by Alan Kelly
Bunny listened and she could hear her dad downstairs in the kitchen beneath her bedroom pottering about. How long had she lain here? she wondered getting up from the floor and sitting on her bed. She poured the contents of her bag onto the quilt and looked through it all, not sure of exactly what it was she was looking for. That was when she spotted the keycard to Blood Rag HQ. The key she’d forgotten to give back to security on the day she was fired. Her mobile was beeping and she saw she had a text message from Kiffany:
how Ru sweet? Don’t worry about any of this, I have
things under control. Kiff x
After replying to Kiffany’s text she looked out onto the street. The light was still deciding what colour it wanted to settle in. She’d dreamt of Josh. She stood watching young children argue over a makeshift trolley and tried to remember, but it was getting away from her. Each time she tried to capture the memory in her head it became fragmented, disjointed. She thought of her mother. Had she dreamt of her?
She stood at the window until the dream became dust. She hated that. It was a bit like life; you’re always chasing an impression. One that gets weaker and weaker as the day moves sluggishly into night and eventually you relent and it’s gone forever.
Bunny looked at the keycard in her hand. She’d go there and she’d wait for him tonight. She couldn’t let this go. She would wait until dawn. With these thoughts she began to prepare.
11
Psycho
Jones brought Michelle to his estate near Mount Kippure.
Ms Fiend and Dolly were at Blood Rag HQ preparing for the transmission of the signal. Michelle meandered dumbly about pointing at posters hung on the wall; he flinched every time her grubby fingers picked up an expensive ornament or ran her hand over a piece of furniture. Watching her he felt an irrational hatred, which wouldn’t be satiated until he’d started hurting her.
She threw herself down on his expensive leather couch and asked if he ‘had any booze?’ Without replying he went to the drinks cabinet, making sure he removed the bottle which was spiked with Rohypnol, and poured her a large measure. She nearly grabbed the drink from his hand and knocked it back, letting some of the alcohol spill over her chin. What a revolting common little whore, he thought. Jones carefully placed his own glass on the coffee table, smoothed his sparse oily hair back over his head and whispered.
‘Come here, come over to papa.’
Michelle’s eyes were becoming heavy-lidded and her lustreless skin was covered with a sheen of sweat. She pushed herself off the sofa but fell back when she tried to stand up.
‘Was come ova me,’ she said, wiping sweat off her forehead.
Jones removed a cut-throat razor from the inside pocket of his blazer. He didn’t want her to pass out just yet. Her head hung between her legs and he gently ran his hand back over her scalp. She muttered something incoherent and his fingers slowly circled her ponytail. When he had a firm grip he yanked her head back as hard as he could. She screeched and he pulled her head back further, until he thought he could feel her spine creak. A wet stain appeared in the crotch of her trackie bottoms and she started retching. While her mouth was open he used the opportunity to grab her fat slug of a tongue and with one violent incision split the meat. She toppled off the couch and he held his nose with disgust when she voided her bowels. He stamped down hard on one of her hands and smiled at the satisfying crunch of her fingers snapping. Not long after she passed out he took her broken body down to the Doll House.
12
Hardware
Bunny sat at her kitchen table and tried to ignore her father muttering his disapproval at her choice of outfit under his breath. She took a mouthful of her coffee and, realising it was cold, went to heat the kettle up again. Her father gave her another one of his vicious looks and she knew he was about to go off on a vitriolic tangent.
‘So what brought you out here anyway,’ he began, ‘dressed that way,’ he asked, pointing at her outfit.
She watched the kettle boil and bit down hard on the inside of her cheeks.
‘You can’t come back here after everything and expect me to want to see you.’
His voice was starting to rise and it took every ounce of strength to stop her snapping his head off. She looked out at the garden shed and an idea began to percolate.
‘Are you fucking listening to me?’ he grabbed her, swung her around to face him and shouted this into her face.
‘Yes,’ she started coolly, ‘I can hear every word daddy.’
