Hideous: A Monstrously Erotic Novella

By Bret Paris

A woman’s dark story of monsters and madmen, of lust and revenge. Bret Paris introduces us to a new character in this first novella in the Eve Cartwright series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483551890

Book preview

19

Chapter 1

Old Bob’s leathered hands strangled the steering wheel. His double-barreled shotgun bounced on his lap. I got ya now!

The revving engine and the gnashing gears joined the rumble from the clouds. Dim lights of the battered Ford pickup pitched up and down as it churned its way through the plowed field. Dirt billowed as the wheels turned hard right, then left. Ahead, a dark mass, moved swiftly out of the headlights and into the surrounding cloud of brown dust. Bob jerked the wheel hard right. The side of his head shattered the window. Blood spurted from a gash just above his left eye. He wiped it away and pushed down on the gas. Bob hoisted the shotgun out the broken window. Got ya, bitch! He pulled the triggers. Yellow-orange flames erupted from each bore.

The truck smashed through a barbed wire fence and launched into the night sky. It crashed nose first into the soft sewn dirt of a barley field. Old Bob’s chest slammed into the metal steering wheel. He recoiled back into the seat, fighting for a breath. The front of the truck was half buried. The left headlight flickered as the engine coughed and died.

The creak of metal split the air as Bob pushed the door open. He fell out of the truck clutching his shotgun and spitting up blood. He staggered to the flickering headlight. Just beyond the light, the black mass circled. Bob whirled and fired as the mass moved up and over the bed of the truck. The truck bounced from the weight of the thing. Bob dug his hand into his jacket pocket for more shells. With his head on a swivel he followed the movement while he cracked the shotgun open. The spent shells popped out. Bob slammed two fresh cartridges into the chambers and snapped it closed. I ain’t gonna be that easy!

Bob stepped to the front of the truck, looking for a shot. The cab of the truck was still between them, and the thing somehow knew it. Stay right there, Bob whispered. He blinked at the blood trickling into his eye. He took another step. The black mass moved quickly to the other side of the truck. Bob looked through the cracked front windshield. The grotesque thing was looking back at him. Shit!

The black mass moved up and over the top of the truck cab. Bob spun and pulled both triggers. The blasts illuminated the mass as it descended onto his head and shoulders.

Thunder roared across the mountain peaks. No one could hear Old Bob scream as he was dragged into the waiting darkness.

The next morning broke with a brilliant blue sky. An Easterly wind drifted in from the desert, carrying the scent of wet sage. A group of men milled around Bob’s half buried truck. A thick cloud of cigar smoke rose from the middle of the pack. The cigar hung from the mouth of an obese man with a fat attitude. Buddy Burke was the town’s mayor, and like most small town mayors he overestimated his worth. Hovering next to him was a mountain of a man with a face that could have been carved in stone. A Sheriff’s badge hung from his left breast pocket. Roscoe Tanner was his name. Imposing as he was, he still felt the need to keep his hand planted on the butt of his holstered pistol.

Sheriff Tanner pushed through the gathering crowd of farmers and ranchers. Don’t be God damn messing with my God damn crime scene, he yelled. Tanner shoved the stubborn farmers away. I ain’t fuckin’ kidding.

The crowd was full of weary, weathered faces. They grumbled as they slowly moved aside. They were independent men, mostly ranchers, and not accustomed to taking orders.

Sheriff Tanner and Mayor Burke made their way to the side of a fossil of a man. He knelt in the soft dirt, inspecting something through his coke bottle glasses. Doc used medical tongs to pick up a chunk of flesh. He examined it with no more emotion than looking at a rock.

Well? Mayor Burke asked.

How the hell should I know, Doc shot back.

You’re the doc, Burke said.

I’m a vet, you moron, not a pathologist. Doc looked up and pulled his glasses down. I can tell you, it’s not a cow. How’s that?

No one noticed the Jeep Cherokee that rolled to a stop twenty yards away. The door opened, a bamboo cane led the way. Leaning on the cane was a distinguished gentleman, Emile Karsten. A well-smoked pipe hung from the corner of his mouth. His mouth framed by a perfectly manicured white goatee and mustache. He shuffled toward Doc, puffing on the pipe. Halfway there he stopped, turned, and looked back at the Jeep. He held up his hand in a warning gesture for someone to stay put. The features of the person left in the Jeep hidden behind the mud caked windshield.

Out of breath, but trying to hide it, Emile pushed by Tanner and bent down to Doc’s side. Ashes from the pipe fell onto Doc’s shaking hand.

Keep that shit to yourself, you old fart. Doc’s tone was as acidic.

Emile accepted Doc’s caustic attitude as a badge of their friendship. Is it…Bob? Emile asked.

You too? Doc held the piece of flesh closer to his thick glasses. Could be part of an ear. Maybe part of…a nose. Hard to tell.

Yes, but is it Bob? Emile asked, again.

