandpaper, causing those millions of tiny sensors to relentlessly spasm telling my brain to feel literally on fire.

However, a split-second before this all began I did catch a quick glimpse of my attacker. He is an extremely muscular individual more ugly than say Nick Nolte’s police mug shot. Dead-like dark eyes glaring back down at me gave me the unholy creeps. Seen better-looking faces in car accidents.

Violent reactions were causing my flesh to rip open from the leather straps bound extremely tight braising against my wrists. But the coolness from the oozing blood was soothing as it trickled out giving me a strange sensation of relief.

Numbness of the brain was quickly becoming apparent making thoughts difficult to maintain much less process. Somewhere in my seeming near-exploding head, unconsciously I was praying for total unconsciousness to befall me so I could escape this maniacal torture.

Eyeballs flutter upward as the approaching darkness descends upon me when unexpectedly…

…The pressure in my head begins to dissipate. Numbness of my brain starts to fade allowing a sensation of blood circulating permitting some clarity of thought, although it was very slow in coming. And despite feeling battered and bruised along with a God-awful headache I eagerly welcomed the advancing relief.

Then Angelina’s iridescent voice interrupts this now unexpected and most bizarre moment.

“William, I want you to meet Elizabeth, my very loyal assistant. She’s the one that discovered you passed out in the alley and brought you here.”

I didn’t bother to look up at her, still feeling a bit dazed and weak. But enough clarity did return to unwittingly permit one of my stronger personality traits to come bursting through, that of appropriate reciprocation.

Barely muttering without giving Elizabeth any acknowledgement whatsoever I simply said in a derived inconsequential tone, “Just can’t figure you being a woman. Damn, with the kind of muscles you have you must own a pair of monstrous frigging balls. But as ugly as you are you got to also have the world’s tiniest dick!”

No sooner did I finish speaking when Elizabeth immediately began exercising her special prowess upon my head once again. Should have kept my big mouth shut, but it’s truly not in my blood to take crap from anyone without some form of retaliation. And after a minute or so of exuberant suffering, Angelina stops Elizabeth’s assault on me all the while seeming indifferent to my pain.

“When was it Elizabeth, the Summer Games of 2004 when you won the Dead Weight Lifting Competition?” Angelina asks with greater division in her voice.

I finally gave Elizabeth a glance in rolling my eyes upward toward her. She returned my angry glare with more of a menacing one of her own. Got a strong dubious feeling she wanted to separate my head from my body.

While maintaining her putative glare upon me that was seemingly drilling holes through my face she confidently answered, “Yes ma’am,” sounding subservient as if she just graduated from some monkey-training academy.

But as I continued to rebound in feeling my physical and mental strength return, the more my confusion grew over why I was even attacked. With Angelina not stopping it I was convinced she had a hand in it. So along with being confused also came this growing anger toward her regardless of past amorous emotions that obviously had impaired my sensibilities.

So in retaliating I punitively give my attention to her to simply and straightforwardly pronounce, “Bitch” something unimaginable just a short time before.

My comment apparently hit a nerve. For that gorgeous face of hers begins to change in a very unorthodox manner. Didn’t know what to make of it.

Incredible immense anger seemed to be strong-arming its way upon her face. Imbedding lines of anguish upon her skin and muscles was making her appear as if she was aging before my very eyes say fifty years or more. It was most bizarre with the way it was coming about so dramatically.

And as I’m filling with this weird confusion I’m looking at her and thinking, ‘how in the hell...’ cutting my own thought short from my astonishment.

Those painful expressions seemed rather infectious as they kept forming, contorting her face into someone actually having more than just anger. A deep-seated rage seemed to be overtaking her, possibly her brain and/or personality with expressions of immense furiousness such as a cornered raccoon.

Her eyes most notably were beginning to appear like a wild animal’s, quivering with what seemed like primal edginess. Then when I noticed her entire body having muscular contractions, twitching with jerking motions, it seemed some neurological disorder was taking hold of her. Something unknown was beginning to happen something out of the realm of normalcy.

Then a la some sci-fi movie mimicking to slam all my sensibilities on their alarming asses she strikingly thrusts her upper torso toward me an astonishing four or five feet without moving her own feet.

Quickly I recoil thinking, ‘Holy shit!’ tensing my muscles bracing for an attack. Had no time to even scream. It was like suddenly “Bam!” her movement was that fast totally freaking me.

But after a few seconds of nothing happening I slowly reopened them to see her doing nothing but glaring at me still several feet away, the upper half of her body remaining in this sort of animated suspension, twitching and oddly staring at me with very seemingly evil intent.

