And then the door burst open in such force and fury that I think it surely did drop from its hinge and misalign hereafter. Against my instincts and inward curses and suggestion, I chanced to peek my head outside the safety of my blankets and sheets.
How I wish I had not! How I wish I had simply gone to death without peeling the lids of eyes to witness such horror! Let my doomed soul have the innocence of the blind! But such comforts would not be afforded me, and what I next saw shall haunt my nightmares for ages to come!
There, in the wake of the doorway, I witnessed a most blasphemous affair. The doll was upright, walking on its two legs, absolutely bathed in gory crimson, dripping and impressing tiny footsteps in red behind it as it made its silent way toward me, holding the bloody razor. And what was more, what excelled this sight far beyond the realm of mortal terror; I chanced to notice that the doll was without trousers of any kind, and the bottom half of the thing lay horribly bare. I saw, much to my absolute horror, that it had somehow affixed poor Bildad’s severed penis to its own sexless loins, and it hung from the doll, smoothly butchered, but soaked in claret, and dragging behind its animated legs like a tail, with blood leaking out the seminal urethra, smearing a thin trail behind it.
And suddenly the doll ceased its staggering lurch toward me, and its face seemed to change expression, but only slightly, for its rictus was indeed permanently rendered in paints. It was as if It had noticed me eyeing the quivering, and canine organ, which it now wore. And seeing me take notice seemed to cause no small thrill for the creature, for I saw, in utter disbelief, that poor Bildad’s member commenced to become turgid, and its tumescence was such that it reached out like a stiff branch. And as that piece of quivering dog flesh became rigid, and the doll arched its head back in mock ecstasy, I saw a thick red stream ejaculate from the organ’s tip.
I recoiled then, feeling the blood freeze within me. I shut my eyes and heard the horrible tapping,and rapping of the doll’s feet on the hard wood. What terror took hold of me then! I screamed, womanly and blood-curtlingly. But I had not yet begun to know true terror!
The next moment had me in q condition that I find hard to relay, as I’m supremely confident that it has never befallen another living individual, but I will do my best to describe it. I was forced around, and down, face-down on my mattress by an unseen presence, and what I was feeling was none other than the invisible will of the doll. I cannot say. I can only say this, I was flipped over as casually as one might flip a fried egg, and found myself face down, as I have described. And furthermore, I chanced to move my body to find only that every muscle was paralyzed. I struggled, completely unable to move, hearing those tapping footsteps growing ever closer.
And altogether the footsteps ceased. I next hear a queer rustling of the linens, as surely the thing had begun to scale the bed. Still, I struggled, feeling the massive and unseen weight forcing me down. I strained to free myself, grunting with the effort, and working up great beads of sweat on my face, my eyes bulging with the exertion and fear, but it was to absolutely no avail. I was struck stone still.
I moaned again in ragged terror, as behind me I felt a shifting of weight from the bed and bedclothes, and I knew the thing was approaching, yet I could not turn my head to see. But my mind was far from blinded by my eye’s disadvantage, and could clearly create the hideous doll, staggering toward me on the soft sheets, its body and limbs a mass of slowly clotting gore, it’s face a twisted joke of a fever most foul, the dripping razor in its hands, and its newl-fashioned dog penis hungrily tumescent, and dripping blood from its gaping urethra, cold and red down on my clean white sheets.
Again I cried out, but uselessly so
The doll was at the spread of my feet, I could feel it moving closer and close, traveling between my legs. Closer still some awful wrath bore this devil’s puppet, and I could smell the gore it was entrenched with, and I could feel not only the coldness of its blade, but the arctic chill of its very soul as it approached.
Silent. So silent was this horrid beast of fabric and porcelain. How eerie was that silence, and in it a malevolence greater than any could ever know did dwell, and I waited with bated breath. So I sat finally silent as well, knowing my screams were of no further use.
And a moment or two ticked by where I had my fate in question, wondering what was to befall me. I wish I had never know.
But the moments after that were even more horrible than my ignorance of fate. I am reluctant to say, and Doctor, you may have already guessed. But me on the bed prone, and paralyzed as I was, the doll creeping behind me with its fleshy member.
I was attacked.
I was ravaged!
I was abused.
What a cruel antagonist that little doll was! He penetrated me, in a discomfort so hideous and perfectly nauseous that I cannot go on to describe it. Suffice to say, from the onset of such horrible pain, was left reeling, and on the verge of unconscious. I felt the loathsome thing bore into me deeper and deeper, splitting my anus, and bludgeoning my innards to such awful depths, that I could feel the blood leaking out of me. There was pain, Doctor, but beyond that, what was most tormenting, was the perverse and lurid satisfaction I knew the thing was having, penetrating me so. And it seemed to last for an eternity. It plunged deeper and deeper still, retreating, and seemingly dragging my innards put with it as it withdrew, only to plunge deeper into me again, so much so that I felt that the doll in its entirety would disappear inside of me, and emerge again, cutting its way out as it done with poor Bildad. What awfulness was upon me then! What foulness! My hideous and abominable foe had skewered me, and made of me a woman, here and forever. I shall always know it. And then, twisted and sicken by pain and perversion that this torture elicited, I did manage to once again scream, although previous I decided it would do me no good. But I screamed then, dear Doctor, not out of any conscious decision to do so, but only of the necessity to voice the foulness that abounded, and to articulate the pain and humiliation I was suffering. I did some harm to myself, screaming as I did, I think, summoned some wet and coppery blood up from my throat, due to its severity. I then knew no more, and fell unconscious, as the devil doll behind me carried on to exact its hellish tortures upon my innards.
