A God of Hungry Walls

by Garrett Cook

  Her ears perk up. She feels a shiver up her spine. It is the sound of an infant crying. Mama mama mama mama mama mama. She ignores it, choosing instead to focus on the lover she is dragging up the stairs. She wonders where the child is, if her boy will be in the room. She doesn’t want her boy to see this. She will have to send him away. She wouldn’t want him to grow up wrong.

  She opens the door to her room and finds Julie and Antonia there, both of them naked. I reach into this man, suggestible and aroused and weakwilled as he is and I show him the prospect of what could be. It is almost an inquiry. “Do you believe there are two other beautiful women waiting for you?” Leah comes forward and joins, them undressed, and though her breasts are gone and nothing more than ragged meat, she is still beautiful in her way. As is the First Girl, faceless though she is.

  “My friends are here,” says Kaz, “would you like to play with my friends?”

  “Yes,” he says. He would like to. He doesn’t understand what’s going on but he doesn’t need to. He’s lived a life of slavery to appetite after appetite. Reality’s grown flexible and anything that feels good, he will take it, even if it doesn’t make any sense. Nothing makes sense to him anyway. He will take the gift he’s offered, strange as it is. He opens his mind to touch and to the thought that he is not alone. He opens his mind to Julie tugging on his zipper and leading him down to the bed.

  Then he opens his mind to Antonia’s hair brushing against his neck and her hands undoing his shirt. Kaz bites on his nipple as so many men have done to hers and he would make a noise but he is far too excited by the possibilities Antonia and Julie exhibit. He is momentarily repulsed by the bleeding beauty behind him, the topless Leah bending down to kiss him on the mouth but he grows to accept her wounds as he accepts her lips and her tongue, he tells himself not to think about the blood. Whatever is being done here is right and loving, whatever is being done here serves his body.

  He shakes with bliss as Julie, naked, strawberry blonde and puckish, wordlessly sits on his dick, turning her tattooed back to him and bending down to kiss Kaz’s face while she bites him. Leah, not wanting to be ignored by the friend that I have so graciously given her back and brought her close to forever, runs her hands down Julie’s sides. Antonia hungrily kisses the lowlife’s throat.

  This man fades into a fog of lust and bliss, so much so that the skullfaced First Girl sitting down beside him on the bed to watch does not deter him. He even puts a hand on her surprisingly smooth and not at all rotted thigh. I am generous to him because I need a quick surrender. I am generous to him because what follows won’t be pleasant. Especially not for Kaz.

  The homunculus comes shambling into the room. The fuckaddled ignoramous does not notice. The fuckaddled ignoramous is starting to come and considering himself blessed as Julie dismounts him and Antonia takes her place. Antonia is a better trained lover than Julie, though it is hardly Julie’s fault she was no slave. Julie’s face is soon buried in Kaz’s cunt, which Kaz lies on the bed to enjoy. Leah catches that Kaz might see the creature so soon changes positions, doing her part to prevent Kaz from seeing the aberration by sitting down on her face.

  So Kaz doesn’t see that suddenly, the great thick babyheaded member of the homunculus has forced its way into the man’s mouth, drowning out screams and beginning to choke him, or that the scalpel fingers are running along the man’s chest in a strange parody of the adult passion the hulking baby had witnessed. It is only when she hears the gagging sounds and the telltale squick of the mutation’s cock sending its issue down the man’s throat that Kaz begins to know something is wrong.

  She tries to break away from Leah and Julie but she finds the two of them surprisingly strong, especially for such a wispy creature as Leah. Leah’s weight is focused on Kaz’s face, on forcing more cunt juice into the squirming girl’s mouth, and Julie’s hands holding her thighs still feel like a vicegrip. Her arms flail about as she tries to break away or get Leah off of her.

  But she cannot stop the infant from cutting and cutting, from making new wet sounds as the blades plunge in, harder and thicker, smashing against bone, cutting strands of muscle, making contact with organ after organ, including the one between his legs, which has been gracefully vacated by Antonia. It isn’t long before drowning in the seed in his mouth and cut up many times over, the man’s life finally oozes out.