The old bastard stood with both hands on the counter with her in the middle, just looking into her face. How could this man still scare her she wondered?
‘You,’ he pointed, ‘killed your mother being like this.’
She felt her heart drop. The kettle whistled, children screeched in the yard next door. Her father rested his head in his hands; how small he seemed right then, how very small and pathetic. She knew she felt anger, but it was a sort of muted anger, an anger her father wasn’t even worthy of.
The kettle had boiled and she made another cup of coffee quietly, never taking her eyes off the garden shed, thinking of the hardware inside. It was completely dark outside; she was almost ready to go.
13
Sorry, Wrong Number
After four attempts to call Bunny’s mobile Kiffany decided to try Josh’s number instead. Her West Highland terrier Baby Sioux scurried around her apartment, banging into a table and nearly knocking the GUTS promotional chainsaw off her kitchen table. She was to cavort on stage with the chainsaw in a light pink dress at Dublin’s Tripod nightclub later that month in the ‘Devil’s Cunt’ women only, horror festival. Cursing the silly mongrel, she hung up, poured herself a glass of wine and tried Bunny again.
Once again there was no answer so she left a voice-message. Resting the mobile between her elbow and her ear she eyed the packages on the kitchen counter. Just lying beneath was a poster of a dandy highwayman astride a skeletal black Bess; a popular young musician, who was rumoured to be a descendent of Dick Turpin. She paced back and forth and cursed Bunny, worrying the girl was about to do something impulsive. Kiffany knew you didn’t do impulsive with Jones. She’s seen, heard and cleaned up after him enough times to know that, whatever Bunny had planned, she was no match for him.
Kiffany had the tapes, pictures. Together they could force a confession out of him but, if Kiffany was entirely honest with herself, it wasn’t a confession but hard cash she craved and the tapes were the only insurance she had. Jones frightened her and she already knew way too much about Alice Fiend and her plans already. She’d never have believed any of it in a billion years had she not ‘accidentally’ gone out there and seen those weird butterfly cocoons in the sauna. If only Bunny would let herself be reached.
‘Girl, give her a chance,’ Kiffany whispered to the dandy highwayman.
She called once more.
‘Bunny! It’s Kiffany. I hope you haven’t decided to do anything without me sweet. Call me when you get this A.S.A.P,’ and she hung up, hoping Bunny hadn’t gone ahead and done anything already.
14
Bad Girls Go to Hell
Bunny slammed her father’s door on the way out of the house. Throwing the bag over her shoulder she made her way across the cement garden that was her housing estate. She walked under a cloudy storm laden sky towards the DART, gazing up at now and again and checking the backpack to see if anything had fallen out. It was a soggy day, Séance weather, as Morticia Addams might say. When she was on the main street she was caught in a vicious tropical storm and had to run the rest of the way to the train. She started running, the skinny contours of other people’s shadows passing her in a frenzied blur.
When Bunny reached the station she had to wait another fifteen minutes for the train to arrive. By that time she was as wet as she was on the day she was pulled out of her mother’s womb. She checked her phone; there were five missed calls from Kiffany. Standing under the seething rain, she thought about her ‘disord
er’. She thought about hope and, for some reason, imagined herself as an explorer lost in a desert. Hope was always for her a sort of mirage that ran away the closer she got to it, like a rainbow retreating into the horizon.
She wondered how people got thrown into these lives. How they were made to lead them whether they wanted to or not and, paradoxically, they’d often rather live than not. No matter what people were expected to endure – that world just out there was lonely and cold and brutal – but people’d always rather, above all else, be hopelessly alive. She was on her way to Hell and it didn’t even bother her. The train had arrived.
15
The Substrate
Alice and Dolly stood outside the transmitting station on the top floor of Blood Rag HQ. Jones was out procuring another flesh sack for hosting so it gave them all the time in the world to awake the Substrate. This was the easiest way Ms Fiend could ‘infiltrate the heads of their readership’. Once the Substrate was activated, the frequency would go out and these wretched flesh sacks would be blind to the approaching Sisters who, at this very moment, were waiting at Port Four. Waiting for the ‘Unicorn’ to open the inter-dimensional gate.
