Individually Wrapped Horrors: Now in Bite-Sized Pieces

By Eric Joel Kleinschmidt, Sr.

Mankind is on the brink of extinction and altogether unaware. Evil comes in many forms – sometimes from above, sometimes from below and more often than not—from within. This chronicle of unfolding events sees evil in all its many forms, as it lashes out at the strongest (and, on occasion, the weakest) of men and women. These twelve tales of the truly terrible are sure to keep you up at night, contemplating the darkest things that dwell in the shadows of the very room you now occupy. Things that dwell also in the very darkest corners of your mind perhaps? Hard to say. Only one way to know for sure. Take the journey laid out before you and find out for yourself. Individually Wrapped Horrors: Now in Bite-Sized Pieces takes the reader to the very edge of the evil as it prepares to strike, but where so many story slingers pull back at the crucial moment, leaving a great deal of the journey to the reader's imagination, this chronicle never pulls back. You feel everything, you experience everything that the sainted and saintless feel. Truly a terrifying collection that is sure to stay with you for years to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781645753339

Eric Joel Kleinschmidt, Sr.

Eric Kleinschmidt, Sr. is a long-time author of dark, death-metal themed poetry and has published two books under the moniker Twisted Spike Poetry Presents… and has a third large volume of same, waiting to be published. This is his first venture into the territory he loves so much – telling short horror stories. Much of his poetry consists of micro-stories that are usually horror-themed. He’s got a beautiful wife, four great kids, and five grandchildren who fill his life with great happiness. Some of the works he does are very dark and taboo in nature, but all to a greater purpose – that of telling a story that he feels will stick with the reader for a long time. From the dark winters of northern Wisconsin comes a writer who is not afraid to take you to the edge and over – and to make you feel every detail on the way down. He sincerely hopes you will enjoy this trip.  

Book preview

About the Author

Eric Kleinschmidt, Sr. is a long-time author of dark, death-metal themed poetry and has published two books under the moniker Twisted Spike Poetry Presents… and has a third large volume of same, waiting to be published. This is his first venture into the territory he loves so much – telling short horror stories. Much of his poetry consists of micro-stories that are usually horror-themed. He’s got a beautiful wife, four great kids, and five grandchildren who fill his life with great happiness. Some of the works he does are very dark and taboo in nature, but all to a greater purpose – that of telling a story that he feels will stick with the reader for a long time. From the dark winters of northern Wisconsin comes a writer who is not afraid to take you to the edge and over – and to make you feel every detail on the way down. He sincerely hopes you will enjoy this trip.

Dedication

To my wife, Leslie.

My greatest critic and biggest fan.

I love you!

To all of my family,

for support and understanding of this crazy hobby of mine,

thank you and I love you all!

To Jim Henson,

the master of muppets,

for introducing me to The Magic Store!

Copyright Information ©

Eric Joel Kleinschmidt, Sr. (2021)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Joel Kleinschmidt, Sr., Eric

Individually Wrapped Horrors

ISBN 9781645753315 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781645753322 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645753339 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020903866

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

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1

Momma’s Boy

"I’m not afraid to die because I am invincible.

Viva la muerte, that’s my goddamn principle."

~ Pungent Stench

I know what you all want, what you all need. You hunger for the truth. You lust for it… but only if it comes with the blood, sweat, and tears of a life and soul in torment. I can see it in your eyes when I look at you all. OK, I’ll play. I will give you your hearts’ fondest desire: to step into another man’s brain and have a good look around. Get comfy. I will warn you though, a goodly amount of what I have to tell here reads more like a Penthouse Forum letter than what you might think, but maybe you already know that. Maybe that’s the part your greedy little black hearts secretly desire most of all. Well, let it never be said that I am not a team player. I will tell you the whole tale, beginning to end, and at the end, you may draw your own conclusions about what I’ve told and what you believe to be true. All I can do is tell you what I know. What I went through. You sort it out after…

