Eibon Films Horror, Fantasy and SciFi writer / filmmaker and friend of the weird

Flash fiction

A collection of Flash fiction / micro shorts / nanofiction pieces:

[WARNING: Beware - if you are easily offended, or put off by the use of occasional foul language and descriptions of violent acts do not read on. You have been warned!]

THE LEG MAN:

I clutched the blood slick-stained pillow to her face and tried to manoeuvre my weight on top, to provide more resistance. It wasn’t easy, battling her panicking hitched gasps. The blood spurted from my severed wrist stump, and drenched the soft down within, making it slippy. Recent events, that led up to this moment, flashed before my eyes. I saw those wondrous legs of hers for the last time, and cursed their wicked beauty. I cursed what they had done to us, as darkness beckoned.

We’d been enjoying our first ever holiday together, in this small accursed seaside town; both as a necessity and a chance to reconnect. I needed a change of pace and a chance to flush the demon toxins from my body. She needed to evade police custody for a prostitution rap. Island hopping seemed like the perfect distraction; especially when we could fleece a few horny middle aged tourists and move on to the next new adventure whenever we wanted. So what if it wasn’t entirely working out to plan. It wasn’t the first time that she’d driven me crazy, mad with desire, as she oiled her skin in the mornings and then batted my ardent advances away when I’d risen to the bait. Nor was it unheard of for her to pleasure a random John in front of me, to make me jealous. It was just her way of making each time with her a special reward and to keep me keen. It was her way of keeping everyone keen and manipulating every situation. Only, I could have done without it. Our stash was running low and I couldn’t think straight for the unshackled lust that now simmered within.

We’d already argued a few times that morning and were on our way to a third, when she noticed the hilariously tacky sign of a bloody Chicken head and suggested we took a room at the “Red Rooster Inn”. It seemed like a perfect choice for us to continue our free holiday and for me to get a little action, without being bothered by credit card validation and CCTV cameras. So what if the owner was an eccentric old dame and her son was a grinning simpleton and a drool covered giant. The place was out of the way and quiet, just how we liked it. But not too far from the action if we needed it. There was nothing else to suggest that there was a reason for it being so very quiet.

Of course, before we even got into the room she decided to have a bit of fun with the son and tease him with glimpses of her silken thighs, as she adjusted her stocking tops on the top of the stairs. Without even a thought to his Mum he reached out to cop a feel, but those legs danced out of range with practised ease. She did it again as she reached over to test the mattress, as he entered the room behind me; having to almost bend double to clear his head below the door frame. Only this time his Mum saw what was going on and ushered him out of the doorway, with furious slaps about his head and stooping shoulders and him shrieking like a ten year old girl. That little bit of fun was what ultimately sealed our fate. This was one bit of feminine wile taken too far.

“I only wanted to see what kind of equipment a big guy like that carried.” she soothed, grinning lasciviously and as she opened those legs just for me, as I forgave their silky sins. “I mean did you see the size of his hands!”

After an uneventful meal in the empty dining room, I suddenly felt ill and had to be carried back to our room and rapidly succumbed to the creeping darkness; as I passed out to the sound of her teasing fake concern.

The next thing I knew I awoke to a spinning room. That idiot giant stood over me with a blood-stained electric circular saw roaring over my head, with a glint in his deranged eyes. I looked down to see that both of my feet had been removed at the ankle. And as I reached out with one hand to stop the next swooping strike of the saw aimed at my neck, that hand was sent flying across the bed too. I looked across, disbelieving that anyone could sleep through this. The room vibrated to the sound of the bloody spinning disc. She lay in sublime repose, as if mimicking a Waterhouse beauty. I clutched my throbbing stump, unable to stop him taking her legs off at the crotch. She didn’t wake as her sleeping form was puppeteered by the tugging of the blade. I realised we must have been drugged, because no one could have slept through that.

Then the freaks’ mother entered the scene and with nary a glance at the carnage he had wrought, she chased him from the room; tusking at the mess he had made of his overalls and walls. He wasn’t leaving without a fight though, as he flung the saw down and snatched her perfect severed legs to his chest. He treasured his bloody trophies, with a kiss on their pallid freckled skin; the previous careful owner only now starting to surface from her enforced torpor.

