by West, Sam
“God,” he moaned, “your fingernails are so erotic. Please let me look at you.”
Pam pressed harder with the knife, just below the sternum.
“Hey, you’re digging your fingernails in too hard.”
For a second she sat still on top of him with his cock buried deep inside her rectum, just staring at the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the way the knife had made a dent in his flesh.
How far would she have to push before the skin broke?
I guess I’ll just have to find out.
She applied more pressure to the little hunting knife that was mainly designed for gutting fish and small animals. The tip of the sharp blade broke the barrier of the skin and a miniature puddle of blood pooled around the knife.
He bellowed out and she slapped him hard across the face. That stunned him into silence for a moment. She dismounted him and picked up his discarded underpants from the floor.
“What the fuck’s going on?” he shouted, finding his voice once more. “Untie me right now. What the fuck did you do to my chest? Did you draw fucking blood with your talons? Jesus Christ!”
She balled up his underpants and stuffed them into his opened mouth.
He bucked and writhed, wildly kicking his legs and screaming into the gag which was doing a stellar job of muffling his cries of terror.
“Hey, relax, don’t be such a baby. It was just a tiny little nick.”
She stroked the hair off his sweaty forehead, careful to avoid his kicking legs. Instantly he calmed down and his screams turned into moans. She could see that he was unsure. He was obviously as turned on as he was scared, for his erection showed no signs of diminishing. She doubted that the cut had hurt that much. It was just the idea of what she might do to him that had him recoiling in terror. He was completely in her power and he knew it.
She smiled.
“That’s better. I’m going to make you feel real good baby, I promise.”
She impaled herself on his cock once more, up her back passage, knife in hand. Ever so lightly she pressed the tip of the knife to just below the spot she had just penetrated.
She dug the blade in, deeper this time.
Greg screamed, a muffled howl of terror.
Now that’s really gotta hurt...
Fascinated, she drew the blade downwards, following the enchanting line of hair. She split him open from sternum to groin, the knife buried all the way in up to the hilt. It cut through his flesh easily, the blade obviously designed for such a task. Well, maybe it wasn’t designed for splitting open humans, but flesh was flesh…
Gutted like a fish, she thought happily.
She drew the knife diagonally across for good measure so the incision was cross shaped.
Blood didn’t so much spurt as pump and gush. It ran off his torso in rivers, flooding the bed and drenching her in red. All the while Pam continued to ride his prick, which was, remarkably, still hard.
She reached down to remove his blindfold. She did so love to see the look in their eyes as they died…
He shook his head manically from side to side, his eyes bulging and his face red. His blood curdling cries of utter terror were pushed down by his underpants and Pam laughed at the pathetic figure he cut. Despite the agony he must have been in, he still twisted and arched his back like a bucking bronco. She rode it out, feeling every inch the glamorous cowgirl. All she needed was the hat and pigtails.
“You really should be careful of you go picking up in bars, you sad bastard. You shouldn’t treat your wife like that, she’s going to be much better off without you. Now then, what have we got in here…”
She leaned over and stuck her fingers into the centre of his deep wound. She pulled back the flaps of flesh, revealing what lay beneath.
Even with the makeshift gag, his high pitched screams made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
“Oh please, men are such babies. You would not believe the shit I’ve been through, this is nothing. You should try having your eye shucked out with a corkscrew, having a leg chain sawed off and then being burnt alive. Believe me, that shit hurts.”
She didn’t think he was listening, he looked as if he was lost in his own little world of pain.
Pam dug deeper and grabbed handfuls of intestines. She pulled them out.
“My God, will you look at this shit? They are so long.”
Pam unravelled his guts, feeling like a butcher with a super long rope of sausages. She kept on pulling, staring in awe at the red ropes with the purple tinge. He smelled bad inside so she stopped pulling and slung them over his face.
He didn’t seem to like that much, although his bucking was growing decidedly weaker.
An idea occurred to her and she tugged out the knife that still protruded from his lower abdomen. Pam leaned back slightly as she rode his miraculously still hard cock and inserted the handle of the small hunting knife into the sticky canal of her vagina. It slid in easily, sending a little thrill of pleasure shooting through her.
She continued to ride him, and each time her rectum swallowed his penis the knife blade that stuck out of her vagina stabbed into his lower guts below the wound, cutting him a new hole. The irony of fucking him this way delighted her and she could feel another orgasm building each time she slammed down and the pressure of the knife handle stimulated her from the inside.
“Oh God,” she moaned, tipping over into an orgasm.
Her bloody hands reached up to cup her own breasts as she came. She closed her eyes and wallowed in the sensation of slipping and sliding in all that blood.
It was only when she was done coming did she realise that he was dead. She had been so caught up in the moment that she hadn’t noticed.
“Bugger,” she said, dismounting his still stiff cock.
She hadn’t expected him to die so soon. But then, he had lost a lot of blood.
All those toys I got for the occasion, she thought in disappointment. The hammer and nails. The screwdrivers. The pliers. The sex toys…
“I can see you’ve had a fun night. You really don’t like men much, do you?”
