The SICK Chronicles: An Anthology of Extreme Violence and Gore

by Nelson Samuels

  “The same thing you do,” Mark responds. “Acid bath in a barrel.”

  “Fuck you man,” Jeff says.

  Mark takes Jeff’s penis into his hands and places the ice picks point into the hole in the head of the end of it. Mark pushes it completely in as Jeff screams out in agonizing pain. The point eventually breaks the skin and comes out toward the back of the shaft.

  “What the fuck? You’re crazy!” Jeff says. Mark still doesn’t answer.

  Mark leaves the ice pick in the penis. He takes the meat cleaver into his hand.

  “You’ve killed enough Jeff,” Mark says. “This has to end today.”

  “If you kill me, you’ll have finally become what I am,” Jeff says. “I’ll have succeeded in turning you into me. It’s what I’ve always wanted.” He laughs. “You’ll be me!” Mark raises the clever over Jeff’s neck.

  “Fuck you!” Mark lowers the clever and removes Jeff’s head with one quick blow. “I’ll never be you.”

  Mark places the meat cleaver down on the table and walks out of the garage. As he enters Jeff’s living room, he sits in the recliner facing the television. Sitting in complete silence for a moment, he thinks on the events that’d lead him up to this point.

  He knew Jeff was right. He’d became the one thing he hated and tried avoiding his entire life. The one thing he felt he was genetically unable to avoid, but had tried so hard to do just that. The result of a white trash mother, a rundown trailer, one drunken night, and her more than unhealthy obsession for methamphetamines. The part of everyone that they try so hard to hide in the background behind closed doors from their friends, family, and community, but they expected from him because of his surrounding environment. The dark side of our personalities we don’t want anyone to ever see.

  He’d became the reflection in the mirror he tried for so many years to avoid looking at.

  He had became the one thing he feared the most...

  Himself.

  PART IV

  CASEY MORGAN:

  A CHILD’S TALE

  Casey sits on the pew of her little country church in her Sunday best, a red dress that barely touches the top of her knees. She listens attentively to the preacher as he gives his Sunday morning sermon. She doesn’t understand anything that he’s talking about. All she hears is “Jesus, Jesus, Amen”.

  Casey is nine, with red hair. She’s not very tall for her age, and most kids tease her because she’s much shorter than they are. She is passionate about exactly two things in life at her early nine years; her Chinese pug Charlie, and her pet rooster Jack. However, she often thought Charlie smelled bad, and Jack was awful loud on an early Saturday morning. What was a girl to do? They were her best friends afterall.

  “...and all the people said, amen,” the preacher says from the pulpit. Casey claps her hands in excitement due to the realization that church is finally over. Her mother isn’t pleased with this jestor and is quick to gently pat her on the leg as a warning to stop. Casey obliges without an argument. She realized what her Mother would do to her if she didn’t. Spankings were hard and regular in the Morgan household, and Casey wasn’t in a hurry for another one. She received her last one for laughing too loud at her Saturday morning cartoons while her Father John was still sleeping off his Friday night hangover. Needless to say, he wasn’t a church going man.

  “Let’s go Casey. Go out and get in the car,” her Mother Helen says to her.

  “Yes mama,” Casey replies as she quickly exits the church. Her Mother follows closely behind her.

  As the two of them arrive home, Casey’s Father was waiting on the front steps.

  “Where the hell have the two of you been?” he asks.

  “We’ve been in church John. The same place we are every Sunday morning,” Helen replies.

  “Well shit. I didn’t realize what day it was,” he says. John hadn’t worked in over eight months and his days were starting to run together. He hardly ever tried to keep up with what day was what any longer. He lived to drink and drank to live. “Where’s my fucking lunch?” he asks.

  “Language John!” Helen says.

  “Jesus Helen, I’m sorry.”

  “Tell her, not me,” she says.

  “I’m sorry Casey for my foul ass mouth,” he looks at Helen “better?” he asks. Helen rolls her eyes in disgust.