To begin with, as some of you know and others may have guessed, I am what you would consider a momma’s boy. Not overly proud of that, I suppose, but I have to own it. To be fair, though, if any one of you had my mother as your own, you may be more sympathetic. I was twenty-two and a few months during the time we are speaking of and—yes—I was still, in fact, living at home. I was never what you would call a loser; it just made sense at the time. My parents had divorced nearly five years prior to this situation. My father, being a hugely successful businessman, flew the country over many times in a year and, on occasion, ventured outside the country for weeks at a time. My mother stayed at home to raise me and when I grew older, she took up part-time work at a book store to alleviate some of the boredom and loneliness. At that time, I was still in high school and was running with my crowd of metal-head friends, going to parties, and smoking a little weed on the side. Spending all of my free time with whichever goth chick I was banging at the time. Mom was beginning to feel like she was adrift, all alone on an ocean of solitude. The book store gig really seemed to help. She regained that playful bounce in her step. Started hanging around with the other two ladies from what she called the shop. That was also the time she took up aerobics in a big way, started going out on the weekends again and—sad to say—when she became a raging alcoholic. She kept it in check during the week, I guess, and also, she tried to tone it down around me. A lot of times, though, I’d smell it on her or notice a slight misstep as she was walking around the house. Whatever, I just wanted her to be happy again. Besides the gig at the bookstore—which I believe I mentioned was part time—she also received a pretty nice alimony payment from dear old Dad every month. The bookstore thing was clearly optional and for her own peace of mind.

About a year or so after ‘the sperm donor’ departed to the great unknowns of New York City and all the capitalism he and his new fiancée could stomach, I graduated high school. No honors or anything special. Just your average run-of-the-mill stoner metal-head who retained enough brain cells to pass with a B average. I was released out into the real world. My first notion, of course, was to get a place with two of my metal-head buddies wherein we could party and get fucked up any night of the week we chose. The theory was metal posters covering every wall, extensive, exclusively-metal CD collection on a shelf on the wall (contributed to by all roommates), and a refrigerator full of pizza rolls and beer. Ideal! The dream we all waited our whole lives for. Reality check time.

One of my buddies got a chick pregnant just after graduation and was being guilted into getting a place with the baby momma. So, he was out. The second of my so-called friends decided one drunk night that it would be so extremely fucking metal to join the army. Get a gun, go kill strangers far away, see the world… that whole bit. Even in his sobriety and hung-over state the next day, he could not be talked out of it. Scratch another name off the list. There was a third guy that I was slightly interested in rooming with but as the weeks turned into months, he got really cagey and I saw less and less of him until he finally slipped into the cracks of obscurity. At this point, I was resigned to staying with Mom until I could afford my own place. The dream of the metal pad still in place, just a little more pathetic now. I felt like everyone was growing up except me. Oh well, I thought, plenty of time to decide my course of action while fattening up my bank account. Mom would not accept any money from me as rent, only to buy special groceries I wanted and to keep them in the refrigerator in the garage. On occasion I had brought up the idea to Mom about saving up some money and getting my own place. You know, kinda give her adult freedom to have her house to herself and do all the things she’d always wanted to do. Her responses at first were vague and light-hearted. Whatever you think, honey. You’re no trouble here. Don’t rush into anything. But I noticed after another year or so had gone by, the responses to my ideas about a place became a bit more cryptic. Oh honey, if you moved out, what would I do with myself all alone here? You can’t leave now, we have so many family activities and trips planned. I really don’t think now is a good time to try getting a place, lousy market for it. Etc., etc…

During this period of time, my doctor thought I might do well to begin taking vitamins. Didn’t like something on a test result or what he saw when he checked me out or something. I don’t know. Anyway, vitamins. No big deal. Though the I’m a big kid now tune kept replaying through my head for some unknown reason. Every workday morning, when I got up and got ready for work, I’d come downstairs and the small dry erase board next to the fridge would have some cutesie little message on it from Mom and always ended with don’t forget to take your vitamins, honey. That was me—her vitamin-taking, metal-head-forever, still-living-at-home honey. Oh well, there were worse things to be, I’d console myself. I’m not a meth-head. I heated up some pizza rolls to celebrate. Taking my vitamins, I’d stroll out the door and head off to my job at the warehouse. Forklifts and pallets and product, oh my!