Pam spun round and saw the Djinn standing behind her.
“Jesus, don’t do that, you scared the life out of me.”
She sat down on the end of the bed by the corpse’s feet, blood soaked and not even bothering to hide her nudity.
“Congratulations Pam, you have successfully completed your journey. And now you have reached the end.”
“Yes. So will you change my name, and my fingerprints, and my blood type and whatever, so I can’t be linked to all these murders?”
“Oh, surely Pam, rest assured I will do that.”
“So what happens now? Do you just like, claim my soul when I die?”
“Fetch the lamp Pam. It’s time to end this.”
“You’re going back inside it now, right?”
“The Djinn will go back inside it yes.”
Pam’s heart tripped that little bit faster. Something didn’t feel right and she was scared.
“You mean you are going to go back inside it and go back to wherever the hell it is you came from.”
“Just fetch the lamp, Pam.”
Pam knew she had no choice but to obey. She went to get her bag and pulled out the lamp, sitting back down on the bed and cradling it in her lap.
“Please let me have all the things you promised me,” she said in a small voice.
“You will have all the things I promised you, only you won’t be around to enjoy them.”
“I don’t get it,” she said, biting back the tears.
“I don’t know what the Djinn really is any more than you do. All I know is that when you and me have finished the game, when you’ve completed your tasks and your soul is fully corrupt and pure evil, only then can I take your body and you go into the lamp.”
“What?”
“I was once like you, Pam. An ugly woman with a miserable life. A Djinn appeared to me from this very lamp and I fulfill
ed the very same tasks you have fulfilled. The Djinn took my perfect life and I’ve been stuck in the lamp, floating around in some other worldly dimension waiting for the lamp to materialise here on earth and for the right person to come along. That person was you, Pam, and now you must go into the lamp and the cycle will repeat itself.”
“I don’t understand.”
Although unfortunately for Pam, she kind of did.
“It’s really not so bad. Time has no meaning in the lamp. You will look like me when you appear to the person that summons you. This is why I have no face. The Djinn is nothing more than a vessel for the latest captured, corrupt soul. A soul looking for a body to occupy.”
“But all that stuff you said about the third realm…”
“Was a load of bull, yes. There is another realm the lamp will go to before it connects with an individual, but you will remain in the lamp.”
“Please, I don’t want this.”
“Save you tears, Pam. Once inside the lamp you will understand more. And when the right person comes along, you will know as soon as they touch the lamp and you will become as one with that person. The lamp is a magical thing beyond our understanding, Pam. You must trust in it. It will find the right person for you, then it will materialise before them and that person will summon you. Maybe this lamp is a gift from the Devil himself. Maybe it travels the earth looking for souls to corrupt and then hand over to hell when their time is up. Who knows. Goodbye Pam. Thank you for your delightful body and bank balance. I expect we’ll meet again one day soon in hell.”
Pam screamed when she felt herself being sucked into the lamp, head first.
And then there was nothing, just a cocoon of total blackness and the sensation of floating. Pam no longer had a body, it was the mere essence of her, trapped in the lamp.
She just hoped that the right person would come along soon.
THE END.
Thank you for reading, dear reader. Here is the introduction and the first chapter of SUFFER HARD: AN EXTREME HORROR NOVELLA.
DESCRIPTION: Four university students are on holiday in Cornwall. On the recommendation of the proprietor of the B and B they’re staying at, they decide to do the fifteen mile, cliff top hike to the village of Hanow.
Unfortunately, more than a pub lunch lies in wait. The people of Hanow are seriously messed up. They like to do terrible things to tourists…
WARNING: Sam West pulls no punches. This is extreme horror in the tradition of the hardest of the hardcore authors. If you enjoy a hefty dose of sleaze, cannibalism, murder and depravity, you’re in the right place. If you don’t, DO NOT buy this book. You WILL be offended.
INTRODUCTION BY SAM WEST: I love extreme horror. The chances are you do too, seeing as you’re reading this foreword. I wanted to write a novella that played homage to a vast array of my favourite horror films that I simply don’t have the space to list here. Such as Texas Chainsaw, Hills Have Eyes, the first Wrong Turn and anything Nightmare on Elm Street, even the TV series from the 80s. Seriously, I love Freddy Kruger that much. In my humble opinion, horror should be fun. I don’t mean laugh out loud funny, I mean entertaining.
Above all, you should have a good time, morals be damned. Because good horror, be it a book or a film, is a moral waste ground. It is a shameless exploration of our deepest, darkest fears. And let’s face it, our deeply buried, sadomasochistic desires. The second a moral message is inserted the whole thing deflates like an old party balloon and you, the reader or film goer, end up feeling dirty and cheated.
Can you remember the reasoning behind the banning of A Clockwork Orange back in the 70s? It wasn’t because the film was violent and people got murdered and women got raped, it was because the film was violent and the perpetrators were having a good time doing it. And that, to me, is what horror is all about. Personally, when I write horror I leave my morality, my principles, and my fundamental human decency at the door. The gleefully malicious, sick and twisted side of me rocks up and do you know what? I have an absolute ball.
