Eternity of Horror

3. Osiris

Chapter 3

Osiris

T he 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 your shirt. 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, I take 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.

My eyes return to Bucket Girl. "Well, sweetheart, looks like it's you and me." It’s fine. It could also be kinda fun because I don't know how much of her insides have been consumed by the rats. I grab her ankles and slowly pull her away from the wall she’s leaning against until she's lying flat. I hear my babies scurrying around at the shift of their new home as I pull her pants down and off. Rigor mortis is setting in, so spreading and moving her legs is a bit of a challenge.

Crackles and pops bounce off the concrete walls as I use my strength to force her legs out of my way. Her dead pussy is on display for me as I pull my cock out and stroke it a few times to regain its firmness. Pressing my tip to her hole, I begin pushing into her entrance. It's so tight from the rigor that it’s hard to get my meaty cock in it. Spitting on her, in hopes that the saliva will provide enough lubrication to allow me entry, I'm able to get about halfway in. It feels like her insides were put through a blender and poured back into her body. With my hands pressing down on the bucket to hold her in place, I force more of my cock into her room-temperature cunt, feeling the sides of her entrance tear to accommodate my girth. I growl with pleasure as I fill her with my length. That's when I hear and feel the shaking movement of the babies scurrying toward me. Ugh. I can’t fuck this girl to completion without risking the rats thinking my cock is another snack. I pull myself from her with a frustrated sigh. I need to fuck something living.

I grab some paper towels that I have next to the sink. With a smirk, I wipe the blood and bits of viscera from my dick before stuffing it back into my pants. Sitting Bucket Girl back up, I whisper to her womb, "Daddy will be back, babies. I have grown-up stuff to do." I kiss the bucket and head out the door.

Walking down streets I've never been down before, I keep my eyes peeled for any potential fuck toys. It's a beautiful night, so I’m bound to find some sweaty jogger, or someone walking a dog, or… wait... does that license plate say hearse?

I stop next to a tree growing just on the edge of the sidewalk as I look at the black minivan parked two houses down. Hazard lights flash, intermittently illuminating the darkness around me. I hear voices.

"The funeral director will be calling you in the morning. If you have any more questions, he’ll be able to help you. Again, I'm so sorry for your loss. Try to get some rest tonight, ok? Take care," a woman's voice says. She sounds young… and cute. I wait and watch.

Emerging from the bushes, I watch as a metal stretcher rolls into view. It has a maroon zipped-up cover, providing discretion for its contents. A freshly deceased body. I smile at the loss of life. Just as the smile reaches its full arc upon my face, the beautiful girl pushing the stretcher steps into view. The hazard lights illuminate my presence, and she glances over. She sees me. I don't know why that surprises me since I’m only a few feet away. Once her eyes are able to read my face in the blinking lights, it feels like she is looking straight into my soul. We both stand frozen like the corpse on her stretcher. My smile stays, and I watch as she fits a smile onto her face as well.

"Is everything ok?" The old man sniffles, breaking the trance between the two of us. "Oh, yes… sorry. I'm sorry again. Ah… we’ll give you a call in the morning," the woman says, clearly flustered as she opens the back of the minivan. She pulls down a small ramp and maneuvers the stretcher in with absolute grace and perfection. Why watching her slide that body in, the metal sounds as the stretcher collapsed, and the click of it locking into place makes my dick so fucking hard; why, I have no idea. I just hope she looks back and can see it in the blinking lights.

She closes the door and starts to walk around toward the driver's side. I don’t miss her glance back in my direction and the quick little lip bite as she turns the corner of the van and disappears into it. The hazards turn off as the tail lights come on with the ignition of the van. I watch, still leaning against the tree. She carefully does a U-turn and slowly drives past me in the opposite direction the van was parked. I was hoping to catch one more glance from her, but I can tell she is intentionally keeping her eyes fixed on the road. I can’t help but notice the white decal on the back window. Marazzo Funeral Home. Looks like I may have just found my pretty, new, living cum dumpster.