a short story by Feind Gottes
A short time back Cult & Feind were brainstorming some things we could do for the site and basically for fun. After shooting some bad ideas back and forth mainly in attempts at lame humor as we are prone to do, we really came up with nothing. Then while watching a UFC fight one evening shooting messages back and forth we had the idea to collaborate in a way. Why not write a story going back and forth with Cult writing one part and Feind writing the next until we played the tale completely out? Cult already had an idea that we both liked but Feind couldn’t leave well enough alone suggesting why not have each of us start a tale then swap but what do for the other tale? Then it came out of somewhat of a bad joke from Feind. You see for his grueling day job Cult delivers bread along with other tasty baked goods to which Feind said, “Hey, what a great cover for a serial killer!” It was actually a suggestion but Cult it seems is no killer so rather than stalk the streets of Tucson, butcher knife in hand it appeared Feind was going to have to write it that way instead. So the tale that Cult will begin, Blitzkrieg Crescendo, will combine something The Scribblers love in heavy fucking metal with, of course, horror. Meanwhile Feind will start the tale of a demented serial killer stalking his victims under the cover of his day job as a bread truck driver just makin’ deliveries and slayin’ bitches everywhere he goes. The Scribblers hope it will be as fun for you as it is for us! But enough babble, on to the important thing, The Scribblers’ horrible writing! Enjoy!
The poor child was hung upside down so that her precious fluids could drain out nicely. As he watched the bright red fluid funnel down the drain he couldn’t help finding himself happy and oh, so very horny. The severed head in his hand should at least be put to good use he thought, “Waste not, want not”, as his mother used to say. He took the head in both hands turning it face up so he could look down on her growing more aroused in doing so. He unzipped his pants with one hand letting himself pop free of the trouser confines. He laughed as he thought of the blow job in reverse he was about to receive. He grabbed his member with one hand sliding himself into the open hole that remained of the girl’s esophagus. Once inserted he slid her severed head up and down his engorged member slowly at first then gaining speed as he looked at her naked body hanging upside down, the last drips of her essence falling down the drain. Lost in a moment of pure ecstasy he released with a shout of, “Oh fuck yes!”
He let her head fall to the floor lighting a cigarette while the waves of orgasmic euphoria washed over him. He felt bad for a moment thinking of the poor cashier who had just wanted a date. Her name tag had read, “Welcome to S-mart. Tanya. Cashier.” She was young, an innocent. All she had wanted was dinner and a movie but that really wasn’t his sort of thing. Blowing smoke rings he remembered telling her where to meet him which, like the fool she was, she did without question. He told her he finished his last stop about 8pm and to meet him in the parking lot of Sugarman’s on Hanneman Boulevard. She had readily agreed and now her pretty little head sat on the floor between his legs with a throat full of his stinking seed. He blew another smoke ring breaking into a smile at his final thought of the naïve cashier now drained of fluid before him ready to be made into the Bread Man Special.
Tom thought it was nice for once not to have to stalk his prey but he had to admit that was almost his favorite part. Day after day, night after night, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to snatch fresh meat for his much sought after delicacies. Today he would be baking his little meat pies with fresh cashier meat but it just wouldn’t taste the same to him, she had just made it too easy for him. Next time, he thought, he’d give a simple “No” to the offer of a date since the hunt is what he really liked. Letting this one come to him was like a hunter setting a basket of apples down so that the deer were easy pickings. He wouldn’t do this again but sometimes they just make it too easy but the reality was that he found it all very easy. People had habits, habits that made them easy prey for someone like him watching from the shadows for that moment when they were alone in the wrong place and because he was there, the wrong time.
Tom hacked off piece after piece of cashier meat tossing it in the grinder. It never failed to make him smile as shop owners all across town ranted and raved that his specialty meat pies were their top selling item. He didn’t care about the money but thinking of people all over town unable to pack his pies in their gaping maws fast enough never failed to fill him with joy. If the fools only knew what they were eating this whole town would turn into a vomitorium. He thought about calling his “secret ingredient” Soilent Green but someone would get the joke and start asking questions. Nope, as far as anyone around here was concerned it was just prime grade A beef with his blend of special spices. It was his special blend of spices that made them so good but that meat was so damn sweet. He wondered if anyone would be able to taste the naivety in tomorrow’s pies ala Tanya. He thought not but ya never know.
He hacked and ground until the poor unfortunate cashier until there was nothing left but bloody bones with a few bits of sinew holding them together. He lifted the carcass off the hook it was hanging from lowering it into a thick black garbage bag already full of her innards for him to dispose of later along with the plastic covering the floor. He ground the last of her meat mixed with his special spice mix into a big metal bowl catching the scrumptious meat. He carried it into the kitchen whistling a happy little tune as he went.
Cleanup was easy in the small butcher room he had built. The walls were covered in stainless steel as was the floor which he only covered in plastic for easier cleanup. He balled the plastic up shoving it into the thick black garbage bag with the cashier’s bones then the rest was easy work with his power washer. The last tiny bits of discarded fat and blood washed down the drain leaving the small room spotless, all ready for whatever meat was carved up in here next. He gave a final glimpse out the window to see the light fading so that Stumpy was no longer twinkling in the sun before clicking off the light switch heading back into the kitchen to bake tomorrow’s delicious treats. He began whistling his happy little tune again as the thought brought a nice wide smile to his face from ear to ear.
“Morning Kerry! Large with the usual and better make it three Stumpy’s today. I’m absolutely famished.”
“You got it Sheriff!” Kerry shot the Sheriff her usual “good morning, happy to serve you” smile before pouring his large dark roast with double cream and four sugars setting it on a tray with three of the freshly delivered meat pies, “Here you go Sheriff.” She slid the tray to him with another big smile.
“Thanks sweetie. These things are damn addictive but oh, so damn good!” Sheriff Lombardo flashed her a smile of his own, “Someone really needs to figure out the recipe.”
“I keep asking but Tom won’t give it up! Says he’ll take it to the grave with him. Says it’s a recipe passed down in his family for generations going back hundreds of years or so he claims. I don’t care the damn things are tasty and sell almost faster then he can make ‘em!”
“Maybe I’ll have to bring him into interrogation! Give him the old phone book treatment!” He gave her a wink taking the tray over to his usual booth by the large bay window in front.
The thought kept nagging at the back of the Sheriff’s mind, just where did the bread guy buy his meat? He may not be able to get the recipe out of Tom King but he could at least find out what butcher shop was supplying him what was obviously the best meat in town. Perhaps he’d have to see if he could catch up to the breadman on his route before he forgot in the tedium of the day. He had a BBQ coming up at his house so knowing which shop to visit at least was a pertinent issue. He downed the last bite of his Stumpy’s meat pie and set off to find out. He laughed to himself thinking if the bread guy wouldn’t give up the butcher shop he just may have to haul him into interrogation and get the whole recipe while he was at it. He stifled another laugh exiting the coffee shop with new found vigor.
“Hey Tom! Could I have a quick word?”
Turning to see the morning sun glinting off a Sheriff’s badge, Tom stopped dead in his tracks. He knew better than to act guilty, quickly extending an arm, “Mornin’ Sheriff. What can I do for you on this fine sunny day?”
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