How fortunate I was to learn that my screams had alerted a passing neighbor, who rushed into my home, and found me, unresponsive and abused. As to the rest, you already know, for you preformed the surgery yourself, did you not? Curing and stitching up the wounds and abrasions along my lower intestinal tract, and removing the unpleasant dog’s organ that had been left inside of me. Not the standard medical procedure, I’d wager.
So there it is. I have unburdened myself. I commit my mortal being to the bosom of catharsis for ever more. But I see you are unmoved by my tale, Doctor. I see that your visage has bore the selfsame dismal expression since the outset. I cannot relay to you how demoralizing it is to have one’s truth inspire such incredulity. You doubt me. But why? There is madness in my story, but it is the truth! The truth, I tell you! All the particulars can be authenticated. Nothing I have told you stands to be disproved. Not the smallest detail. You will see for yourself, then you will have no choice but to believe me. Evidence abounds! You need look no further than my home. Bildad lays dead by the kitchen hearth, and mutilated, and emasculated. Why, there’s blood everywhere. And in my bedroom, the doll waits, surely reverted back to its insentient state. And you will find the thing awash with not only blood but my seminal fluids as well. What more proof should you need? The drawer by my bedside; it contains two clots of hacked-off child flesh, and certainly a bloody razor which the deed was done with. Or do you disbelieve me about the mutilated children as well? You need only check the newspapers, Doctor. How could I have fabricated such a thing as that? And the shopkeep. Go to his store and the connecting suite. You’ll find the door kicked in and the shopkeep most grotesquely ravaged, with his organs without. The bloody footprints on his rug will prove that I have been there, Doctor. Surely a man’s
corpse is no lie. Surely you can believe something as undeniable as that!
Doctor! please hear me. Don't call those men. Don't call them in here to take me away, what are you doing? Are you mad, sir? Don’t let them take me! Don’t let them take me, Doctor. It was the doll! The doll has done these tings, not me! Can't you see that, Doctor? I’m not mad, I tell you! It was the doll!. Get your hands off of me! Don't touch me! Unhand me, I say! This is a misunderstanding! That doll! It was he! It was that hideous doll, don't you understand! I’m not mad! I’m not mad! Not mad at all! It was the doll! The doll! The …!
Mules: A Novel
A savagely violent tale that weaves a bloody trail across the Texas border into Mexico.
A spring break road trip turns into a nightmarish hell of desperate survival for two young women as they cross the threshold into a brutal and unforgiving land.
Kidnapped by a fledgling cartel, they discover life is cheap and the currency is lead in a world of forced surgery, mutilated drug couriers, suicidal surgeons, dog fighting and . . . board games.
One woman's dark past could be the key to redemption, or it could be the path to her own destruction.
Bullets and flesh collide in the fiery climax to this ferocious thriller of captivity, insanity, and revenge.
https://www.amazon.com/Mules-Novel-Jarred-Martin-ebook/dp/B00VUQB0PC
The Long Red Trail
Is it something in the water?
The Reeves, a small town southern family, are sick, and the disease is growing stronger within them every day. Their flesh is failing, and their lives are falling apart. The town is turning against them and every night they find themselves embroiled in a gruesome realm of unspeakable horror.
But they're only dreams, aren't they? Patriarch Harris Reeves knows how real Hell can be. He's unleashed a terrible evil on his family, and now he'll have to traverse a harrowing trail through revolting nightmare to stop it.
He knows what lies buried at the trail’s end, but is he prepared to risk his sanity to unearth it?
Witness the ultimate in supernatural terror, the unrelenting carnage, and shocking brutality of . . . The Long Red Trail!
https://www.amazon.com/Long-Red-Trail-Jarred-Martin-ebook/dp/B01ANNDB8Q
You Fucked With the Wrong Motherfucker
A teenage runaway discovers how unforgiving life on the streets can be, dealing with harsh winters, parasites, starvation, and packs of feral dogs.
An unforgivable act forces a youth to seek the desolation of a city's alleyways. Now starving, sick, forced into prostitution, the only way out is a desperate scheme involving a mysterious man of means. But our runaway soon learns that there are worse things than hunger and chilling nights. Much, much worse.
Cast into an ever-deepening rabbit hole of relentless horror and mutilation, where the limits of the physical world are set by a madman, one teen runaway is faced with the realization that there is no return from the path of vengeance, and that some motherfuckers shouldn't be fucked with.
https://www.amazon.com/Fucked-Wrong-Motherfucker-Jarred-Martin-ebook/dp/B01I7HEM42
Flyblown and Blood-Spattered
Ten shocking tales to pervade your nightmares and turn your stomach. These stories revel in the grotesque and sometimes portray graphic violence, disturbing sexual experiences, and characters who say fuck a lot, so they may not be suitable for more sensitive readers, or anyone with good taste. But for everyone who enjoys gallons of blood, pitch-black humor, and a generous serving of the bizarre, these stories will more than satisfy.
https://www.amazon.com/Flyblown-Blood-Spattered-10-Tales-Terror-ebook/dp/B00G7YC5DI
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