Jimmy Lee peered down the length of his 30-30.
He wasn’t aiming at the outhouse. He had his own sector to shoot in at the base of their side of the ravine. And if any of them evil bastards entered it, he was gonna make them wish they hadn’t.
The door flew off its hinges with a loud shriek and the tiny ones poured through. They were about two feet high and hard as hell to hit. When they landed on the ground, they shrieked like crows and headed in every direction. From the corner of his vision, Jimmy Lee figured there must have been at least a hundred of the little bastards. The first several shots rang out, but Jimmy Lee didn’t look. Ten of the little devils were heading towards his sector and he felt his lips go dry.
The sounds of gunfire increased and Jimmy Lee added his own beat to the deadly staccato song. He worked the lever of the old rifle like a wild-west cowboy, taking the first in the head, the second in the throat and the third in the stomach. Each one threw up its tiny hands just like a real person. When the bullets passed through their tough little bodies, they were hurled back and black smelly shit bubbled out of their smoking husks. It was their blood and the thick stench was already drifting up and out of the killing ground.
Regular bullets didn’t work. They’d found that out the first battle and their lack of preparation had almost killed them and sent the hordes crawling across the Earth. It was the silver that had been soaking in holy water for nearly a week that did the damage.
Preacher Man said their bodies couldn’t take it.
Preacher Man said they was like werewolves that way.
Jimmy Lee missed with his next two shots, but found his aim again and brought five more down. When his sector was empty he stole a look at the rest of the battle and saw the little demons getting thrown back — twisting, dying and finally transforming into obscene piles of hell-spawned fertilizer.
Granny said it was what the white men did when they came that had started everything. She said the Injuns had been one with the land. And then the white men came and started killing everything and everyone. It was a Cherokee Chief that had finally gotten fed up and worked some strange magic. It was supposed to clear the white men out of the hills. And it did — but it also unleashed a demonic horde that killed everyone who had set foot in them for a hundred years. It was a long time before the land had finally been freed of Satan’s Horde.
A piercing scream erupted from the depths below the outhouse and Jimmy Lee winced, his ears threatening to pop. He tightened his grip on the Winchester and tried to keep his aim on his sector.
Finally, the roof splintered and blew apart as dozens of large winged creatures surged toward the sky. Their green skin was pulled tight over human-shaped bodies and oozed pus that fell back to the earth in sizzling patches, killing everything it touched. Their immense batwings glowed as the noon sun poured through them detailing each vein, artery and delicate bone.
Granny emptied her pistol into one attempting to fly over and drop its gelatinous acid. The creature fell with a multi-octave scream and Jimmy Lee joined his Granny in a smile at the satisfying crunch the ground provided the demon’s delicate, deadly structure. Granny jerked a speed loader from her cleavage and reloaded the smoking chambers. She shot a wad of tobacco spit toward the downed demon and rejoined the fray.
Across the ravine Ernie Whitmire was running in a circle, succeeding only in fanning the flames of his shirt. Beside him was a dead avian demon that had erupted into its own unholy bonfire. Jimmy Lee felt Granny’s hand push him low and he heard the explosion of the one she’d shot.
He yelled his thanks, then rose and took out two more of the little ones, who had been sneaking up the hill in a low crawl. They tumbled back down, turning into rolling mounds of shit before they squelched to a stop at the bottom.
Jimmy Lee heard a new humming below the gunfire and demonic screams. He shuddered and realized the Super Maggots were coming — big horkin’ maggots covered with ugly purple fur that were deceptively fast. “Like corn through a coon hound,” his Grandpa had said. They could squirm up to you and take your leg off with their acidic mucus before you even had chance to feel the pain. Jimmy Lee’s older brother, Josh, had lost an arm last year pulling one off his already-dead cousin, Odd Todd. And if you listened to their hum long enough, you were sure to become hypnotized. Preacher Man said it was like sonar — like what bats do.
