Gillian's Marsh
Page 7
“Don't talk ill of the dead,” Silver interjected. He was seated at the table, spooning beans out of a can and wolfing them down.
“Just reckon it'd be fair to correct his past mistakes and put her out of her misery once and for all.” A strange grin came over Jimbo' face. “Now, I say we go and fetch ourselves some torches and start a little fire.”
“Shit, listen to this...,” Dwayne muttered, jabbing his crooked finger into the bruised black bible. “Come here, you sons of a sorceress, you offspring of adulterers and prostitutes! Are you not a brood of rebels, the offspring of liars...?”
Jimbo scratched his temples. “What's all that mean, Dwayne?”
“Means we should get a move on, I reckon.” Dwayne closed the bible. “I'll get the gas.”
Soon, the Swanson sons' were hiking through the black woods with burning torches, lugging gas cans, resolute to rectify their half-century-old error.
* * *
Two hours into his begrimed undertaking, Curly's eyes sparked up as he spotted the drilled hole mentioned in the Journal of Maximilian Horns, slightly larger than a Peace dollar.
“I'll be damned...” Staring in awe at the painting of Xochiquetzal, he ran his chipped thumbnail across its surface when its bleak colors started to glow. Gasping, he recoiled and the devilish image returned to dullness.
Filled with a strange fascination mingled with apprehension, he couldn't stop himself from creeping back and again touch the magical image. As soon as his fingers shakily brushed over the goddess' body, her colors instantly rekindled, this time with such compelling force it seized him like a victim under hypnosis.
Green pulsating string-shapes started to spin inside his mind, expanding and spinning faster and faster, until finally exploding in a galaxy of colors and erotic sensations coursing through his body. The seductive voice of a woman began to whisper in his ears, ever-so-slightly, begging for him to satiate her sexual void.
Not in control of his senses any longer, Curly lowered his pants and kneeled by the spellbound hole...
* * *
“What in the tarnation, look?” Silver yelled from the edge of the woods, pointing toward the steamboat which was veiled by greenish mist and rocking with such ferocity large pieces of its hull shattered and fell into the simmering marsh.
“Don't just stand there and gander, git!” Dwayne pressed with a bewildered look in his eyes, brandishing his torch in the air as he galloped past the receding tree line. Jimbo and Silver set after him and within moments they reached the marsh, whose rank mud spat in their faces as the boat thrashed about.
Wiping sludge off his face, Dwayne gritted his teeth and took a leap, crash-landing on the deck of the swaying boat. Silver was next and Dwayne last; the three of them faltering on the slippery deck for some moments before they managed to steady themselves enough not to plunge overboard.
Zipping toward the broken door that lead below deck, they poured a trail of gasoline over the rattling planks.
Entering the heart of the vessel, they found themselves in a hotbed of hell, where a half-naked sexual deviant was quivering with pleasure as he was forcing his cock into a hole in the wood.
Aghast, they watched Curly slump to the floor in an orgasmic aftershock, his limp dick post-cumming over the inside of his grimy thigh.
“I's gonna drown ye in flames, filthy whore-monger!” Dwayne snarled. He lurched toward Curly and emptied the last of his gasoline over the spasmodic hobo, threateningly hovering the torch over his face while his snickering brothers were busy soaking the rest of the stowage.
The small portion of floor between Curly and Dwayne suddenly ruptured as a deep-green hand covered in seaweeds and algae shot up through the rot wood and grabbed hold on Dwayne's balls, its nails piercing the fabric of his overall and digging deep into his flesh.
“Aaaargh!” Dwayne caterwauled and dropped his torch, his hands desperately trying to pry off the vice grip. A WOOSH issued as Curly caught fire.
Starting from the sudden chaos, Silver and Jimbo turned just as a Gorgon-like woman crawled up from the floor and roared into the flames surrounding their screaming brother.
Louella Lee hauled herself over the edge, tearing off her son's groin in one swift yank. As he collapsed into the fire, she stood erect and scowled at her two remaining sons through eyes aglow with hatred.
Hearts turning somersaults in their chests, Silver and Jimbo took some staggering steps back before making a run for the door.
“Think you can escape my wrath, you imbeciles?” Louella Lee bawled in a voice thick with mud caught in her esophagus, and flung the burning genitals after her cowardice offspring.
It flew past them and landed on the doorstep, instantly igniting the spilled gasoline and blocking the escape way with a wall of fire. Silver took a step back, shielding his face from the heat as he searched for a way to penetrate the fiery barrier.
Jimbo ground to a halt behind his brother. Fidgeting to a turn, he watched his sea-tangled mother stride toward him through the black smoke. “M-Ma?” he stuttered with tears in his sooty eyes.
“You have no idea what hell awaits you for betraying him!” Louella Lee snarled back and lunged at Jimbo's throat, her claw-like nails raking open his jugular vein.
Jimbo winced and clutched at his gaping wound that squirted blood over his leering mother, who wended by him as he dropped to the floor, heaving like a fish on dry land.
Silver realized he was trapped by the fire now spreading on all sides. Yet, he tried to the very last to slink past the burning portal, howling as the flames licked his balding head. Too panicked to feel the kelp-like fingers twist around his ankles, the ground suddenly vanished under his feet and he fell like a pine and landed on his face, his nose shattering against the rot floorboards. A banner spangled with red stars wavered before his eyes as his consciousness bunked.
Louella Lee stalked straight through the blazing gate and out on deck without batting an eyelid. Behind her, the steamboat was steadily reduced to nothing but a giant crematory oven incinerating the bodies left in it, whose ashes spread out over the cloying bog like ghost flakes.
* * *
The white scales on the Pale Serpent glittered below the fire-lit surface of the mud. The seedlings and moss in the surrounding black woods began glowing in lurid chartreuse as he drew closer to the ember-ridden vessel and rose before the bearer of his spawn.
Louella Lee grinned with delight from the touch of his cold slick skin against her thighs as she mounted him and astride rode him down the murky depths of Gillian's Marsh.
End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Michael Faun writes horror, erotica, and exploitation fiction. His books include Black Heart
Metal Monster, Deep Invaders #3, X-haustpipe X-tasy #X, Cannibal Island, SS Death Simulation, HÆX, and Drugula published by Dynatox Ministries. He has about thirthy short stories featured in a wide selection of publications, and is operating the micropress Sleazy Viking Press, and is the editor-in-chief of pulp digest Feverish Fiction Magazine. He lives with his wife and daughter in a small city in Sweden, where he fuels his brain with doom metal and underground comix.
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