This fear of her behavior was overwhelming all my emotions. And seeing such a demonstration of physical phenomenon was strongly attempting to annihilate remaining wits into oblivion. None of it was making sense.

With my common sense derailing and my eyeballs wanting to pop out from witnessing such a bizarre occurrence, I was unduly getting infested with an overtly eerie feeling of what was happening. I mean it seemed some creepy Stephen King character was coming to life. And being tied to this frigging table certainly wasn’t helping the situation any.

Then as if traveling to another dimension of time where imagination and reality get mangled together to form a world of bizarre ungodly things, this new version of her begins to hysterically hiss like some godforsaken wild and wretched vampire, all the while crouching halfway down to the floor like a wild animal giving me these tense and crazy menacing glares. To say it was disturbing would be to understate. The sizzling noise steaming from her lips was bursting forth out of her as if under enormous pressure.

‘What in ever-loving God’s name...’ Such an uncomforting vision of this once articulate woman had my eyes stretched open as far as they could go.

With her behavior continuing to be totally off the charts, a deepening strenuous emotion of deeper and deeper approaching disaster abruptly forced me to suddenly gasp for some much-needed oxygen. I was unraveling so that I wasn’t even aware that I wasn’t breathing.

Spiraling emotions coupled with this sudden growing fear of doom continued to batter me. My heart was beating so wildly that it was in another zone pumping my adrenalin to never before experienced exorbitant highs.

Then dynamically those frightful words of killing men to drink their blood unexpectedly slammed into me escalating this already stemming fear toward dark demonic images. Because of her speaking of the Devil and all that other stuff that I thought was bullshit, a sudden realization that she just may be this demon creature began to materialize in my mind seemingly attempting to send my reality packing.

The word bizarre truly got redefined when her body, already looking like its ready for the morgue, then begins transforming into something unearthly and ungodly.

Hearing bone snap with crackling noises from her skeleton changing shape extended my over-stretched imagination to force existing cringing chills to intensify. Her skin being stretched to accommodate the new foundation underneath was sounding like wet sheets of rubber being pulled to their limits.

Fastidiously my testicles snap up extremely tight, so much so that I had to grimace from the sharp pain of seemingly rupturing them.

In not trusting Elizabeth I give her a quick glance. Wildly staring eyes had her in some kind of transient state of mind. The steroid-freak was obviously welcoming her behavior.

Nervously I returned my attention upon Angelina convinced now that Lilith, that blood-sucking succubus she talked about was taking shape. Made me wish I had a crucifix nearby to tie to my genitals to keep this thing off me.

Shoulders were broadening as arms began extending down past her knees. Hands were already much larger at this point with fingers several inches in length entrenched with razor sharp claws extending.

Then thin-skinned black wings begin sprouting out from her back having me think as if the Devil was coming to get me. And in a matter of just seconds fully emerged she extends them several feet flapping them like some newborn testing their stability for the very first time.

This unworldly deepening delusion of reality sent my adrenalin pumping even more furiously fast, so much so that my heart had to work the other way around to keep up with the blood rushing through it. With my nerves shot to hell, trembling and shaking like a leaf in a catastrophic thunderstorm, it seemed undeniable that the Devil had come to claim me.

Remaining in a crouch, the creature got even lower to the floor poising itself like some jungle cat making that final lunge upon its prey. My adrenalin never felt such a cold rush.

Then my heart seemed to literally stop when it actually did ferociously jump up into the air in a thunderous huff flapping its wings only to land on the very table I was strapped to, its three-finger paws with those razor-sharp talons snapping the cold steel table top as it began approaching up toward my head, its eyes fiery red fused with unsatisfied quenching hunger.

Dying so horrifyingly was pummeling me with dire emotions so violently turbulent that breathing became only when necessary.

Glaring down upon me hissing alongside an occasional snort, it extends its face to within inches of my own. Its rotting odor acutely magnified as each exhaled breath pounded my face. Its green twitching eyes giving me the once over as if menacingly inspecting its meal before plunging its teeth into me fearing it ripping off a chunk of my flesh.

I brace for its vicious attack, tensing for that precise moment of briefly feeling incredible suffering before death overtakes me.

But as if toying with me, this thing slowly extends one of its crusty fingers to dip up blood still trickling out from my trembling wrist. Raising it to its lips it smears it in a creepy passionate way, thrusting its head back getting lost in some kind of savory rapture.

Then it snaps its head down wildly glaring at me, its eyes full of confidence to survive for another day until its next victim, its face pulsating excitably soon to taste the saltiness of human flesh!