In the evenings, I’d come home and the house would usually be empty. For one of three reasons normally: Mom was still at the shop, Mom was at her aerobics class (less and less frequent) or—if it was a weekend evening—Mom was already down at one of her favorite bars. She did this more and more often on the weekends. I found myself at home alone more and more on these evenings. The outcome was always one of two: one, she’d come home with some stranger and they’d drink a bit more and get frisky on the couch and finally end up squeaking the bed springs through the wall we shared. Loud music always helped drown out that little nugget of reality! Or two, she’d come home alone after getting shot down one too many times or striking out altogether. On these nights, she’d grab one of many bottles of red wine from her stash and disappear into her room. The sound of Streisand or Neil Diamond would come gently filtering through. Loud music (but slightly less loud, out of respect) would also help with that second nugget of reality. We did see each other quite a bit though. I don’t want you to think we were complete strangers cohabitating. On weekday nights or the occasional weekend nights, we’d hang out, play board games, talk about our days, eat Chinese take-out together, and various other pleasant activities. Seeing as how Dad was just a once-a-month paycheck now and neither of us saw nor wanted to see him, we were there for each other while having our things going on in our own lives simultaneously. I began to think that this was the ideal arrangement after all. She never harped on me about my music and I never lectured her about her drinking and the men. Shangri-La really!

So, I guess it was about nine or ten months ago now that I started seeing Sarah. Used to drive me nuts that she had that H on the end of her name but she was cool otherwise. Weird what things screw with our minds, isn’t it? Anyway, this chick… oh man! She was the total package! Long legs, big breasts, skinny in the middle, but a nice little ass! That sexy little gap in the middle between her thighs. Black hair. Long black hair. Piercings everywhere she could think of to pierce. She used to wear a tee shirt that said I’m not playing with myself, I’m adjusting my jewelry. Blood-red lipstick nearly every day! Brown eyes. Kind of a breathy way of speaking like the little pop stars do in their songs. Used to tip me right over the edge when we were in bed at night. Mom didn’t care that she was on again/off again staying with us. They didn’t really speak all that much but Mom never pressed the issue. I started thinking to myself, NOW this is the ideal situation! It wasn’t meant to last. Such things rarely are.

I think the first time she brought something up was maybe around August of last year. I know it was approaching fall anyway. She mentioned that I was such a momma’s boy and I needed to grow up. We didn’t fight often, but when we did—all bets were off. This is why the time she stayed with us was on again/off again. Her temper was in direct measure to my own. But goddamn, she was so perfect. Little punk rock and metal chick who gave a blow job like none other! Of course, to be fair, I had only had a few other girlfriends in the past willing to do that. Still, she was hands down the best. I thought I was falling in love with her. I’d call her up and say something like, Yes, of course, you were right. I’m a momma’s boy. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder for you. But I wondered. Earth-shattering pussy… or family? Hard one to work through. We’d get back in good with each other (never quite made it to breaking up) and things would be great again for a while. Then, one day we started doing one of those nothing, bullshit fights where every little thing the other person did just got under your skin and irritated. I tried to walk in the other room to calm down but she’d follow. She walked out of my room slamming the door, then I’d follow. I told her that we needed to keep calm and civil, especially because Mom was in the other room and I didn’t want her to hear us being so nasty to each other. She began, That’s another thing… your mom. Granted, she’s a great person but when are you gonna cut the umbilical cord and move out so we can find a little place together? My whole world deflated. I felt like we had the greatest set-up currently available to all parties involved, and I had no sights set on finding a place and striking out on my own. If I had, it would have been with her. But, no, I was happy here and didn’t want to leave the nest just yet. I kept thinking about all of my talks with Mom and what would she do without me and about her kicking around this lonely old pad by herself. I just couldn’t think about it right then. She told me I’d never grow up, always be a momma’s boy and that was never gonna change. Also, she spat that she hoped me and Mom would be very happy together! She grabbed a few of her things and said, Burn the rest! I don’t fucking care! Give it to your mom for all I care! Then she stormed out of my life.

I feel like I need to take some time here to tell you a few things about my mom I may have not yet mentioned. To begin with, at any given point in my history with this woman, she has been a knockout stunner! Tall and sexy, well-dressed, fun, positive, and outgoing on most occasions. The woman never seemed to age. She has always been stunningly beautiful. And I don’t just say that from a son’s perspective about his mother whom he adores. My friends throughout the years had always commented on what a total MILF she is. My ex-girlfriend Sarah even confided in me once after a night of intense drinking that she had been with a few women in her time but would feel she had reached the apex if she ever got with a woman as radiant and downright sexy as my mom! When we had fucked that night, I have to admit that when I came, the thought of her and my mom 69’ing was front and foremost in my thoughts! Terrible to admit but the idea had been planted. Sometimes I think that the friends I had only lasted as long as they did in hopes of catching Mom in a state of undress.

