Hamsterdamned!

by Adam Millard

  The agents rushed back into the room and began to fire at anything that moved, anything hairy, anything with more teeth than a Ferrari gearbox. Blood and flesh spattered the walls, the counter, the sign on the wall with the massive picture of the unhappy green-haired clown. Teeth flew, ass-hair landed on stools, and eventually all of the kitchen staff were reduced to pulp. Kevin, meanwhile, closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears, as was his wont. When it was over, he pushed himself up onto shaky legs.

  “They didn't bite you, did they?” Agent 1 asked, his gun firmly trained on Kevin's ass.

  Kevin shook his head. “If they had,” he said, “wouldn't my anus be snapping at your heels by now?”

  It was true. The agent lowered his gun and turned to face his partner. “We need to get that monkey back before he infects the whole fucking country.”

  “I'm glad we're on the same page,” Agent 2 said. “But how are we gonna catch an Ass-rabies monkey in the middle of a MacReady's?”

  Kevin couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he had an idea. “Bananas!” he said. “We use bananas as bait.”

  The agents gave each other a cursory glance, summing up the proposition.

  “Do Ass-rabies monkeys even like bananas?” Agent 1 asked.

  “It's still a monkey,” Agent 2 replied. “I never met a monkey that didn't like bananas.”

  Agent 1 thought for a second. “Hmmmm, me neither.”

  “Great!” Kevin said, launching towards the kitchen. He slipped on the blood-soaked tiles, hit the deck, and took a few moments to clamber back to his feet. “I'm okay,” he said.

  “We didn't ask,” Agent 2 said, as Kevin went off in search of bananas. When he was out of sight and earshot, the agent said, “Do you think this will work?”

  “Not a chance,” replied the other. “But I am intrigued to see how it turns out.”

  “Me too.”

  Kevin returned with as many bananas as he could carry (which was six, thanks to his underdeveloped muscles and wiry frame). He planted them on a table in the middle of the room and waited for the agents to reveal the plan. It turned out that they didn't have one; in all honesty, Kevin wasn't sure if their hearts were even in it.

  “We'll hide over there,” Kevin said, pointing to where the tiny throwaway toys were kept. “When it comes, you blast the shit out of it.”

  “If you say so,” Agent 1 said, ushering his partner over to the corner. “By the way,” he said, “we're not full-time agents. I'm a milkman, and Eric here, he has a paper-round.”

  Kevin sighed. “We'll have to improvise,” he said. “Now, let's just all be quiet, and hopefully that hairy sonofabitch'll come for the bait.”

  And so they waited. Outside, dawn began to break, accompanied by the sounds of twittering birds and commuting traffic. The banana thing didn't seem to be working.

  “I'm going in,” Kevin said, pushing himself up onto his numb haunches. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

  As soon as he was up, the Ass-rabies monkey swung across the ceiling by the hanging fluorescent lights. Kevin screamed for the agents to open fire, but they had both fallen asleep, and by the time they came round it was too late.

  The monkey was scratching and tearing at Kevin, his face a bloodied mess, his uniform ribboned from the savage claws. The last thought to cross his mind before the darkness took him was: What kind of monkey doesn't fucking like bananas?

  ***

  The oversized man in the undersized car was back, and why wouldn't he be? It had been almost seven hours since his last decent meal, and he was having withdrawals. He pulled forward to the window, licking his lips. He was so hungry that a hard-on pushed uncomfortably into the front of his trousers.

  “Can I get some fucking service?” he bellowed. His fat arm slapped against the car door as he grew increasingly impatient. He was about to call again when the window slid across. “About fuckin' time,” he said, not looking up from the foot-long list he had made. “I'll have six sausage and egg MacReady muffins, three hash-browns, four...” and then he did look up at the window, and he screamed.

  An ass – a big hairy ass with teeth and bad breath – threw itself out of the window and into the car. The fat man proceeded to have a coronary as the anus slowly devoured him, and as the morning sun began to rise across the country, a little monkey raced off down the street in search of happiness.