  Leah and Julie dismount and with Antonia’s help they force Kaz down to the bed, where the First Girl scoots over to sit beside her. Kaz looks at the dead drug addict beside her and lets out a scream, followed by another scream as she sees that the thing she created did it.

  “That was bad,” she tells the infant, “you shouldn’t hurt people like that. I don’t know what we’re going to do. Things are ruined, they’re gonna find out about you.”

  “Don’t worry,” says the mouth on the baby head on the creature’s cock, “we love you, mama, and we will keep you safe.”

  “This is murder,” says Kaz, “this is murder.”

  The deformed infant responds by lowering itself onto its mother, going back to the place from whence it came, the infant head expanding her cunt and ramming up and down it. Kaz begs for help but the girls belong to me. She begs her baby but the baby does not want to stop and she shudders with pleasure in spite of herself because the connection and the penetration are too intense, she can’t ignore this. She cries out both in ecstasy and self loathing, in despair and satisfaction.

  She cries out “no” and in this she does mean “no” but she also means more. The baby can’t help but comply, it wants only to please its mother and to be pleased. Kaz is crying, she wants this to end, Kaz is crying and she’ll do anything to make it stop.

  “Do you want this to be over?” says Leah, toying with Kaz’s hair.

  “Yes,” says Kaz in tears, “I need for this to stop.”

  The infant gets off its mother and it cries out, finding comfort in the arms of Antonia.

  “There, there,” says Antonia, “it will be all right.”

  The baby nervously shambles its way to the bed and understands what must be done. With a quick and merciful slice of its scalpeled fingers, it slits its mother’s throat, delivering her to me.

  Stuck

  “We are going to die in here,” says Cytherea.

  “This is your fault,” says Micah. He’s uncertain how this is her fault but when two people are alone in a room with no door, it is one person’s fault and it will very quickly start to look like the other one’s. They will be back to comforting one another soon. This is the cycle, even when there was a door, this was the cycle. Without the door, it is simply more pronounced. There are no bars to grab a drink at, no other partners with warm, welcoming beds. There’s only this bed. There’s only one bottle of wine and that bottle has been empty. There’s no more food. Cytherea’s stash of candy and Micah’s jerkies have been exhausted.

  That which exists is inside the room and one of the things that exists is the fact that it has to be somebody else’s fault and there are only two somebodies in the room.

  “How is this my fault?” asks Cytherea, ready to fire back at him that he must have summoned this with his workings with the goat and his surrender to the dark, prehuman energies that lie in wait in The Emerald Necklace. She knows that it could only be the goat. She isn’t altogether wrong. But she’s wrong in thinking it was all his fault. She too is mine, given over to me by taking him in as he took me in. Given over by the need to please a man whose desires only got darker and darker with desires that only got darker and darker and crueler and crueler.

  “Those witchcraft books. The Ouija board. The rituals. What you and Helen did. I know about what you and Helen did.”

  She suddenly feels very afraid of him. She should have been afraid of him before but now she’s starting, now she’s seeing what he’s like with me in him. He’s burning with something. He’s burning with me and the things that I didn’t need to put in him. She is looking around the room for a weapo
n. She could grab the staff he practices with or one of her knives but she’d have to move pretty fast to subdue him. She knows she couldn’t move that fast or hit him that hard.

  “That ritual didn’t do this. I didn’t call anything down on us. You need to calm down. You’re scaring me.”

  “Oh,” said Micah, “I’m scaring you!”

  His voice and heat are rising fast. He starts to close in on her.

  “We’re trapped in here, no door and hearing voices and I’m starting to scare you. You should be fucking scared. All your witch shit and you can’t do shit about this. We’re trapped here and you can’t do shit. I’m very very scared because we’re going to starve and die. We’re trapped.”