Which brings me to the next thing about Mom. She has always had the longest blonde hair. Not like Crystal Gayle down-to-her-knees long but long by today’s standards. She always did fresh and creative styles with it but yes, it was very long. Blonde as the day is long. There were in the last few months expertly applied streaks of pink throughout it like a party girl might have. One of her co-workers might have said she was trying to recapture her youth, but I don’t think so. I think she saw it and liked it and said yes, case closed. Now the blonde portion is real blonde. My proof? Well, there have never been any dyeing products in the house and the fact that she has been that blonde for as much of my life as I can remember says much. Now, the rest of it is this… I did accidentally catch her fresh out of the shower once. I looked away after I realized it, embarrassed; she only stood there brushing her hair, not embarrassed in the slightest. She mentioned something about not having anything I’d never seen before and I always kinda figured she thought now we’re even, having seen me naked on many occasions growing up. Not as an adult of course, but I digress. When I saw her in her complete and unabashed birthday suit, I noted in my head of heads that the floors were hardwood! Brazilian hardwood! So, no concrete evidence there. I filed it away in my jerkoff jukebox for later use (not even knowing I was doing it at the time) and went on with the rest of my day. What is a jerkoff jukebox? you ask. Well, I’m going to tell you since this is a complete and unedited account of what was to follow. Every man’s mind has a jerkoff jukebox. It is filled with all the greatest hits! Catch a girl sitting in a way that you can see a flash of panty upskirt style, in it goes. See a mom breastfeeding (sorry to say), in it goes. Celebrity phone gets hacked showing us what the stork saw, in it goes. Mom fresh and sexy as hell from the shower and not giving any sign that you have to look away, yup, in it goes. Any old time you feel that rising urge and you just can’t focus on the task at hand and you need a little relief… drop a quarter in the old jukebox and flip through all the classics and latest and greatest hits to that one particular hit that you just can’t live without and it’s off to the races. I suppose I should update the name but masturbation mp3 player just doesn’t roll of the tongue, you dig?

I think between Sarah leaving me and the decline in tail I was getting through this time period led up to what happened in a real and urgent way. Every morning before work, the routine ensued. Death metal on the cd player to help me wake up, drop a quarter in and remember that special thing Sarah used to do with her tongue bar or Mom in the shower or twelve million other things, off to the races, then downstairs for breakfast and vitamins. Mom’s little notes before work were such a pick-me-up to my self-esteem through this period. Sometimes little hearts or happy faces, sometimes just terms of endearment. She always thought of me last before turning in so I would think of her first before heading out the door. Life was returning to a state of bliss that I never wanted to end. But, all good things… right?

This one morning I did my whole routine upstairs then headed down to the kitchen. Well, not the whole routine. Nothing good on spank-o-vision (aka: internet porn), the jukebox was down for repairs and basically… I just wasn’t feelin’ it. I had that deflated feeling again which ultimately (looking back now) caused everything else that followed. To begin with, I came downstairs and saw that the night before, not only had Mom forgotten to write me a note but had also erased the note from yesterday. Not a great start, I must admit. That meant that she remembered to erase, just not to write a new one. Bummer. I saw my vitamins on the counter and in disgust I threw them down the garbage disposal. Fuck you, vitamins, I muttered. I drank a glass of juice and headed off to the worst Friday at work ever! As a side note, I must mention that it was also raining cats and dogs outside and I got drenched just running out to my shitbox old Honda. Well why not? Just why the fuck not? It always rains on Friday (some great or other old poet once said) and it was sure proving that theory correct this dreary morning. Hell of a start.

I’ll sum up work in brief detail. My mind was not in line with my body. I don’t know what I’m trying to say here. I just couldn’t focus, I was having anxiety attacks and just feeling like my skin was crawling. I felt like everyone was out to get me that day. Someone went in to the fridge in the lunchroom and stole my roast beef and pepper jack sandwich I bought for lunch that day. Just a shit day, like the gods of shit days were having a drinking contest that every time something happened bad to me, they had to do a shot. The final straw came when my boss approached me and said that I had fucked up a pallet of product. Ran a fork through the gaylord or some such bullshit. I didn’t know if I had but that little voice in everyone’s head spoke up in mine: I didn’t do shit! If someone else came behind me and fucked it up, that’s not my problem. I put it up on the rack in one piece. So why don’t you get the fuck out of my face? So, he did. And four minutes later, I did. I was escorted off the premises. In the pounding rain, I sloshed home, hydroplaning all the way. Oh, but not before I stopped and got the biggest bottle of Jack I have ever seen.