  “It’s okay Daddy. I understand that you can’t help it,” Casey begins. “You’re not educated like me and Mama.”

  “What did you say?” he asks in anger as Casey follows her Mother inside the front door.

  “What did she say to me, Helen?” he asks again.

  “She said it was okay John. That was it,” Helen says. She was in no mood to hear Casey cry today from another beating.

  “Just fix my damn lunch,” he demands.

  “Gettin’ right on it, dear,” Helen says. “Casey, go to your room and play for a while, and take your little dog with you.”

  “Yes Mama. Come on Charlie,” Casey commands her pug as he jumps out of the living room floor and runs after her. Casey walks into her room and shuts the door.

  The moon was bright tonight as Casey starred out of her window from her comfortable bed. Charlie lay at her feet. He slept there every night. She has school in the morning, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. She never did because of the constant bullying that she received. She was shorter, she learned slower, it was always something. She loved to learn, but just hated the other kids constant ridicule. She finally drifts off to sleep.

  “Casey,” she hears whispered in her ear as she awakens. Hours must have gone by as she’s already gotten crusties in her eyes. She always called them crusties, and giggled when she said it.

  She wipes her eyes as she opens them up and notices her Father John standing over her.

  “Daddy?” she asks. He pulls her covers back. She pulls them back up. “What are you doing Daddy?”

  “Shh...it’s just me baby. It’s Daddy,” John says. “We’re gonna play that game I taught you.”

  “But I don’t like that game Daddy. It hurts,” Casey says to deaf ears. John wasn’t listening as he climbs into his daughter’s bed.

  The night carried on as so many had before. Tears shed. Blood spilled. Innocence Lost. Damage done that could never be undone.

  The following Wednesday afternoon after school, Casey returns home only to find her Mother Helen isn’t home from work yet, and her Father is home alone. Helen always beat her home because her Mother worked an early shift. As Casey walks in the front door in her beautiful blue dress, Charlie greets her with a loving bark. Her Father turns his head around towards her from his recliner.

  “Hey darlin’,” he says.

  “Hey,” Casey says.

  “Come here a minute baby,” John says motioning for his daughter to come over to him. Casey ignores him and runs out of the front door, with Charlie close behind her. “John gets out of his chair and runs to the front door. “Hey come back you little shit!” he screams. Casey ignores him and keeps running down the dirt road behind their home. “Go on then bitch. I’ll see you later on!” he yells out to her.

  Casey continues to run until she can’t run any longer. She begins to walk slowly down the road.

  “We’re not going back Charlie,” she says to her dog. A truck passes her by and stops, pulling over to the side of the road up ahead of her and cutting off the ignition. A guy steps out of the passenger’s side of the truck and walks up to Casey.

  “Hey little girl,” the guy says.

  “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” Casey says as Charlie begins to bark.

  “I’m not a stranger. I’m Scott,” the guy says. “I just wanna talk.” Someone yells out to the man from the truck and he yells back at them, “Shut up!” Casey is scared by his tone and begins to scream in fear.

  “Shh, shh, shh. No, no, little girl. I was just telling him to be quiet. I wasn’t yelling at you. I promise,” Scott says.

  “I’ve gotta go hom
e now!” Casey says as she begins to panic and tries to run away. Charlie continues to bark at the stranger. Scott grabs Casey by her arm and stops her from running.

  "Shut that fucking dog up! I said I just wanted to talk!" Scott slaps Casey and she falls to the ground continuing to scream not only in fear, but now in obvious pain. Charlie grabs Scott by his leg and bites down. "Shit! Fuck that dog!" He says as he kicks Charlie into the adjoining ditch. Charlie doesn’t move. Casey continues to lie on the ground, screaming and holding her head in pain. "Shut up that screaming! Just shut the fuck up! I just wanted to talk to you!" Scott says.

  “Having trouble there?” a voice asks from the truck.