  “You’re not trapped,” says Doctorpuppet, appearing from nowhere.

  Micah picks up his staff. He holds it up, threatening to strike.

  “Who the fuck are you? Are you doing this?”

  Doctorpuppet laughs. He holds up his hands and extends them in a “weapons down” gesture.

  “Me? I’m a doctor. And no, I’m not the one doing this. And you really don’t need to worry about the one doing this. It’s not going to be a problem.”

  Micah sets down the staff. He sits down on the bed. He breathes and tries to “center himself.” He isn’t centered. There is no centering. At the heart of this place, there is only me. I am the center and he would do well to remember that. But he can’t because he doesn’t know it.

  “I’m sorry. We’ve been in here for what feels like days.”

  Doctorpuppet nods.

  “Well, my friend, your assessment is not incorrect. You have been trapped in this room for days. You’ve been shitting in the corner and you’re about ready to kill each other. You’re both very lucky that I came. This situation can be fixed.”

  Cytherea crawls toward him, sits up, presenting her pendulous breasts to him. She brings to bear the smoldering intensity of a gaze that has absorbed many men with its confidence. Even though Doctorpuppet has had better, he still meets her eyes and still focuses on her and what she has to say. She is, in her way, a very powerful woman.

  “What can I do?” she asks him, “there has to be something.”

  The two of them are so warped and so much mine that they can still think of little but using each other’s bodies, few solutions but fevered, desperate stupid fucking utterly disregarding everything that Micah is to her. This is what she knows of desperation; that it’s the heat between her legs. So sick, so mine. He takes her breasts into his hand and kneads the nipples with his fingers. Maddy’s caustic breath is hot upon his shoulders but he doesn’t notice.

  “This man just appeared from nowhere,” Micah screams, “how fucked is your head?”

  She shudders as she notices that she is indeed being touched by a stranger. She becomes vaguely aware again, free enough from sleepwalk to be afraid and to back away, to cover herself.

  “What the fuck is going on? Who are you and how did you get here?”

  “I’m a messenger,” he says, “from what I guess you could see as God. I’ve seen the answers to the things that have left you feeling empty for so long and I’ve come to tell you how you can free yourself from being trapped in this place and in these circumstances. I was a doctor but then I saw the light and I’m free. I got what I needed and the thing you would call God will give you what you need if you trust me and you trust in its divine will. Can you do that? Can you trust yourselves to the will of the divine.”

  Micah nods.

  “Brother, I am a righteous man. I listen to the Earth. I get what you’re saying. We’re ready.”

  I pull Doctorpuppet away. This is as much for me as for him. I am doing this for me, I am doing this against the Closetsong. I am doing this for the same reason I do many things I do: because I can. He is holding Antonia in his arms, standing over the bloated, stinking body of his wife, his bloated stinking wife. She has set the broken bottle down on the floor in front of them. She’s crying.

  “I had to do it. Even though she’s my mother, I had to. God told me it was me or her, God said that if I didn’t do it then she would come for me and she would come for you. She was going insane. She’s been hearing voices. She was going to kill me, she was going to kill me…”

  Antonia’s syllables are drowned out completely by sobbing, all the cohesion, all the sense fades out completely. She looks up, eyes wet, mind suddenly becoming clearer, even as her speech becomes garbled. This was the man who had picked her up and drugged her. This was the man who had used her and beat her and whipped her, then gave her to his fat, monstrous, hideous wife. This was the man who had put her in a cage in his basement and only took her out to attend church with him and that fat, monstrous wife. This was the man that had put an end to the thing that used to be a woman that she saw sometimes, floating around the house. I show Doctorpuppet exactly what is on her mind.

  I show Doctorpuppet that she has seen the First Girl and that she knows exactly what happened to her. She could kill him like she’d killed Maddy and she could walk away with impunity, the police knowing that she had been tortured and that the man she had to kill had been a multiple murderer and a rapist. She had nothing to fear from him now. Though Maddy is dead on the floor, she is also standing behind him now, whispering to him.