Mom came in a bit later, home from her aerobics class, and asked why I was home so early. Told her what happened. She did that poor boy pity look she gives me when things don’t go my way and brought my hanging head down to rest on her ample bosom. I could feel her warmth and the soft thump thump of her heart. My breathing steadied a bit and she told me it was going to be all right. She said that we were fine with money right now. Which was more than true. She had plenty in the bank with more coming in from the sperm donor every month. I had a nice little nest egg set back from the not-finding a place of my own. I could coast, what was I doing wallowing in self-pity? She told me in a kind and gentle voice to ease back on the Jack and just glide for the rest of the night and she’d be back later to check up on me. I said I would and I meant it. She left a half hour or so later, but I was already passed out on the couch.

Dark dreams came that night. I saw shadows that had things growing in them. Dark figures that danced and wavered just outside of my field of vision. I saw my hands, cracked and bleeding, like I had been digging through concrete with them. I was cold and alone, voices—high pitched and cackling—whispering horrible things about people I knew. Things that had happened to them. I saw my house from the outside and it was covered—infested—with large destructive beetles, eating and breaking everything they came into contact with. The entire neighborhood we lived in was crawling with death and I stood cracked and bleeding in the center of it all. I ran, I ran as fast as I could and as far away as I could… but it was dream running. I ran slower and slower and always ended up right where I began. Then, I stopped and fell to my knees. When I looked up, my mom was standing over me. She whisper-croaked, The blue demons are upon us. All we have is lost. Wake up… the last word being drawn out in a long hissing croak as I fully came awake from the nightmare in a sheer fit of terror. I was soaked in what I only hope was sweat and clutching madly at the sheets. My mom sprung up from her sleep and wrapped arms around me shaking gently crying: Honey, baby, it’s OK, it was just a nightmare. Honey, you’re OK now. Shh, momma’s here, baby. It’s OK. She was holding me to her breast and stroking my hair with a full case of the all-over body shivers. I had officially freaked her the fuck out! I began to calm slowly as my eyes began to make out silhouettes in the dark. I could make out a dresser and a flat screen TV and her own beautiful shapely figure in a whisper-thin nightie. We were beneath the sheets together and I was in her room. What…the…fuck? It was all that I could think. All that kept flashing in my mind. She whispered: It’s OK, honey, you were passed out on the couch and I knew you were upset. I didn’t think you should be alone so I helped you in here so you could sleep by momma. You’re OK now. No more bad dreams. She was still stroking my hair and breathing easier now that I was, as I thought Yeah, no more bad dreams. No more bad dreams and no more goddamned Jack Daniels either!

The next morning, as to be expected, hangover central! Now I remembered why I swore off the Jack in the first place. Tasted great on the way down, not so much the next morning on the return trip up. I ran to the bathroom and made fast friends with the toilet bowl. It accepted me willingly and without judgment. I looked out into the bedroom but Mom was already up and out of the room. I didn’t hear anything downstairs and a look at the clock answered why. 11:43 a.m. Holy shit! I slept half the day away! I…I…have nowhere to be and no one to be there with, I slowly reasoned, so what the hell? I went to my room, slid out of all my yesterday clothes, got into a nice hot shower, toweled off and after sliding into a clean pair of boxers, went back to sleep—in my own bed. I kept thinking about how nice Mom felt, lying there in her embrace. Not the whole freaking out shaking violently part, but the rest was beyond nice. Then a new fear hit me. I need to stop thinking like this. What we have here is a really fucking cool thing! Us living together, with no real judgment or expectations of each other! The ideal roommate situation if ever there was one. If she ever knew I harbored any kind of sexual desire toward her, it would fuck up everything. Of course, no one was home and no one would be home for several hours yet. I could feel a stirring and—though I had never done anything like this before—I knew only one thing would get me off and help me off to the sleep my body desperately needed. So, this part is going to sound really bad, but here goes. I snuck into her room and lifted a pair of her used panties out of the laundry hamper. Whew! I feel better having gotten that out there. The rest can come more easily now. I was fully sniffing and inhaling her womanly aroma in my room when I caught my reflection in the mirror and thought I have become a sexual deviant. I am definitely going to hell now! And then, from completely out of nowhere, I thought That is so fucking metal! Sleep never felt so wonderful!