Then much to the creature’s chagrin…

The sound of three sharp hard knocks strikingly burst into the air interrupting the creature’s festive intent.

“Police! Open up or we’re coming in!”

And the absolute last thing I remember seeing was the creature’s head feverishly jerking in the direction of the door so extremely aggravated that it began intensely hissing sounding like a pissed off rattler.

Then the next split-second I’m gasping as two long teeth painfully plunge into the side of my neck, piercing this rush of chilling numbness into me. The deadly sensation quickly spreads throughout and in a manner of just a few seconds its poisonous bite takes hold when light begins to fade.

Another untimely visit by the dark this time propels my unconsciousness to a place unnatural.

I have no idea how long before I awaken. Immediately I’m surprised to be alive after having that creature passionately on the verge of ending my life.

But my gut tells me my nightmare isn’t over. I feel so cold, weak and tired.

I wonder how long before I crack from the strain of what’s been happening to me. I certainly can’t keep going like this. I fear apathy may be filtering into my thoughts and emotion my spirit has been so devastated. Disturbingly I see no way to get out of this insanity.

Then surprisingly I notice I seem to be suspended in mid-air hanging from something. A bit strange perhaps so I try to move my head to pierce into the dark to give me some clue as to my surroundings.

Surprisingly I discover I couldn’t. I really don’t know why I should be surprised as this perverse curse seems to have already adhered itself to me. I then discover I can’t move my arms or legs either. Even my lips feel immovable as if rigor mortis has set in.

But how is that? What’s happened? Where am I? Shit, I can’t be dead. I still have my mind.

Thankfully my eyeballs work thrusting them up but then to horrifyingly see the back of someone’s head straight away directly in front of me say no more than four to five feet away.

A dim overhead light then comes on momentarily blinding my vision. In a brief moment when my vision returns I see other people hanging much like myself from what looks like a chain coming up from the middle of their backs.

I look closer to the guy in front of me and I see that chain leading to what appears is a meat hook jammed into him. He’s hanging there like a cow’s carcass waiting in this probable refrigerator to be butchered.

Do I have one in me? Weird if I do. I don’t feel anything. Are the others alive? No one’s moving. But maybe they can see like me.

The smell of the Angelina’s butcher shop permeates the air in here. I know it. God has undeniably turned his back on me. I can feel it.

Am I alive? This broken mind feels like death is here already.

A sense of a calm eeriness is rippling through me as if I WERE dead, kind of like feeling something so powerful in your mind that it becomes real. No acute emotion just a naked reality of extreme perverseness.

With feeling to blasé about my own demise, actually feeling nothing at all, that’s when I noticed I had no heartbeat.

Am I dead? How is death possible when my mind is functioning?

Reacting with dispassionate emotion to my apparent entrance into another illogical loophole only reinforced the bizarre and the unreal that I’ve had to necessarily accept. And accepting such diverse logic this time was surprisingly easier.

Am I losing my mind?


Being pummeled with these insatiable insanities has forced me to truly believe in their unnatural existence. Something more evil than the creature and its trained monkey is at work here, something that is real from Hell as if the Devil himself.

Lilith is real. Hell is real. Death is undeniable real.

Apathy just tightened its grip.

Convincing myself that I’m no longer alive is easy, with the thought never truly remaining on the fringe of logic. It was torpedoing straight for the center of my mind, knocking out all other brain stimulus for reasoning. Making any sense of this nightmare no longer exist. I’m a dead pawn to be used by something greater than I can imagine.

An abrupt loud squeaking noise like that of a motor needing oil or some other type of mechanism suddenly interrupts my eerie quiet. I jarringly begin moving forward but surprisingly move only a few feet before stopping.

The sounds of footsteps approaching then perk my attention. They stop short before reaching me becoming silent for a very short brief moment just before fading. The light then goes off.

Regardless of accepting my own death I still wondered what place is this? What’s going on? Have the other unfortunate souls in here gone through similar things? Feels like I’m in a place where souls await their due.

I’m looking at the guy in front of me deciding to follow upward on the chain to see where the other end leads. I see it’s attached to some device secured to the ceiling seemingly operating another chain that travels along that ceiling. But it’s too dark to see where the end of it is. But it does sort of resemble much like those rotating devices dry-cleaners (from the world of the living) use to search for your clothes when you come to pick them up but on a grander scale.

Then the light and sound of a creaking door opening interrupts my thoughts once more.

Hard rubber footsteps approaching, reverberating into my eardrums louder. They keep getting louder and louder as I suddenly see that bitch Elizabeth with her steroid-infested face squeeze out from the darkness to ah, scare me to death?

Dead people need a sense of humor too.