  "I’ve got it..under..control!" Scott says as he begins to beat and kick Casey in the head. "I said to shut the fuck up with the screaming little girl! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" Blood begins to run from Casey’s nose and eyes as Scott stomps down on her head with his foot. With one final blow from his foot, her head splits open revealing bits of her now fractured skull. Casey lies on the ground without moving. Casey has finally stopped screaming, and the stranger that she so desperately wanted to talk to her stands in silence at what he’d just done.

  The night carried on as so many had before. Blood spilled. Innocence Lost. Damage done that could never be undone. Casey Morgan would never be sad again.

  PART V

  THE UNBURDENING

  PART 1

  I’ve been asked, many, many times, by many, many people, “Joe, why do you like babies so much?”

  These people, you know, the one’s that keep asking me this, they always expect a generic answer. “They’re cute. I like their smell.” However, it’s none of those things you see.

  When I see a baby, I see a chicken. A beautiful white baking hen. One like my mama used to boil up and use to make dumplings for dinner on Sunday’s. A babies beautiful white ass makes a great addition to any dumpling pot.

  When I see a baby, I see a pig. A beautiful link of sausage. The one’s like my daddy used to make from our best hog he’d butcher on a cold winter’s morning. He’d use the intestines as casings and stuff them with the best spices and ground pork meat you’d ever eat. The best sausage I’ve eaten however, came from a little nigger baby I picked up one morning by the river. Her mama walked down by the water to wash her hands and I snatched her right up as her mama’s back was turned. Best damn sausage I’ve ever made and put into my mouth.

  So here I sit doing my time. Rotting away behind prison walls for doing what we as humans were made to do. Eat. The debate lies in whether we were made to eat our own kind or not. Well I’ll argue that many species eat their own kind all of the time. I was simply surviving on what I had back in those days. Everyone was starving back then, you see, and a baby didn’t put up a fight. You’d have done the same my friend. You’d have done the same.

  I don’t need to get ahead of myself though. Let me start at the beginning. Let me start with Sarah. My first love.

  PART 2

  I wasn’t a particularly good looking child you see. I was fairly ugly to be honest. I always had matted hair. Never brushed my damn teeth or bathed properly. Hell, I did good to wipe my ass when I went to the shitter.

  Despite my obvious downfalls, at seven years old, I met who I just knew was the love of my life. Sarah Ann James, the most beautiful ten year old girl in our community. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and always wore these pretty little red shoes everywhere she went. Unlike myself, she brushed her hair and teeth. Looking back now, I don’t remember much of a shit smell on her either, so she must have wiped her ass pretty good too.

  We both went to the same school. That is, when I even went to school. My Father didn’t put much of an emphasis on education. He said that all the learnin’ I needed, I could get from workin’. In later years, I’d realize my Father was a damn liar.

  On one of the mornings that I did decide to go to school, I got up and put on my best pair of overalls. I didn’t want Sarah Ann James to see me sitting in school in my dirty pair. I attempted to comb my hair, to no avail. There was never any use in trying. I remember gathering my books all excited as I walked out the door that morning, and there she was, walking down the road already. She was wearing those same red shoes she always wore. They always did make me smile. Still do as I tell you about them right now.

  I walked up beside her that morning, as I had so many other mornings, and just said a simple hello. Would you believe she looked me right in the face and said, “Joe Mason, I ain’t allowed to talk to your kind any longer. My Daddy said you ain’t no good. My Mama said, your daddy’s a lazy ass son of a bitch.”

  I wasn’t but seven, but I wanted to slap that bitch where she stood.

  And I did.

  She fell right onto the ground kicking and screaming. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” she yelled out.

  “To hell with your Daddy!” I told her. I kicked that girl so hard in the head that she began to bleed out of her eyes. She finally stopped screaming and instead lay on the ground twitching like she was having one of them seizures you hear about. Some of the other kids went to go get help, and I kicked her again. Shit, I didn’t care. She’d pissed me off. I can honestly say that I’d never felt that kind of rage before. At seven, I realize now that I shouldn’t have ever felt it in the first place, but especially not at that young of an age.