  About the Author

  Adam Millard is the author of thirteen novels and more than a hundred short stories, which can be found in various collections and anthologies. Probably best known for his post-apocalyptic fiction, Adam also writes fantasy/horror for children. He created the character Peter Crombie, Teenage Zombie just so he had something decent to read to his son at bedtime. Adam also writes Bizarro fiction for several publishers, who enjoy his tales of flesh-eating clown-beetles and rabies-infected derrieres so much that they keep printing them. His “Dead” series has been the filling in a Stephen King/Bram Stoker sandwich on Amazon’s bestsellers chart, and the translation rights have recently sold to German publisher, Voodoo Press. Adam also writes for This Is Horror, whose columnists include Shaun Hutson, Simon Bestwick and Simon Marshall-Jones. Adam lives in the post-apocalyptic landscape known as Wolverhampton, England, with his wife, Zoe, and son, Phoenix.

  “Strange Sex”

  What if Joseph wasn't the first man to be cuckolded by God? What if there was a cult of adulterated men who would do anything to kill him for fucking their wives into useless shells of nymphoid lust? What if a woman possessed was so utterly tormented, that the only way to save her soul was to perform a Sexorcism? What if a scaticallogically inclined man found a way to pleasure himself with bed bugs? What if a woman fell in love with a dinosaur? What if a seemingly innocent Furry gangbang turned out to be a mating ritual for a tribe of nomadic cannibal were-teddy bears? These questions and many more will be answered when StrangeHouse books takes you on a journey unlike any you've ever seen before with their debut anthology of strange erotic horror fiction, “Strange Sex”.

  “McHumans”

  Kevin Strange

  After Cthulhu awakens and destroys civilization as we know it, humans are used as slaves and food by their new slimy, submerged masters. One such young man, Ricky, works at an undersea fast food joint where he’s forced to kill and cook other humans for the Deep Ones to eat. But he has a plan. His restaurant caters to the Big Man himself, and if Ricky’s plan works, he could pull off the unthinkable:

  He could actually Kill Cthulhu.

  “Vampire Guts in Nuke Town”

  Kevin Strange

  Guts is a bad motherfucker in a bad, bad world. In Nuke Town, Guts wakes up in a strange motel with no memory of how he got there. A brother and sister duo are the only two humans in sight, but are they friend or foe? As the paranoia sets in, and Guts begins to understand the true implications of a nest of sophisticated, mutated vampires, he must use all the cunning and skills that his years in the wasteland have taught him if he hopes to survive the horror that awaits him in … Vampire Guts in Nuke Town!

  “Robamapocalypse”

  Kevin Strange

  In a dystopian future where Barack Obama is lord and emperor of the only city left on earth after the zombie apocalypse, one young man must fight his way through a tournament pitting zombie against remote controlled zombie if he hopes to stop the evil, half-cyborg dictator from destroying Steel City and the rest of the fabled Obamamerica beyond. Time traveling terrorists, giant robot zombies made of zombies, and Barack Obama like you've never seen him before are but a few of the twists and turns that make Robamapocalypse one of the weirdest, most action packed bizarro stories you'll ever lay your unsuspecting eyeballs on.

  This election year, Barack Obama is a giant fucking robot.

  “Tales of Questionable Taste”

  John Bruni

  For fans of the bizarre, the weird, the strange, StrangeHouse Books brings you a whirlwind of eighteen tales sure to amuse, confuse, horrify and leave
you questioning your lack of taste. From the warped synapses of John Bruni come stories of the destruction of earth, via a humongous totally nude man in space, a portal to another dimension inside of an office worker's desk, a sordid love affair between two nefarious euthanasia enthusiasts, and many other yarns that span from psychological terror, to comedy, to downright disgusting!

  “Dinner at the Vomitropolis”

  Jesse Wheeler

  Do you like gravy on your potatoes? Do you like dressing on your salads? Do fast-food commercials force you to leave your mattress, in search of processed meat? If yes.... PUT THIS BOOK DOWN. Unless you need a Dietary supplement that is purely literary. Join gross-out author Jesse wheeler as he hosts his very first literary feast for Strangehouse books. Dinner at the Vomitropolis is a three course meal sure to make even the most hardened gore hound sick to his stomach!