That was when I realised no one was coming to save us. No one was going to find us. This was probably not the end of the evenings ignominies. In tribute to her beauty and to save her from the horror that I was going through, I decided to spare her. I’d suffocate her, before she opened those eyes, with what remaining strength I had left. I just wish it wasn’t so damn hard to hold a pillow over a hitching body, that was clawing for breath, with one good hand and the life draining out of me…

By Lee Bailes - 24th Dec 2008

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SO LONG SCHLONG:

In all the years that I’ve worked in the porn industry - as fluffer and adult industry makeup artist - I’d never questioned anything except the morality of myself and those around me. But when a naked has-been porn star comes at you wearing nothing but a determined grimace and wielding a scalpel, it really makes you reevaluate things.

Pussy is the main commodity in this industry. The pecker is usually incidental. They’re also often suffering from stage fright. Occasionally one rare stallion comes along and shakes things up a bit. This one particular stiff shook things up so much that he became a major player and a living legend.

Way back in the 90s this young Spanish dude bedded an upcoming glamour model and future starlet. All of a sudden there’s talk of a Latin John Holmes, tearing apart the fleshy walls of many a sex kitten; talk of a guy gifted with model looks, a fighters’ frame and a third leg that would make the often flaccid and coke-addled Holmes green with envy. It was inevitable that the industry would welcome him with open legs. It was also easy to see how they were happy to turn a blind eye to the rumours; from past lovers that intimated he’d surgically created his talent and the claims that, whichever city he worked in, women inevitably died.

He loved the fame, courted the infamy; but he never seemed to enjoy the women who worshipped before his impressive one-eyed and permanently turgid girth. Unlike many other stars he didn’t find solace in drink or drugs. Rather surprisingly, nor did he turn his back on the industry. But eventually when his looks faded, his frame weakened and his movies stopped selling, he got mean. Then no one except the most desperate girls would work with him; those that didn’t believe the rumours about what happened when the cameras were switched off. And then one night he disappeared after a drunken party; the same party that lit up the scandal rags, when a young girl died from a brutal rape. The police could find no trace of him. With time he soon became nothing but a whisper of warning, to the wannabes that dropped their trousers at auditions; those equally hungry for fame in fucking. That is until he just burst onto our film set, naked, wrinkled and waving a wicked looking scalpel around; with the package of an under-equipped new born hanging limply between his legs. If word got around that he was missing his star performer, it would cause such a commotion I can tell you - that is if anyone believed it was possible.

No one knew why he went after Brawn Johnson with that scalpel, unless it was purely professional jealousy. I mean Johnson was no looker like our boy was in his day, but he did have a prick to rival the best in the business. He was busy using it in one of the women who originally launched our boy’s career. But did he have to kill Johnson out of jealousy? The two had never even so much as met. They were from different eras for chrissakes.

Of course once Johnson felt the kiss of a scalpel blade, he was spraying blood like a fountain. Our boy then started raving in his mother tongue like a lunatic and Johnson’s bloodied playmate screamed in terror. Right then no one cared about the ‘why’; everyone fled in panic - everyone except me that is. I was speechless and standing in a puddle of my own urine and as invisible to him as if I was a statue.

The shame is that now no one will believe what I saw. I am not even sure that I believe it now either. It defies logic and reason. Nowhere is it written that a man’s proud plonker can uproot itself from it’s host and slip out of the back door faster than a hunted rat. But that is what happened - whether you believe it or not.

The thing was alive.

The joke of a man having two brains was true! Where pubic hair had once hidden the charms of past stars, the modern unshaven undercarriage was now clearly in view. I could see every vein-like proboscis retract from the skin between Johnson’s legs. As his body gave out its last tremor, the monstrosity stood proud and erect and seemed to fix our boy in its one-eyed view. Then as he lunged for Johnson’s member with the scalpel it shook itself off the tiny pecker beneath and fled; using the testicles as feet. Our boy gave chase and the two were never seen again.

I took a closer view of Johnson’s bloody hole-ridden crotch. The instrument that I had fluffed up and puckered upon merely half an hour before was no more. In place of the parasitic pecker was nothing but a grey, shrivelled, flaccid remnant of his real schlong.

It was a few months later that I heard the reports of a new talent appearing on the scene. Another one in a million discovery. A few months after that the first body of a murdered female was found and more followed soon after. For all I know our boy is still out there too, looking to put an end to the abomination.

I guess sometimes the worm really does turn.

By Lee Bailes - 18th Nov 2008 (read about it here: http://www.eibonfilms.co.uk/blog/?p=79)

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