The first Appalachian Cocktail arced through the air from the Whitmire side and hit the outhouse. The glass shattered and the crumbling wood was suddenly coated in a sheet of white-lightning fire. Soon the air was filled with dozens of the glistening bombs and the floor of the ravine was a lake of burning moonshine. Jimmy Lee stared as fifteen of the Super Maggots escaped and headed straight for the log he and Grandma were using as cover. He fired round after round into the hairy beasts until his chamber clicked empty. Cursing, he fumbled for his box of shells. He started reloading his last six as Granny and the rest of the clan alternated their fire from the air to the ground and back.
Without warning, Granny screamed and fell face first into the log, shattering the left side of her bifocals. Jimmy Lee swung his Winchester around and fired twice, downing the avian that had somehow made it through the barrage and dropped a handful of acid on Granny’s back. The dead avian fell behind Jimmy Lee and started smoking immediately. He rolled his body over his Granny’s and let the ground smother the fire on her back. He felt hope when he saw her chest move, but he had no time. He had to get Granny away before the avian exploded.
Jimmy Lee dropped his rifle, grabbed her under her arms and started pulling her backwards, wondering how the hell such a small woman weighed so damn much. He got only a few feet before he tripped and fell back hard, bouncing his head on the hard Tennessee clay. And then the humming became seriously louder.
Three worms suddenly appeared atop the log, their eyeless heads lifting as if smelling his incapacitation. Jimmy struggled to rise, but his Granny had fallen on his legs. He hunted desperately for the rifle and spied it laying by Granny’s feet — too far and out of reach. The worms descended hungrily, heading straight for the two of them.
Jimmy screamed like a girl.
A long black cloak brushed past, temporarily blocking his vision. The Preacher Man aimed from the hip and streams of holy water shot from the end of an orange and green Super Soaker. Each worm burst into a gout of purple fire as the Preacher Man screamed divine condemnation. Their savior fired until his plastic cannon was empty then paused to admire his handy work. Jimmy’s mouth, still opened in an unleashed scream, closed as the Preacher Man turned, winked and headed for another part of the battlefield — just a little too wild-eyed for a man of God.
There were four more waves of demons, but Jimmy Lee hadn’t seen them. Everyone was too busy and his Granny was weighing him down, so he had just lain there and prayed. He heard the Ground Pounders come, but they were such big targets that even his little six-year-old sister Suzy Lee had no trouble hitting one. She even stood on top of the log, firing her Uzi like she was a Middle Eastern-born rag-wearing terrorist. Since they couldn’t aim too good, the automatic weapons were always given to the little kids. And after Jimmy Lee shot Uncle John John in the ass that time, the kids were placed up front.
The sun had set hours ago and just a few still-smoking trees were the only signs of another successful battle; not to mention the hundreds of piles of shit that covered the ground like mines.
Jimmy Lee finally found Annie Whitmire. She was already a little tipsy and he grinned in anticipation. Maybe he’d get more than just a feel this year. Maybe they could roll in the weeds.
She stood in the growing crowd of cousins surrounding the brand new outhouse that had just been placed over the hole. About a dozen banjoes and at least three dulcimers were hammering out a version of Go Tell Aunt Rhodie. All the cousins wore different sized smiles — winning was never a sure thing. Everyone was relieved it was finally over.
A hush fell on the crowd and a path opened near Jimmy Lee
. Granny walked stoically by, pausing to give him a big hug. She stood back and smiled and he felt warm pride well up in his body. She was proud of him for saving her. Everyone loved Granny, and no one more than him. Maybe they’d write a song about him. Maybe he’d be famous.
Jimmy Lee smiled back, then doubled over in pain as she sunk a tiny, hard fist into his stomach. As he gasped for breath and fell to one knee he heard her reprimand, “Never leave your rifle, boy.”
The crowd erupted with laughter and all Jimmy Lee could do was grin sheepishly. Granny continued toward the outhouse, pausing only once to hitch up her gun belt then entered the small structure. It was her due as the oldest surviving member of the clans to consecrate the victory.
Uncle John John limped to the front of the door and raised his arms. The two clans silenced and waited solemnly.
Then, like the imperious voice of Satan himself came the clear, thunderous sound of his Granny. The noise of her defecation filled the ravine and surrounded the two clans in a warm embrace. The older ones remembering Grandpa Wheaton, nodded and smiled.