Dolly had slipped her skin – how Cthulu she looked, roaming about the HQ, exploring the Blood Rag roof. A vestigial creature; on her home world these creatures were farmed, sometimes for the express purpose of the infestation of other worlds, other times for sustenance. At its centre it had a simian face, with several tentacles, each containing four bulbs or parasites.
Alice moved the skin aside, strolling towards the window; it looked like Ramsey Campbell’s Doll had eaten its mother. She leaned on the windowsill and looked down onto the rain soaked street and spotted a young woman crossing at the traffic lights. She was wondering where she’d seen her before when she realised it was the woman Jones had spoken of; that Bunny Flask! Ms Fiend continued looking down at her approaching and was struck by the realisation that this woman was somehow different to the other flesh sacks.
16
Give it your best Siousxie Sioux!
It took four attempts for Bunny’s key card to grant her access to the HQ. The foyer was empty, which was odd; there was normally a security guard present at all times. Unnerved she went to the elevator, punched in the security numbers and made her way alone up to the offices.
‘She’s eager,’ Alice smiled.
‘Now,’ she continued, looking sharply at the creature moving over the ceiling, ‘Skin up Dolly.’
The creature moved with a certain graceful fluidity, not unlike some deep sea creature. Alice removed the Unicorn key from the transmitter and placed it on her desk.
Bunny leaned against the railing in the elevator. She was surrounded by Vince Ray style fetish posters, which hadn’t been there when she was chucked out on her ass. It was obvious that this Fiend woman didn’t know the first thing about working in the horror industry. She probably didn’t even have a subscription to Netflix; seventy five percent of the films Bunny rented from there were horror. While the elevator made its way slowly up to the top floor, Bunny’s anger blossomed violently. She’d dragged this magazine up by the grass roots and she wasn’t about to just hand it over to Alice.
Alice ordered Dolly to get in a corner. She could play the prop while Ms Fiend figured out a suitable way to deal with Ms Flask. Dolly positioned herself beside the ‘Clown’ prop and Alice decided to hide, wait and watch to see what Flask was planning on doing.
The elevator opened into a deserted office. The lights were still on and two new horror props had been placed by Bunny’s old desk. A clown, ‘how fucking original,’ muttered Bunny, and something which looked like a hybrid creation of a creature from The Gospel Singer and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Where was Jones though? wondered Bunny, before she noticed the Unicorn device sitting on her old desk. Bunny put the satchel down and picked it up. She thought she caught a movement in the corner of her eye but she ignored it and examined the Unicorn. What in the hell was it?
‘Put that down right now,’ came a voice from behind Bunny.
Bunny turned to face the woman who had taken Blood Rag away from her. Flame red hair, morgue pale skin; more brute than bitch.
‘I take it you must be Alice Fiend?’ asked Bunny, taking a step forward.
Again she imagined something move just outside her peripheral vision but didn’t dare take her eyes off the woman. Alice stood defiant, arms folded across her chest, a smile flickering on her lips.
‘Why are you even here? Jones told me he’d got rid.’
Alice didn’t think this woman posed any kind of threat but, still, perhaps she’d make a good soldier.
‘Not quite,’ retorted Bunny and, taking two steps back, she picked up her satchel with one hand while holding onto the Unicorn device with the other.
Alice noticed this and hissed, ‘I really do think it best that you put that down.’
Bunny laughed.
‘Why? It’s only a stupid prop.’
‘Don’t look now Bunny, but I think they might have a thing or two to say about that,’ she laughed hysterically, and Bunny turned just in time to see one of the things she initially believed to be a prop come at her.
‘Now,’ hissed Fiend, ‘lets see what you’re made of.’
