Kittycat Massacre: Tales to Make You Vomit, #2

By J. Manfred Weichsel

The Librarian's assistant has kidnapped a kindergarten class so they can hear a fetid fairytale called Kittycat Massacre, a yucky yarn about a troubled young girl and boy who run away from home and wind up in the house of a deranged woman who tortures and kills cats. 

The assistant watches eagerly as the Librarian reads them this nauseating novella of loathsome literature. Oh, how he hopes it is a fable so foul that none can listen without losing their lunch, because the Librarian has also kidnapped their teacher and put her in a guillotine. If just one child can listen without puking, their teacher will be spared. But if every single one vomits, he gets to drop the blade and off comes their teacher's head!

Can you read this book without throwing up? Do you take the challenge?
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Manfred Weichsel
• Release date: Feb 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393484707

J. Manfred Weichsel

J. Manfred Weichsel writes extravaganzas that fuse adventure, horror, science fiction, and fantasy into some of the most original subversive literature being published today.  Weichsel’s shorter works appear regularly in Cirsova Magazine and anthologies from Cirsova Publishing.  His longer self-published works have gained him a broad and dedicated base of rabid fans comprising folks from every segment of society – readers of all stripes who share a dark sense of humor and a desire to see modern culture burlesqued, and age-old human stupidity mocked.  A fiercely independent author, J. Manfred Weichsel aims to give birth to the classics of the future by writing works ungoverned by the constraints of traditional publishing houses and the inhibitions of contemporary society.   Loved by some and hated by others, Weichsel’s funny, unconventional, often grotesque books inhabit a unique space in American literature and will be read, talked about, and debated for generations to come. 

Book preview

Tales to Make You Vomit

I sat crouched eagerly behind a bush on the side of the road. When I heard the sound of an engine approach right on schedule, I stepped out into the middle of the street. The yellow bus came around the bend, and when the bus driver saw me standing in its path the bus came screeching to a halt.

The children inside and even the driver all screamed at the sight of my hideous form. I have always had that effect on the living. After all, I am a monster.

I went around to the side of the bus, limping as I always do, one of my legs being shorter than the other, and the foot of my shorter leg having been put on backwards. I brought the metal canister back in the stronger of my two arms and hurled it at the bus. It crashed through a side window, landed on the floor of the bus, and hissing loudly, quickly filled the bus with thick white gas. The children and the bus driver all passed out.

I pried open the front door of the school bus with my mismatched arms and limped up the stairs. I killed the bus driver by twisting her neck. I had no need for her. It was the children I had come for.

As I drove the bus through wooded, mountainous Pennsylvanian roads, away from the land of the living and all I detest about it, the paved roads turned to gravel and then to dirt as I entered an abandoned mining town.

I drove past many giant cave mouths that a half and even three quarters of a century ago had been the entrances to coal mines. I turned the yellow school bus into the mouth of one of these caves and then downwards into the earth through a maze of abandoned subterranean roads. It was a maze I knew very well.

Deeper and deeper into the earth I drove with my cargo of sleeping children, until the road ended in a rock wall on which was a wooden door. I exited the bus, limped to the door, took a key from my pocket, and entered the library, my home.

Having been made of rotten dead things, I have always hated the living and loved the dead, which is why to me the library was the most wonderful place in the world! The rock walls were lined with wooden shelves that went all the way up to the stalagmites, and on these shelves, which circled the entire cavern, sat thousands of monsters just like me, except instead of having been made out of discarded human body parts, these monsters were made out of discarded human ideas. They were the most revolting dead things on earth: Books.

I looked lovingly at the ghoul as she approached me. She wore black plastic shoes, white stockings, a floral dress, and a pair of thick glasses with black rims. I gazed at her beautiful rotting face. She was the Librarian, my mommy.

She wasn’t my biological mother as she didn’t give birth to me, but she did create me. She built me out of dead body parts she stole from graveyards and anywhere else she could. My arms don’t match, having both come from different cadavers, and my legs don’t match either. My head is sewn on a little crooked and the foot of my shorter leg is sewn on backwards. But I am strong, and I strike fear into the hearts of the living.

She said, Did you get them?

Yes, I replied. Am I a good assistant librarian?

Mommy smiled and said in her sweet voice, No. You are an evil assistant librarian.

I giggled with horrid pleasure.

The children in the bus were beginning to wake up so mommy and I led them into the library and sat them on mats. Many were crying and others were sniffling.

Mommy walked to the front and said, Class! May I have your attention?

The children stopped crying and looked up at my mommy, accustomed as they were to obeying authority.

Mommy said in her sweet, gentle voice, Welcome, class. I am the Librarian and this is my library. I have brought you all here for a very special reason: To read you a fairytale from my collection. Who here wants to hear a fairytale?

Some hands went up right away, followed by a few more, and soon all the children had their hands raised. Mommy said, Good. You can put your hands down now.

The children put their hands down and mommy continued, Now, before I start I want to ask you, why do we read fairytales?

A few hands went up. Mommy pointed to one and said, Yes?

A freckled boy stood up and said, in a stilted sort of way as if repeating by rote words he had heard elsewhere, The reason we read fairytales is to provide us with an escape from reality.

Mommy shook her head and drawing out the word said, No. Then she said, "Anybody