With ease she lifts me up and then down removing me from the meat hook. No pain – strange.

Tossing me over her shoulder like a ten-pound sack of potatoes I’m carried away towards the door from where she came.

I enter another room having more light. I’m then dropped upon a table banging my head hard but feeling nothing.

The big gorilla looks down upon me smiling in her usual perverse manner like some derelict operating a whorehouse for the criminally insane.

Again I think Bitch.

My eyes remained glued to he her as she casually walks over to the wide variety of cutting tools hanging on the wall several feet away.

In quickly retrieving a chopping cleaver about ten inches long she closely inspect its sharpness running her fat thumb along its razor edge.

She returns to my side as I wonder, ‘what are you doing?’ knowing the obvious – that she’s about to use it on me.

Without hesitation she raises the meat cleaver high into the air to have it quickly come down upon my left ankle making a clean cut separating my foot.

Strange – I felt nothing. This dead-thing isn’t so bad although I am minus one foot.

I look down at the end of my leg expecting to see at least my blood splattered about. Nothing, just a clean cut of my skin and bone much like a butcher in slicing up raw beef.

You know it’s very possible I might be insane too. Afterall my mind IS alive and my body IS dead. It’s twisted and I think I might be able to get used to it.

I watch as she retrieves my foot from the table then tossing it into an open container where others have collected.

Without further adieu she whacks off my other foot. Then both hands go and still I feel nothing but now I’m royally screwed.

Casually Elizabeth looks down at me explaining, “Hands and feet have too much cartilage much like a chicken wing. Not much meat at all.”

I’m looking at her as she speaks but I’m now thinking death must have come when I was bitten in the neck. Nothing I can do about it now, too late to reminisce.

Elizabeth then says, “The only portions of the body we use are the sections that have the most meat on them. The thighs are the meatiest. The buttocks the next, so on and so forth. When added with ground beef mixed together with our other special ingredient of demon-seed it gives the meat an added spicy flavor.”

Then the big behemoth leans forward getting so close to me smiling and seemingly gloating.

“The public seems to love it. By the way in case you’re curious about the reason for no blood, Angelina drank it a couple of hours ago!”

She annoyingly gives me that smile before I dramatically watch her swing the meat clever upward then to have it come thundering down between my eyes and into my brain stealing the last remaining remnant of a life I once knew – my mind.

Four days later…

On a bright sunny morning inside the walls of Chicago Medical Center a nurse goes about her usual business of checking on her patients. She enters one particular room to check on the welfare of one particular patient – in the Psychiatric Ward.

“And how are we today?” she asks him with a voice sounding as if she really cares. Maybe she does.

No response.

She reaches out to fluff his pillow, holding his head aloft as she does so.

“Oh by the way, a card came for you in the mail this morning. Would you like for me to read it for you?” In knowing that he would not respond she obliges her own curiosity and opens it.

It reads ‘Sorry to hear you’re not feeling well. Please stop by to pick up your free two pounds of ground round as a get-well present as soon as you get out of the hospital. Best regards, Angelina.’

A nervous twitch begins to develop in an eye. But he says or does nothing else but to continue to blindly stare straight ahead barely breathing.

Then astonishingly…

…The patient extends a hand, trembling, in reaching for the card. The nurse, so pleasantly surprised to see him move at all, happily gives it to him. Then without looking at it he proceeds to slowly rip it in half, then again and again allowing the pieces to fall to the floor from his bed when his hand comes to rest along its side.

At that precise moment a Doctor Thompson walks into the room asking, “And how’s our patient today?”

The nurse dutifully answers. “He just moved so do you think he has some hope of improving?”

“It’s difficult to say. According to the EKG his brain has suffered some sort of malady. Don’t know any clear reason or reasons for it yet. We’re still performing tests. However there is a lesion the size of a dime on the right side of his brain that we think has something to do with his condition.”

“Blood tests indicate a sort of heroine-induced toxic leukoencephalopathy, an irreversible condition that affects one’s balance, speech and thinking. He may improve some but he’ll never be the same say as you or I.”

“Right at this moment he’s in a narcosis state of suspended animation, a death-trance state of mind if you will. His respiration and heartbeat are barely perceptible. Make sure he meets with the physiologist later this morning.”

They soon exit the patient’s room leaving the patient alone.

When the patient hears no one around him and feels its safe to do so, one corner of his mouth moves very slight forming a barely noticeable smile…

Then a thought disturbing to the living enters his mind…

‘Excuse me but I AM dead. Can’t you see this frigging meat cleaver sticking out of my forehead?’ something very obvious to Bill Peterson.

The End.

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