  Sarah Ann James died that day, and I was sent away for a while to poorhouse.

  Frankly, I thought I was too young to even work at a poorhouse, but the judge thought I was too young for jail. So what other options did he have I reckon. All he seemed to be concerned with was getting me away from my parents.

  At fifteen, I was released to go my own way.

  PART 3

  My cell mate is a fucking piece of rat shit. I fart wrong and he’ll tell the damn guards. He’s also fucking the bean boy over in the cell across from us every chance he gets. Fucker smells like a burrito. Now I ain’t no racist. Don’t get me wrong. I just say what’s on my mind. I’m eighty five years old for Christ’s sake. I believe I’ve earned the right by now to say what the fuck is on my mind. Of course, they say in here that I have no rights any longer. Hell, they’ve said that for the past fifty years.

  I bet you’re wondering what I’ve done for my sexual pleasure for fifty years right? Everyone always wonders that about us prisoners. Well I ain’t no fucking queer. That’s for damn sure. I’ll tell you exactly what I did.

  I cut my nuts off. Sure did. Cut the fuckers right off. I avoided the urge for the need of companionship for over a year when I was first incarcerated, and masturbated to ease the sexual frustration. When I thought I couldn’t take it any longer one night, I removed a toothbrush I’d sharpened the end of, my nuts from my pants, and began to cut them out.

  I bled like a stuck pig. My cell mate at the time screamed and called for help. Someone came and took me away. They fixed me up and I was in the psych ward for a month. Other than that, there was anything much to it.

  I bet you’re wondering what I did with the nuts though right?

  I ate them. I was in pain, but I was also hungry as hell. The meal that night had sucked, so I figured I’d knock out two birds with one stone. Kill the sexual urges and have a meal at the same damn time. It was the plan from the beginning.

  PART 4

  My incarceration was for the murder of children, but I’d killed a lot more than that.

  One of my most memorable murders was of a young woman in her twenties. I’d watched her for days as she left her job at a local market, night after night. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I obsessed over her every moment I was awake. One night, I finally followed her to her home.

  As she walked into her front door, I followed. I wasn’t sure if she lived alone or not. Honestly, I’d never seen her with a man, but I was so obsessed with her at this point and not thinking clearly, that I didn’t care. I just wanted her, and no one would get in my way.

  She began to close the front door and I
quickly grabbed it from her, pushing my way in. She screamed of course, and I quickly put my hand over her mouth as I shut the door behind me. “Shut the fuck up!” I said to her. “Don’t scream!” I pushed her down on the floor, and she looked at me in silence. The look of fear on her face actually gave me an erection. It was a strange sensation, but I loved it.

  I knelt down on the floor by her and began to strip her clothes off. She wanted to scream, but I placed my knife by her throat and she stopped. Now I’m not ashamed to admit, I was an eighteen year old virgin at this point. I knew what to do, but wasn’t quite sure how to implement the plan. It’s funny now thinking back on the whole situation.

  I removed her pants and panties, as well as mine. I tried to place my erect penis into her pussy, but the damn thing wouldn’t go in. Dry as fuck of course. At the time, I didn’t know why. Hell, I was new at the whole sex thing. Would you believe the evil bitch began to laugh at me? Shit, I cut her fucking throat. I didn’t stop there. I began to stab her over and over. I cut her abdomen open and removed her stomach and liver. I would show her. Desecrating her body at the time, seemed like the one thing I could do that would be the ultimate “fuck you” to her. Laugh at me? Ha! I’ll eat your spleen bitch.

  I sat in the corner and masturbated with my bloody right hand, and held a length of her intestines in my left. As I came, I placed them in my mouth and bit down. The contents of feces inside burst into my mouth with a gush of warm happiness. My semen launched into the air and landed on her stomach that lay by my feet. With shit streaming out of the corners of my mouth, I picked her stomach off the floor and licked my semen off of it.