Granny exited with a hitch of her jeans and a face filled with pride. She received congratulations from Whitmire and Wheaton alike. This was the true end of The Feud. The line formed to the right and people started pushing and jockeying for position. Many had been saving up for days and were dancing with impacted plumbing. Jimmy Lee eyed the line and guessed he had at least a two-hour wait. He headed off for a jug of the Whitmire Special.
It wasn’t long before he saw Annie standing alone. She leaned against a tree trying to act innocent and vulnerable and coy. Jimmy Lee smiled a little drunkenly as he watched her twirl her long yellow pony-tails. His Granny had told him to watch out for this kind of stuff. He almost turned and left, but the memory of last year’s feel took control of his feet. Just then, however, Quinten stepped squarely in his path. Jimmy Lee watched as the bigger boy’s mouth struggled to form words.
The inbred Whitmire never got the chance. Jimmy Lee swung the empty jug and caught the boy on the side of the head. The jug cracked and broke into three large pieces as Quinten sagged to the ground. Jimmy Lee stepped around him and strode up to Annie, ready for a hero’s welcome. His leer changed to a frown as he noticed her frightened stare at something over his shoulder.
Jimmy Lee spun. Quinten was on the ground jerking and shaking like he was having some kind of fit.
“What have you done to my boy now, Jimmy Lee?” came Quinten’s mother’s squeaky voice as she ran up to her trembling son.
A crowd began to form. Purple-tinged froth oozed out of Quinten’s mouth and several people shrieked.
“Oh My Easter Hell! Get the Preacher Men. The boy’s possessed!”
It wasn’t half a minute before Preacher Jacob and Preacher David each arrived, a dripping Super Soaker in each hand.
“Strip him,” commanded David and three men held the boy down while his mother ripped off his clothes.
Now, Jimmy Lee noticed that the purple bile was also seeping out of the shaking boy’s ass. Several of the cousins crossed themselves and backed away. There was always one that got it after every Feud. The Devil’s sneaky like that, his Grandpa had said, and it was Quinten this time. Jimmy Lee shuddered. It could have just as easily been him.
Jacob and David began shouting their prayers for exorcism and their unison voices filled the night. Quinten’s scream of pain as one Super Soaker was rammed up his ass and the other into his mouth added a high-pitched edge to the eerie chanting. His scream hit critical mass when the Preacher Men began to pump the holy water in.
Jimmy turned and grabbed Annie around the waist. He’d seen enough. Quinten would be fine after a few more pints.
Or quarts.
Or gallons.
Carryin’ On Like It Was the End of the World
by David Whitman
“Great godawmighty,” Kenny Joe whispered, wincing at the horror before him.
Judd was lying face down on a table, an ominous looking machine suspended above him. A long, thick metallic shaft ran from the machine and deeply into his ass. Blue lightning streaks were streaming from a basketball-sized metallic ball on the top. A leather-like strap was wrapped around his head and in his mouth, giving him a terrifying appearance. He looked like a reject from an amateur porn bondage video gone seriously bad. Judd looked at his three friends in a manner that could only be described as horrified, eyes pleading. To the left of the machine were dozens of buttons and controls.
It had been a fantastic evening of fishing and drinking right up until they had seen the brilliant light and heard the incredible roar of engines. Now they found themselves trapped onboard this spaceship after a brief and violent war with their captors. Max still got the shudders when he thought of Kenny Joe in that tank like a museum display, his huge plaid belly pushing up against the glass, threatening to smash it open. Luckily, those little bug-eyed bastards died easily. His heart was jumping around in his chest like an electrified frog.
“Great godawmighty,” Kenny Joe repeated.
Judd squeaked in an angry monkey-like chatter.
Max jerked at the strap around Judd’s head, trying hopelessly to ignore the pole suspended above and where it was going. “Can you hear me, buddy?”
More angry chatter answered the question as Max tried to remove the binding that ran around his friend’s skull. Bailey handed him his fishing knife. Max cut it quickly, throwing it to the side.
“Oh my motherfucking GOD get me out of this thing!” Judd shrieked.