  “There is only one thing you can do now. We’re in trouble now. She’s going to get away and she’s going to let them know about everything you did. You can’t let that happen now.”

  “Why?” he asks me, “Why did you bring me back here?”

  It is not as if I ever answer him. It is not as if I have done it for more than to insure my position and to supplement his anguish. He is here and he is hearing himself and in himself and witnessing himself hear her, feeling himself holding Antonia again for this last time and picking up the shard of glass from the floor as she starts to wiggle free from his arm. And he feels himself stabbing her again in the stomach, as he holds her still by her hair.

  He feels himself falling on her as she starts to go down and even though the pink carpet cushions the blow of her head being bashed hard against the floor, it still does not protect her from the repetition of the bashing or from the thrusts and stabs with the broken bottle he picked up, the bottle that had fucked his wife to death. Held by the hair, he beats the back of her head on the floor over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.

  “You whore! You stupid fucking piece of shit cunt!” he screams at her, “Do you know what you did, you piece of shit cunt?”

  She doesn’t answer, the piece of shit cunt whore, bleeding and dead, skull cracked, blood soaking into the carpet, which slurps it up with a ravenous and eager hunger, with all the hunger in me, which is a mighty, mighty hunger. Her head wound is soon dried out, her gut wound is soon dried out.

  “You ruined my family,” he tells her as he unzips his pants and struggles to work his cock. It stays flaccid and weak in spite of his urgency. He begs it to get hard again, begs it to get back to the place where it can give and get pleasure. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge that there are two corpses here or he is trying to get hard enough to fuck a girl he just killed or a wife that she had just killed.

  He slaps her dead face again. He begs me to let him go back. He doesn’t know why I’ve chosen to punish him. He takes her neck, her throat that has no breath to draw out from it and he throttles it even though there’s no more life to take. He wishes he could kill her again and again. Witnessing it, he no longer wishes this but would rather have the opposite.

  “I’m sorry,” says the him that’s witnessing, “I shouldn’t have…this was wrong.”

  He finally manages to coax his cock to life. He enters her, hand still on her throat, sobbing and choking as he starts to fuck his grief away, though his grief won’t fuck away and he won’t be any less fucked. He doesn’t know I have places to hide the bodies. In these walls I am god and the dead belong to me. I can put them where I please. He knows he has two corpses o
n his hands and that he is mad and all he knew is gone. He wanted to have children someday though he never wanted to. It’s funny now that he hears himself thinking he had since now he has a child and it is what it is.

  Maddy stands behind him sobbing and I let him hear it.

  “I promise, I’ll get to you next. I love you and I miss you and I’m sorry.”

  “It’s over,” says Maddy.

  “It’s over,” says Antonia.

  He keeps on fucking the corpse, he keeps on throttling he throat, he wants her to be silent, he wants Maddy to be silent, he wants this to go away. Everything was so beautiful only hours ago, why can’t it be like it was hours ago.

  “He can take back you there,” says Antonia, “he can take you back to when it was all right.”

  He pulls out, now understanding, now seeing that there is nothing he can do, now seeing that the shard of glass is his only way out. And with the shard, he decides to take this way out.

  And then I bring him back to Cytherea and Micah.

  “Break the bottle,” says Doctorpuppet.

  “Excuse me?” says Micah.

  “Break the bottle,” Doctorpuppet replies.

  With a solemn nod, Micah does as he told and history repeats itself again.

  Never Stop Hurting

  I am playing with my entire toybox just to watch them dance. Doctorpuppet’s ancient cock is pumping in and out of the holes in Leah’s chest. Cytherea is licking shards of glass from Maddy’s cunt filling the beastly old bat with a surge of surprise and delight. Julie and Micah are taking turns on the First Girl as the addict, flickering in and out of being, unable to touch the spectacle around them. Kaz is on the floor in a tempest of sensation brought to her by the aberration she’s wrought. But I don’t have them all.