That evening was Saturday and Mom was home from the shop and in the kitchen grabbing a bite. She was listening to her iPod and sort of dancing around the kitchen as she ate a sandwich and straightened up the place. She didn’t hear me come in. I sat at the table and looked at the luscious curves of her tight ass in the workout shorts she had on. The tee shirt she had on just said Bad Grrl but I could see by the points of pure brilliance that there was no bra on underneath. I felt that old familiar stirring under the table. Guess I had better just sit this one out. She stopped dancing long enough to get a small glass of orange juice and in the middle of a drink, she turned and saw me. The glass never had a chance! It slipped right through her fingers and exploded on the tiled floor. She jumped a bit from all the factors of the event and I sprung up from my chair, now unmindful of my little problem. I came over and knelt beside her as she gasped Oh my god, honey, you scared the shit out of me! Don’t ever do that again!

Picking up the splintered pieces, I smiled and chuckled, OK, Mom, sorry. How was your day? She grabbed a towel, beginning to tell me about her day, but cut off mid-sentence when I stood up to throw the shards away. So, I like a draft at the local bar every now and then, not down below when talking to my mom. The first thing she noticed was that I was still in my boxers. Whoops! The second thing she noticed was that the barn door had been left open and the somewhat large and veiny 9-inch horse had been let out! I quickly spun around with a fire burning in my face and deposited the shards on the table. I am so sorry, Mom! I forgot! I said remedying the situation.

She blushed a bit that time herself saying It’s OK, honey, I’ve seen you before. I am your mother. But she didn’t sound very convincing, I think not even to herself, because she put down the towel and hurried past me to the living room. Ah, shit, I thought. Worse things have happened, I guess. I went up to my room and got dressed. A stained and faded old tee shirt of Anthrax and one grey pair of sweats later, I was back in the living room with my feet propped up on the coffee table. Mom was up in her room getting ready for the night out so I turned on the TV and got Gilligan’s Island. It was background noise as I replayed what had just happened. THAT was definitely going in the jukebox. I should have been utterly and irrevocably disgusted with myself for these persistent devious feelings toward my mom…I just wasn’t.

She came trotting back down the stairs with a playful smile and a bounce in her step as if nothing out of the ordinary had not just happened. As if my dick had not just magically popped out in front of her like a jack in the box and looked her in the eye! Life is such an unpredictable little imp. She came in and sat down to put on her cute powder blue sneakers saying, What are your plans for the evening? I flipped around through the channels nonchalantly responding with I don’t know, probably just rent a flick and kick back in the old bachelor pad. Maybe grab a pizza while I’m out. Nothing big. Where are you off to this evening, young lady? She smiled coyly. It always gave her such a buzz when I referred to her as young lady.

Oh, I don’t know. One of the usual hotspots, I guess. Meet up with Mr. Right Now and bring him home and make him a husband for the night. She stood up. She was gorgeous! Light blue blouse fitting to all the sumptuous curves this woman had to offer, gold necklace with a heart locket, and—because she was still part country girl and damned well wanted to be—tight fittin’ jeans. She ran her hands down her, the sides of her blouse pulling it even tighter to her curvaceous body, asking: Do I look OK in this? She always asked me before going out if I was home and alone because she knew I’d tell her if I didn’t like a particular article of clothes and—I think—because she liked to tease me a little. I know that’s a huge deduction on my part based solely on my own insane incestuous desires, but yeah… I think she liked to tease me a little. She leaned down in front of me, revealing that breathtaking cleavage and just the top border of a very lacy pink bra.

You look absolutely stunning, Mom, I said truthfully.

She kissed me ever so slightly on the corner of the mouth and whispered hot and suggestively in my ear: Don’t wait up. She stood up, straightened out her blouse for the umpteenth time and headed to the kitchen. Grabbing her pocket book and keys, she hollered, Love you! and I heard the kitchen door open, then close. Silence, broken only by her SUV starting up then quietly backing out of the driveway. Home alone! Oh my god, the jukebox is loaded and ready to go, the bank is full and I got a pocketful of quarters! Time to make the first of many withdrawals this evening! I got to work.

