Lock the doors and hide the kids, you’re about to see one of the most fucked up things I’ve ever written!
We’ve all read in the news about some person doing some kind of horrible thing to another human being. Have you ever been so angry, so sickened, so completely enraged by it, that you felt the urge to track that monster down and torture them to death? Be honest with yourself.
Don’t worry, I have too. It doesn’t make us crazy, it makes us people who believe in justice.
WARNING: What follows involves the brutal murder of a child molester, involving but not limited to genital mutilation. Try not to get too strong a sense of satisfaction from it.
—
And then I stalked the streets for the bastard uncle. He had to be close. The girl couldn’t have wandered far from home. He had to have realized she was gone by then, so I went onto a nearby street lined with houses and strolled down the sidewalk. With any luck, I might be able to see into the windows and catch someone who appeared to be looking for something. It was a long shot, but if there was even a small chance I could get my hands on him, it was worth the try.
But even as I was walking around searching for him, he was out searching for her.
“Jenny?” a drunken voice called. I stood still and listened closely. “Jenny!” he shouted again. It was coming from the grid of tall, brick buildings behind the houses to my left. I gritted my teeth and followed the sound.
I found him stumbling around, leaning against the brick walls, looking behind trashcans and into alcoves. He was a chubby guy in his thirties, in a beer-stained t-shirt and gray sweatpants.
“Where are yooou?” he called out playfully, giggling to himself. “Here I come… Here comes the, uh… the big bad wolf!”
“Hide and seek?” I muttered.
“Holy shit!” he gasped, spinning around and falling backward, knocking over a trashcan. “Dammit! Y’shouldn’t sneak up on people like that, man!”
“Sorry,” I said congenially, reaching down to him. He took my hand and I pulled him to his feet. “Are you looking for the little girl?” I asked.
“Oh, good, you’ve seen her!” he cried in relief, slurring so badly a deaf man could tell he was drunk. “Yeah, yeah, she’s my niece. She snuck outside.”
I nodded, knitting my brow, pretending to think. “Was she wearing pink pajamas?”
“Yeah, that’s her!” he said excitedly. “Where’d you see her?”
“Was she crying?” I asked, becoming more severe.
He started to get uncomfortable, taking a wobbly step back. “Uh… I dunno… Maybe?”
“Was she bleeding?” I growled, coming toward him.
He tripped again, but steadied himself, holding onto the wall as he backed away. “C’mon, man, you’re freakin’ me out!”
I rushed at him, grabbed him by the neck, and threw him across the alley like a doll. He hit the wall and fell on the ground, groaning.
“I know what you did,” I said, walking toward him again.
“I didn’t do nothin’,” he moaned.
I bent and took the collar of his shirt in my fists. “Liar.”
He looked at me and saw my fangs and black eyes. His face twisted in horror. “Shit! What the fuck are you?”
“You all ask the same damn question. I didn’t expect it to get old so fast,” I said, and straightened back up, dragging him across the alley by his greasy hair. He screamed and struggled while I explained, “Normally, I’d be the thing that’s going to rip open your throat and drink your blood until you die.” I pulled him over to sit beside a dumpster. “But I think that’s too kind a death for you.” I pulled my jeans up from my ankle a bit and took the knife out of my boot.
“What’re you gonna do?” he whimpered, too drunk and tired to fight now.
“I could wait for Jenny’s parents to turn you in. It’d be nice to know you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison, getting raped in the ass every day, until someone finally shanks you to death,” I said conversationally, pushing the blade up under his chin. “But I’m not sure that would teach you much of a lesson.”
“What’re you gonna do?” he whispered again, tears running down his face.
“I’m gonna make you suffer like you made her suffer,” I said. “Now stand up.”
He pushed his back against the wall to support himself as he staggered up on his feet.
“Drop your pants,” I commanded.
“No…” he plead, shaking his head.
“Fucking DO IT!” I roared, almost scaring myself with the monstrous sound of my voice.
He started to cry, pushing his sweat pants down to his knees. Before I could think, Holy shit, am I really gonna do this? I shoved the knife beneath his cock. He cringed, a quiet squealing trapped in his throat.
“Please, no…” he begged. “Not that.”
“I don’t think you deserve to keep it if you won’t use it properly.”
“I won’t ever do it again! I swear!”
I pretended to consider it and lowered the knife. “Well… okay,” I said.
He stared at me. “Really?”
I let out a contemptuous laugh. “Hah! No.”
I grabbed his dick with one hand, and with the other, sawed at the root of it with the knife. He screamed, trying to fight me off, but it made no difference. Blood ran down his legs and dripped from his balls. I wasn’t going to do it quickly. I wanted him to experience the worst pain possible, for as long as possible. I kept seeing that little girl, maybe six years old, just a baby in the scheme of things, with all that blood on her pink pajama pants. I don’t know about you, but to me, that’s the sickest of crimes, the evilest act, the most vile, disgusting, horrible atrocity that a human being can commit. I would make this monster suffer. Oh God, would I make him fucking suffer. I watched the pain and disbelief on his face. He couldn’t even scream anymore. His jaw worked itself open and closed, but he could let out nothing more than a few squeaks.
And after what felt like a very long time, the prick ripped free. He fell down on the ground, his face going pale, his groin spurting blood.
“Feel that?” I asked. “That’s what Jenny felt. You didn’t just hurt her physically, you stole a part of her that she’ll never have again.”
His breath was getting shallow, his eyes filled with terror as he looked at his dick, separated from his body, in my hand.
“As for you, you can have this piece of shit back,” I said, and shoved it in his mouth, followed by the knife. I stabbed the blade through the severed penis and into the back of his throat. “Choke on it, you fuck,” I growled, and spat on his face. Then I straightened up, lifted my boot, and gave the hilt of the knife one good stomp.
He gagged and twitched, eyes rolling back in his head. I stood and watched him die, blood pooling on the ground around his legs, running down his face. His head fell forward and red gushed from his mouth, spread across the front of his shirt.
I turned my back and started down the alley. Then I looked at the blood on my hands and shuddered in disgust at having touched a dick. “I need a shower,” I muttered, and made my body shatter into bats, flying away toward Lanigan’s.
—
Some more scenes from WICKED GRIN:
Grin kills that skank that was always trying to get in his pants (Warning: sex)
The motorcycle crash
Grin really digs watching O’Malley kill
Smokin’ in the boys’ room
The blog of hack horror writer Kara Rochelle, author of the upcoming vampire novel WICKED GRIN.