Bunny was overwhelmed and stood dumbly, staring at the shuddering creature looking down at her. It looked like a scarecrow dressed as a midwife, she thought. There was a noise like burning kittens coming from beneath the creature’s skin, getting louder as it approached her. It was like the subdued yelping of a million depraved cherubs. Bunny swallowed sick when she spotted a bridal trail of decayed meat and maggots behind the creature. She looked at Alice and then back to Dolly.
Bunny gripped the back of her old desk and with every ounce of strength turned it over. Glass, sparks and smashing equipment gave Bunny a momentary respite but her gut told her that wouldn’t stop this. Grabbing the pure alcohol she’d taken from her father’s shed, she held her arm back and threw it. The impact shattered the bottle, dousing the creature. Bunny produced a match and, with a smile, threw it at her alcohol sodden would-be-attacker. Bunny heard Fiend scream. The fire was wild and vicious and Dolly danced and the bulbs screamed as the fire tore the creature apart bit by bit.
‘Bitch,’ Bunny turned to a furious Alice, ‘should I toss this in too?’
Bunny brandished the Unicorn device in Alice’s face. Alice gave Bunny a grin like a lunatic and replied, ‘So come on then you little slut. Give it your best Siousxie Sioux.’
Bunny went at Alice like Buffy, Xena and Sydney Bristow combined. Alice’s arm swung out, cracking against the side of Bunny’s head... Bunny was unconscious before she hit the floor. Alice had the clown remove one of the barely alive bulbs from Dolly’s remains.
‘Get her knickers off,’ Alice instructed it and, when the clown did this, Alice gasped at what she saw between Bunny’s legs.
The bitch was a boy. Alice should’ve guessed right away. She knew what had been bugging her earlier: Bunny reminded her of the old school horror movie queen, Linnea Quigley.
17
Fuck Me Gently With a Chainsaw
Kiffany Boston-Gifford was parked opposite Blood Rag HQ when she saw what looked like a small explosion in either the central office or the boardroom. It was followed moments later by feral screams. Right at that moment, and entirely subconsciously, Kiffany reached into the back seat of her mini and retrieved the chainsaw. Kiffany was by no means a melodramatic woman but she knew someone was giving it to Bunny large and nasty up there in the offices and she didn’t want to go in empty handed.
Unable to gain access to the building without a security card and not wanting to risk using the chainsaw in a residential area, Kiffany was left with no option but to go back and remove a tyre iron from the boot of her car. She would need to smash her way in. Once back outside, Kiffany closed her eyes, recited a silent prayer to her idol Maila Nurmi. She was certain the sound of smashing glass would
be muffled due to Blood Rag being dwarfed by tenement apartments. She covered her eyes and swung the tyre iron.
*
Fiend held the squirming bulb close to her face. Bunny was perplexed by the tenderness Alice expressed to what appeared to be some kind of amphibious razorback with baby features. Her mouth was full of the metallic taste of hot blood and she was about to exploit Alice’s distraction when the clown she’d completely forgotten about hauled her to her feet. Alice smiled and approached Bunny, extending the arm holding the razor back creature, when they heard the sound of glass breaking somewhere below them.
Kiffany took each step two at a time but she too noticed the new posters which lined the walls in the stairwell. Fucking Jones and the Bitch behind the Veil had replaced the selection of vintage mondo posters she and Bunny had selected with image after image of actress and actory morons. Could they spell Red Porno? wondered Kiffany.
It’s all tits and ass, not talent and ability, which was what Blood Rag was supposed to be about. She pondered while making her ascent how a nubile young woman’s flesh could be used as a sort of brainwashing tool, as if the pouting, lippy, titty, tanned images were calculated in some subliminal way. These tarts were in no peer group that either she or Ms Flask belonged to. They watched her climb, telling her and every other woman who was shoved outside of their spectrum accept your place and never rise above it. She’d reached the top of the stairs.
‘I know my fucking place’ she whispered before shouting, ‘You can fuck me gently with a chainsaw.’
A shout that was quickly drowned out by the scream of her darling chainsaw.