I love writing this shit. I relish every last drop of blood that flows through these virtual pages, I savour the snap of breaking bones and the blood curdling cries of the tortured…
I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
CHAPTER ONE.
“Are you seriously fucking telling me I’ve trekked fifteen fucking miles for this?”
“Doesn’t look too bad to me,” Craig said, not believing it for a second.
Beth had a point, but all the same. He’d just about had it with her moaning. This was supposed to be fun.
Note to self, he thought. Next time I invite a girl I hardly know on holiday with me, don’t. I don’t care how fucking hot she is…
“Why don’t those two ever wait for us? They’re always like a hundred miles in front.”
Maybe it’s because they’re sick of listening to you moan, and because there are slugs that move faster than you, Craig thought, but didn’t say.
“Come on, they’ve stopped, they’re waiting for us to catch up.”
Jessie and Tim had stopped at the fork in the path. Straight ahead the winding, cliff top trail continued into the far distance. Left led down into the village of Hanow.
Above, the sky threatened rain. It had been bright sunshine five minutes ago but now the wind stirred the surrounding foliage and the sea churned angrily against the high, rocky cliff face. Jessie and Tim stood still, their bright blue, pull on macs flapping around their bodies.
“Jeez, what a dump,” Beth moaned.
Craig had to admit, the village wasn’t quite what he had been expecting. As far as he could see, it consisted of three tumbledown cottages. That was it.
Jessie threw him a smile as they approached and Craig’s stomach gave a little lurch. Even after a fifteen mile trek she still looked as fresh as when they had first set off this morning. She positively glowed with happiness at being out in the great open.
Why oh why did she have to be his best mate’s girl? Maybe, if he looked more like Tim, then he would be with her instead. Tim was over six foot, broad shouldered, and in possession of dark, film star looks. Craig was too short, too blonde and too average. OK, so some chicks dug his boyish charms, but Jessie wasn’t one of them.
And there he was, stuck with Beth the moaning ninny.
“Pub must be down there somewhere,” Tim said. “I could murder a pint.”
They walked in pairs down the narrow, gravel road. Of the three cottages, one was boarded up. Thick planks of wood were nailed haphazardly over the windows. But the thing that struck Craig as odd was that the planks were on the inside.
“Bit strange this,” Tim called to Craig over his shoulder. “The old guy in the B and B said it was a village. Doesn’t look much like a village to me.”
“Yeah,” Craig agreed, “I thought there’d be a shitload of holiday cottages here at least.”
“Who cares, I’m starving, and my feet are killing me. If there aren’t any buses that go from this shithole back to Penzance I’m going to fucking kill you all,” Beth moaned.
Oh, shut up, Craig thought. But Beth irritating him wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. Tim’s words were. He was right. Why would the old fart that had the B and B describe this place as a village when it blatantly wasn’t?
It was just a bit weird. It made him uneasy, but he couldn’t say why.
The road veered off to the left, taking them down into the heart of the village. If it could be called that. Craig figured it must be the centre because the pub was here. Just a pub. Nothing else. Nothing else except for wilderness, that is.
“See, there’s a pub,” he said to Beth. “How bad can it be?”
She just glared at him.
Craig noticed that her mascara had run and her foundation had settled into orange patches on her skin. He wondered why she had bothered with makeup in the first place. Jessie hadn’t. But then, Jessie didn’t wear much of the stuff in the first place. Jessie didn’t
need to. Beth, on the other hand, wouldn’t be seen dead without a full face of porn-staresque slap.
“It’s so pretty,” Jessie sighed. “I wish I lived in a place like this.”
“You’re kidding me right?” Beth grumbled. “I’d rather fucking die.”
That can be arranged, Craig thought uncharitably, then immediately felt guilty. He figured he was just tired and hungry. And fucking desperate for a pint.
They stopped in front of the pub. It was a long, squat building. The faded sign nailed to the stone wall proclaimed it to be ‘The Dirty Swallow.’
“Let’s hope they’re still doing lunch,” Tim said, pushing open the single door. “Or they serve dinner early.”
“Amen to that,” Beth said, hot on his tail.
Jessie, however, didn’t move. She stood staring up at the pub sign, her pale eyebrows drawn together in a frown.
“What’s the matter?” Craig asked.
She turned to look at him and he felt his heart kick. She really was quite beautiful, even if not in an obvious way. Her jaw was too square and her pale lashed, grey eyes were too far set above the slightly too long nose to be considered conventionally beautiful. But to Craig, she was perfect. Absently she brushed a strand of natural, pale blonde hair off her equally pale forehead that had escaped the hairband.
“It’s a funny name for a pub, don’t you think,” she said, turning her attention back to the sign.
Craig shrugged. “I guess.”
“I don’t know, it’s just, strange.” She grinned. “Hey, ignore me, shall we go in?”
Craig felt the first raindrop land in his eye.
“After you,” he said, holding open the door for her.
It was dark inside. Once Craig’s eyes adjusted he took in his new surroundings. Everything inside was wood. Black wood. The floor, the bar, the long tables and benches, even the ceiling.