  “Zombie! Zombie! Brain Bang!”

  WHAT IF... zombies were the worst customers to ever enter a fast food restaurant? WHAT IF... the only thing saving you from a zombie horde is a suit of cute little babies? WHAT IF... you traveled through time to see a great pair of tits but ended up kicking off the zombie apocalypse? WHAT IF... all those dead pets came back with a hunger for human flesh? Twelve of the most bizzare zombie stories you'll ever read, all jam packed into one delicious, ultra-violent book, Zombie! Zombie! Brain Bang! is guaranteed to suck out your brains and chomp on your guts while you scream with delight.

  “Strange Versus Lovecraft”

  What happens when a group of the rowdiest authors of cult horror fiction take on one of the most iconic figures in the entire genre? STRANGE VERSUS LOVECRAFT features eleven of the absolute weirdest short stories set in the Cthulhu mythos you’re ever likely to read. From fish-mouthed prostitutes to undersea fast food restaurants and the house raping spawn of Yog-Sothoth, you’ve never read Lovecraft done quite like this. Next generation authors Kevin Strange, D.F. Noble, Jason Wayne Allen, and Jesse wheeler lead this shambling pack of pervert writers toward untold lows as they defile the sacred name of H.P. Lovecraft in this loving send up to the man who brought tentacles into the main stream.

  “The Last Gig on Planet Earth and Other Strange Stories”

  Kevin Strange

  Kevin Strange's fiction has been described as bleak, hopeless, bizarre, and always unpredictable. This is Strange at his most nihilistic. The Last Gig on Planet Earth collects seven tales full of suspense, of dread, of that side of human nature that most pretend does not exist. Strange sets his spotlight directly in its gnarled face and demands it reveal its most twisted secrets.

  This collection is sure to leave you repeating, “this is only fiction, this is only fiction, please let this only be fiction...”

  “Damnation 101”

  Kevin Sweeney

  The Breakfast Club fucked to death by Dante’s Inferno. Thanks to a balls-up by a moron God, all humans go to Hell when they die. But the Academy that trains demons to torture can’t churn out students fast enough to cope with demand, and so as an experiment a human is enrolled to see if the damned can be used shore up the number of tormentors. But first she has to survive the harsh lessons of Damnation 101...

  “Alien Smut Peddlers from the Future”

  Kent Hill

  Porn. It's part of our society. But in the future, it has all but eclipsed every form of currency. The creatures that control it are as terrifying in form as they are lustful for sexual gratification. And one of them has just crash-landed in the wild west. Gold will glisten, blood will flow, many shall be massacred until a few brave souls call down the thunder. A thunder named Badlands Meredith. Part man, part machine, all bad ass. Ready your senses for the most shocking, the most offensive, the most incredible showdown in this alternate universe, when the most feared gunfighter goes one on one with... Alien Smut Peddlers from the Future!

  “Re-Animated States of America”

  Craig Mullins and Andrew Ozkenel

  Re-Animated States of America is a collection of short fiction set in a post-apocalyptic world, beautifully crafted by lifelong H.P. Lovecraft aficionado, award winning film maker and author Craig Mullins. RSoA is twelve stories all featuring beloved mythos character Herbert West, Re-Animator and his human-headed dog companion, Jehovah. Each story contains an illustration brought to life by Mullins' long time artistic collaborator Andrew Ozkenel in striking black and white.

  “Strange Fucking Stories”

  Caterpillar portals to other dimensions, monster holocausts, suits tailored from human flesh and wild west shootouts with pink minotaurs are but a few of the themes comprising this

  quintessential book of Strange Fiction. Strange Fucking Stories gathers together the best of the best

  StrangeHouse Books authors and teams them with brand new voices yet to grace the pages of an SHB tome.

  StrangeHouse editor Sean Ferrari and the prison warden himself Kevin Strange bring you their finest collection of fiction yet with 13 tales of the weird and the macabre, from SHB anthology staples Rich Bottles Jr., K.M. Tepe, and John Bruni join MP Johnson, Billy Tea, and many more of horror and bizarro's best authors, proving once again that StrangeHouse Books is a brand not to be ignored!