Doc put the flesh into a plastic bag and stood. He tried to stretch the arthritis from his kinked spine. Emile, why don’t you take your stinking pipe and stupid questions somewhere else.

Emile nodded to his old friend and said, Perhaps our esteemed Sheriff could benefit from my insightful advice.

I’m sure he can’t wait for your help, Doc said.

Sheriff Tanner, looking as if he was the last person invited to the dance, stomped toward Emile and Doc.

You see, he’s already keen for my input, Emile said.

Doc leaned in close to Emile and whispered, Careful.

Tanner moved in front of Emile, his chest touching the end of Emile’s pipe. Good morning Sheriff, Emile said.

What the hell is she doing here? Tanner said, as he pointed to the Jeep.

She’s with me. Emile said.

Are you outa your mind? The bitch is an outsider. She’ll be the end of us all.

Emile took a deep drag on his pipe and blew a stream of smoke into Tanner’s red face. A good reporter smells a story. Better to lead her than let her dig on her own.

Do I need to remind you that your knee deep in this shit as well? I’ll bury her before I let her bury us. Tanner’s hand gripped his pistol. The knuckles of his right hand turned white.

Emile smiled up at the Sheriff. If bombs and execution squads didn’t scare her, what makes you think you will? This needs a softer touch, let me handle her.

Take care of it, or I will. Tanner looked over his shoulder at the Jeep. Walking toward them was Eve Cartwright. What did I tell ya.

Emile took a step forward, trying to put himself between Tanner and Eve. Tanner shoved him aside and made a beeline toward her. He caught her just as she reached the back of Bob’s mangled truck.

Morning Sheriff. You boys waiting for Triple A? Eve said.

Tanner bent down and stuck his ruddy face into hers. Give me a reason, bitch!

Go ahead, Sheriff, you’d be doing me a favor, Eve said.

You’d like that? Wouldn’t have to think about a dead little girl anymore, Tanner said.

Eve stared directly into Tanner’s eyes. She refused to blink. She would not allow the tears inside to come out. You’re right, Sheriff. Don’t you just hate how soft our courts have become?

Tanner moved forward until their foreheads touched. Give me a reason.

Emile wedged his cane between them and pried them apart as if opening an oyster. Perhaps we should leave this for another time. I’m no expert, Sheriff, but don’t you have a crime to solve?

Tanner took a begrudging step back. Movement around the truck gave him the excuse to save face. Hey, he yelled, get away from the fucking truck. Tanner stomped off, shooing the curious away.

That was pleasant, as always, Eve said.

I told you to wait in the Jeep. If you haven’t noticed, our Sheriff is a bit unbalanced.

You think? Eve looked over Emile’s shoulder. She could see Doc squeamishly picking up pieces of flesh. Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?

Emile put a match to the tobacco in his pipe, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Seems that Bob Hardwig had an accident last night.

Really?

He must have been thrown from the truck, Emile said.

And I take it that’s Bob scattered on the ground? Eve asked.

What’s left of him, I’m afraid. This is really no place for a lady. Emile’s words sounded flat, contrived, because they were.

Really, a lady? You’ve read my work. I’m here and there’s a story. Eve started to walk away. I’ll canvas the crowd.

Emile stepped in front of Eve. He looked down his long nose at her. You’ll sit in the Jeep, there’s no story here. Bob got drunk, smashed his truck and was finished off by coyotes.

And you don’t call that a story?

Emile watched Tanner as he pushed the gathering crowd back. The Sheriff looked back at Eve with narrowing eyes. For your own good, get your ass back into the Jeep and keep your nose out of this. Tanner had turned and was moving back towards them, his pistol in his right hand.

Eve turned her head and saw Tanner, the gun, and the look on his face. I’ll wait in the car. Eve said it loud enough for the Sheriff to hear. She moved quickly. She’d seen that look on a man’s face before.

Tanner waved his pistol in front of Emile’s face. I told you, I ain’t gonna let her hang us. I won’t let it happen.

If it comes to that, she’s yours, Emile said.

Tanner looked at Eve as she climbed into the Jeep. He could not contain the malicious smile that crept across his face. He kept the smile as he walked away to yell at other ranchers.

Emile and Doc stood at the edge of the field looking back at Bob’s truck. A path in the soft soil snaked its way into the surrounding hills. Doc could barely light his cigarette.

Do you think? Emile asked.

I’d hoped it was over, Doc answered.

Do we ever stop paying for our sins? Emile asked.

Doc took a long drag and answered, his words filled with smoke. Some sins can only be paid with our lives.

In our case, that isn’t much, Emile said.

So, what do we do?

Wait for the end. Emile rested his hand on Doc’s trembling back. It won’t be long.

Chapter 2

Eve gripped the handhold on the door as the Jeep bounced down the rough road. Emile puffed on his pipe. The sweet smell of vanilla filled the cabin.

You’re not going to tell me, are you? Eve said.

Nothing to tell, there’s no real story here. Not the first time Old Bob plowed his truck into something while drunk.