I found myself outside in the yard walking around to the rear of the house when I happened to notice the sky darkening. More rain? God, can you give it a rest? I wound up the garden hose that I was, for some reason or the other, holding in my hand. I stopped and looked around. What the fuck am I even doing out here? I was in the living room spanking it after Mom left and—A huge crack of lightning split the night open! The wind began to pick up in fierce gales as the sleet—not rain—the sleet began to pelt me violently! I dropped the hose and turned to run to the house. A shimmering figure stood between me and the front door. It growled in a low tone, gurgling and retching out what I began to understand were syllables. I’m almost here, it hissed, I’m going to take away everything you have ever loved. It began to grow larger. A huge beast with two heads and four arms, outlined in a pale almost non-visible blue tint. I am everything you have ever feared and your world is mine for the taking! Blood began to spew from its two mouths in fountains. Black vile shit began to pool on the ground at its…hooves? Are those hooves? What the fuck? Man, wake up now! Time to fucking wake up! Honey…baby… it’s coming for us. Mom’s voice was echoing through the cacophony. It’s going to get us and we’ll never see each other again. Help momma, honey baby! I turned to look in the direction her voice was coming from. I saw a second…thing. This was very clearly my mother and I but we were fused together as one larger monstrosity. Joined in blood and flesh and groin and writhing in each other’s embrace. Fluids of all type were trickling down beneath the thing as the two familiar faces kissed and sucked each other’s forked and throbbing tongues. The first demonic thing leapt at the second and began to rip it apart. Pulling limbs from body, tearing tongues from mouths, viciously ripping at genitalia with enormous gnashing teeth until a steaming pile of entrails and blood and shit fell to the earth beneath it and the demonic figure of mother and son fell lifeless in pieces to the cold earth and lay still. You will lose everything you love, boy! I am almost here! The screams of me coming awake could be heard up and down the block, I was later told.

Our neighborhood is a cul-de-sac and an unfinished one at that. We live in a modest but very nice two-story down at the middle of the circle. The lot to the west of our house (out my bedroom window) is a half-built ranch style that the funding fell through on or some shit like that. It was little more than half-finished when the carpenters went home one day and have yet to return. The lot to the other side of us is still pretty much prairie land. Long tall overgrown land that makes for a nice barrier between us and the next house over. The rest of the lots on our street are mostly filled but we keep to ourselves down at the end, in our little slice of heaven. Mom says hi to people when she goes out jogging of course and every now and then I give a wave or stop and shoot the shit with some of our neighbors but mostly it’s just her and I. Like the old country song says: She and I live in our own little world. Of course, I believe that song is about a guy and his wife. But, what do I know? I’m a metalhead, not a boot scooter!

A few comments were passed to Mom about the scream that night when she went jogging but nothing much came of it. I told her I had a Jason flick on and I had the volume up just a little too high. When neighbors saw me the next day driving past, they pretty much knew no one had been slaughtered in our house and just let the whole thing go. But, sitting on that couch that night, sweat soaked and shaking like a leaf on a tree… I wondered if everything was all right. What the hell were these dreams I was having? Bad flashbacks from the couple of times I dropped acid? No, that’s stupid. Whatever was going on, it had to stop. I had made up my mind to consult with my doctor about a sleep aid and maybe a reference to a dream…doctor…guy. I didn’t know what you called them. But that was for Monday. For now, it was Saturday night, right? I consulted my cell phone. Yup, still Saturday night… just. Nearly midnight. Mom will be home soon and the thumping moaning squeaking from her bedroom was going to fuck with my already waste of a Saturday night. I decided to get a quick shower then head for my room. Music would solve everything. The dreams. The lost job. The anxiety attacks. The mom lust. Everything. Fucking everything. I got up and went to the kitchen for a quick drink. I noticed that the dry erase board had a message on it. Honey, have you been taking your vitamins? Momma wants a big strong healthy baby boy! Love you! Two little hearts intertwined were beneath this message. Nice, mom. I grabbed the vitamins and thought I am a big strong healthy baby boy and into the garbage disposal