  Stranger

  Danger

  Two novellas

  by

  Kevin Strange

  And

  Danger_Slater

  Coming Soon from

  StrangeHouseBooks.com!

  R oadvolution

  Danger Slater

  An Excerpt

  Chapter One

  It’s hot out there.

  But I’m cool in here.

  I’m cool and calm and in control behind the wheel of my Mercedes-Benz CL600 Coupe. With its 5.5 liter bi-turbo engine and state-of-the-art torque vectoring brakes; with its 20-inch AMG 5-spoke alloy wheels and its Vatican-approved noise-reducing infrared-reflecting prior-transgression-forgiving plate glass windshield; with its Active PARKTRONIC 900,000,000,000,000,000© Advanced Parking Guidance System and its freshly-waxed hand-detailed iridium silver finish looking oh-so-motherfluffin-sexy as it shimmers and shines under that mid-morning sun like it had a big ol’ bowl of glitter and cocaine for breakfast...

  Now listen here, I’m not gay. I’m as far from gay as you can possibly get - be-hee-hee-lieve me on that one! I love me some pussy. Football. Domestic beer. Poker. World War II movies. T-bone steak. Big dogs. Money. I’m not down with any of that queer shit...

  ...but if this car were to ask me to suck its dick, I totally would.

  The little digital thermostat underneath the odometer reads 103°F. But I don’t care what it has to say. I simply loosen my tie and crank the air conditioner up higher. It kicks on, filtering out of the vents of black-ash wood finished dashboard with a roar. All the idling cars out here are roaring; an ocean of aluminum and chrome, lain out across the highway like a blanket of chainmail. And like a conference called to descant our country’s current climatological crisis, this congregation of conveyances commences to converse - speaking in various cryptic timbres – going putt-putt-putt, brrRrrRrrRrr and varooooom! Each car coughing up its own unique blend of noxiousness. And all that exhaust, all those chemicals, all that smoke coalescing above us, just like a cloud. Invisible. You can’t see it, but you can feel its presence. You just know it’s there. Like the air itself.

  Like a mother’s love.

  So I do what I have to do. I crank my A/C up even higher. Let my car speak louder. Let the air blow colder. My own personal polar squall. Fuck the ozone layer. And fuck my mother too, if it means I don’t have to spend the entire morning dripping sweat out of my asshole onto my upholstery.

  It’s too fucking hot out right now to worry about my carbon footprint.

  Chapter Two

  I scan the radio for a traffic report but am greeted only by an ever-amassing cascade of advertising; the promise of a better life just one product, one service, one purchase away.

  Now don’t get me wrong - I’m certainly not dec
rying the advertising industry in any way, shape or form. Far from it, actually. I find commercials helpful when considering what wares I want to buy and which brand-names I wish to support. This is just the way the world works; no need to be ignorant on the subject. Seriously, dude, are you an American or some kind of soulless commie pinko bastard? Well, then BE AN AMERICAN GODDAMNIT! SPEND YOUR MONEY!

  You see, what you “poor people” out there don’t seem to understand is that whenever you open your wallet, whenever you hand over your hard-won dollars, you’re basically voting. You’re telling the world which multinational conglomerate best understands you as a person. That’s why it is sooooooooooooooo important to stay informed on all the latest innovations, fashions and trends. Why we need commercials. That is, unless you want to walk around looking like a stupid idiot all the time.

  Now a guy like me? I’m smart. I’m a very savvy shopper.

  Still, I’m scouring my way through the static, stopping only to sing-a-long to the occasional pop song. I strum along on my steering wheel like it were the strings of an acoustic guitar before realizing the music was actually just an advertisement too.

  Heh heh heh, I knew that, okay? I’m also a very savvy music fan.

  “Oh God! It*zzzzttt*horrible! The destruction! The devastation... countless lives*zzzzttt*lost... if I wasn’t *zzzzttt*seeing it with my own two eyes*zzzzzz*I would say it was impossible...zzzzzttttssssss”