Kenny Joe moved closer to Judd. “Does that thing hurt, Judd?”
Judd’s head whipped violently, spittle flying from his mouth like venom. “I HAVE A FUCKING ANAL PROBE IN MY ASS, GODDAMMIT! OF COURSE IT HURTS, YOU FUCKNUT!”
Kenny Joe moved around the other side of the machine, studying it with wide eyes of wonder. “Lordy, Lordy, Lordy,” he chanted, staring at the shaft in awe. He leaned in closer and scrutinized where the pole entered the anus, wincing in the way men do when they watch a woman kick a man in the balls. “I hope they at least greased that sucker first.”
Bailey nodded at the words of profound wisdom.
“MAX, GET KENNY JOE THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” Judd screamed.
“Would you please stop shouting,” Max hissed, leaning into Judd’s face. “Them aliens are all over this damn ship. For all we know they’re organizing a little war party right now to come and kill us.”
“Max,” he whispered, flipping his head, indicating his friend should come closer.
“Yeah?” Max asked, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort.
“THERE’S AN ANAL PROBE IN MY FUCKING ASS! EXCUSE ME IF I DON’T FEEL LIKE FUCKING WHISPERING HERE!”
Max sighed and moved to the controls on the side of the machine. He looked back over at Kenny Joe and Bailey. “You guys guard that door while I figure out which one of these buttons does what. Any one of those little green fuckers come through the door, ice’em.”
Max examined the controls and knew immediately things were not going to go good for poor Judd. There were at least thirty buttons, each one covered with alien hieroglyphics.
“Max!” Judd shouted. “What the hell are you doing back there?”
Max put his finger over the first button. “I’m trying to help ya, buddy.” He gritted his teeth and pushed the button, turning quickly to face the machine. The metal shaft whirred around in a half-circle and then moved forward, burying itself about an inch deeper into Judd’s ass.
Judd gripped the sides of the pad until it seemed his knuckles were going to explode out of his flesh. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO! IT’S GOING DEEPER, GODDAMMIT!”
In panic, Max pushed the first button his fingers found. The machine hummed, the probe vibrating explosively.
Judd’s face took on an expression that could only be described as sensual pleasure.
Kenny Joe and Bailey backed into the wall, their eyes wide with alarm. Judd sighed, his eyes rolling
into the back of his head.
“Jumpin’ Jesus, he’s enjoying that shit!” Kenny Joe screamed, pulling at his red beard maniacally, still retreating even though the wall held him back from continuing any further.
“I must agree,” Bailey said, his voice rising above his normal monotone. He leaned to the side to see Max. “Uh…you better do something, but quick.”
Max pushed another button, almost weeping. Sparks of lightning shot out of Judd’s ass in Technicolor rainbows of electricity, smoke filling the air in dense clouds.
Mercifully, Judd passed out.
Five minutes later, Max had managed to get the machine to stop, but the probe was still plunged deep into Judd’s anus. Max looked over at Kenny Joe and Bailey. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”
“Just pull it the hell out,” Kenny Joe said, his back still to the wall as he looked at Judd with the kind of fear reserved for someone who was coming to kick his ass in a bar. “It’s not like he’ll feel it, the poor bastard is unconscious now.” He slammed his hands over his eyes. “I can’t take it.”
“Well, even if he did feel it, he might like it,” Bailey commented. “Judd is seriously scaring me. He was enjoying that! His eyes were filled with zest! I’m closing my eyes too.”
Max climbed on top of the table until the probe was between his legs.
Kenny Joe opened his eyes, saw the sight before him, realized he did not like the image and quickly clamped his eyes shut.
Max grabbed the probe with both hands, braced his legs around Judd, and pulled with every ounce of strength he could muster.
“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” Judd shrieked, his eyes exploding open into wide circles. “OW! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”
Max looked down, his face full of annoyance. “I’m trying to get this thing out of your ass, goddammit. You think I like doing this?” He looked over at Kenny Joe and Bailey. “You guys want to give me a hand?”
Kenny Joe held his hands over his eyes. “No way, I’m not opening my eyes until this is over.”
Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors Page 5