Let me get this straight. He crashes his truck in a drunken stupor, crawls out and waits for coyotes to rip him to pieces.

Something like that. Emile took another puff.

And the shotgun on the ground, empty shell casing in the dirt?

He was a bad shot, Emile said.

Even a girl from the city knows that coyotes couldn’t do that.

Perhaps it was a mountain lion. We do have them, Emile said.

There was a time when I was a pretty good reporter. You develop a nose.

And what does your nose smell?

Eve looked at Emile. Bullshit!

I’ve always hated that smell.

Eve looked at the man driving the Jeep, his white hair and bulldog pipe accentuated his country charm. Deep lines radiated away from his eyes. Unlike some of her peers, Eve had respect for the old timers. They had talk to people, run down leads, actually dig for a story. He’d started when black and white television was just claiming a foothold. There was no internet, no cell phones, no twenty-four hour news channels. People understood the world from the words of newsprint. He’d seen much in his eighty years. In the first week of her parole she had come to know two things about Emile; he was as smart as he looked, and there was a darkness in his soul.

The rest of the bumpy ride to Hollow Creek was silent. Eve looked out the side window. She didn’t want Emile to see the tears of regret forming in her eyes. Like Emile, she was a reporter. She had gone places, seen things, that few others could imagine. She had written about the darkness of man. Now, she had to face her own darkness. She was close to being swallowed by it.

They pulled to a stop in front of The Hollow Creek Gazette. Emile turned to Eve and said, Do yourself a favor, do your time, keep your nose clean and stay the hell away from Sheriff Tanner. He doesn’t like you much.

Eve smiled at his understatement and got out of the Jeep. She paused before closing the door. You’re not going to tell me what’s wrong with this town, are you? Eve asked. Emile looked back at her without blinking. If you were me, wouldn’t you want to know?

There are things in life not worth knowing, Emile said.

Can I quote you on that? Eve smiled at Emile and closed the door. She walked down the deserted street, occasionally looking over her shoulder at Emile. He sat motionless smoking his pipe. Not worth knowing. What a thing to say to a reporter. How could he say that to her? Was he kidding? Or was he taunting her?

She looked down the street. The town, if you could call it that, was just the one street. The beat up buildings each had facades. Eve thought the place looked like a movie set from a spaghetti western. Horses and horse shit would have completed the picture. The town sat in a valley bordered on all sides by the Sierra Mountains. It was as isolated as any town could be and it looked it. Every storefront seemed old before its time. Massive clouds rolled across the mountain peaks. Thunder rumbled like a big bass drum. Fingers of lightning reached out like long threads of a spider’s web. A spasm of warning ran up Eve’s spine, as if someone or something was watching her.

She walked quickly to the security of Phil’s Hardware and stood in front of the storefront window. On the inside was a girl’s pink bicycle. Faded tassels hung lifeless from the handlebars. A small rotary bell waited for a child’s finger to make it sing. Eve stood motionless before the window. Her shoulders fell as she imagined the child-like ringing of the bicycle bell. She could almost see a beautiful girl, with flowing blonde hair, sitting on the bike, her mouth open in a toothless smile. Her bright blue eyes searching for something.

Eve closed her eyes and leaned forward until her head rested against the window. She desperately wanted to hear the laughter of her child. Even the sound of crying would be better than the silence that she created. The window rattled from her sobs. Eve stood back and turned away from the bicycle and the imaginary girl that rode it.

Eve walked away from Phil’s Hardware store down the wood slats of the sidewalk, making her way to the Diamond Back Saloon. A dead end alley separated the two buildings. It was filled with trashcans and junk. During the day it was just a filthy alley. At night it took on the ominous look of a bad movie. Eve’s step quickened. Something moved. She froze. At the back wall of the alley, something large seemed to jump. Eve wanted to run. Her body, her instincts told her something wicked was close. She needed to run. She needed to know. She took a long look into the alley. An animal? A raccoon? Coyote? Or was it something else? She took a step closer and looked harder.

More movement. Something large, dark, with a shimmer, moved up and over the ten-foot wall. Eve’s body shook with a primordial fear. She wasn’t sure what she had just seen. Hell, she wasn’t sure she’d seen anything. She ran to the front door of the saloon and yanked it open.

Normally, she hated country music, but Merle Haggard’s voice sounded like a warm blanket. She stepped inside and closed the door behind. She did the same thing as always when she entered, she stood for a long moment and looked at the bleached white skulls that hung on the walls. Ugly and cruel, came to mind. Man was the only animal that killed for sport.

A battered pool table, with gashes of missing felt, sat empty in the center of the room. At the back of the bar was an ancient Wurlitzer jukebox. A woman, they called her Toothless Annie, leaned hard against it. She was forty years old, but looked seventy. She swayed to the rhythm of the sad song.

Eve swallowed hard as she walked toward the bar. Peanut shells crunched under her shoes. A trail of dust followed her every step. She had been in

Reviews for Hideous

[Robyne Roberson · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I just read the free pages, now I have to buy it.