Barns, Blood and Rock and Roll Page 13

  “And know you’re trying to skip out on the party.”

  Her big black boot met the young boy’s stomach and then his head. She layed him out flat just like that under the white moon. In her hand she held a pink basket. And what is in your little pink basket Ms. Trick? You little tease. Ms. Waterworks toilet queen. Pat your pussy clean. You bright fucking ray of schizophrenic sunshine; tell us tell us what is in the basket you basket case. Show us, show us, is it candy? Horny for sugar. Older Christ warrior had big worried eyes watching Cherry lick her lips with her hand in her basket.

  Anticipation

  “I”

  Mutilation

  “Brought”

  Strangulation

  “Knives!

  She twirled herself around. A ping tornado in the night slashing at the humid air with her two knives painted pink with lipstick kisses on them.

  “Don’t be shy now,” she told her knives. “Say hi to the boys.”

  She swung them in their faces. The younger boy was still on his back possibly dreaming for death. Make a wish on the shooting star son. Don’t you wish you had a gun? Don’t worry she’s almost done. Are you having fun?

  “I once knew a girl who played with knives. She wanted a puppy when she was five. Mommy said no so she had to go. I slashed her fucking neck that no good ho! Hohoho merry Christmas!”

  It has to be the moon. It’s making her crazy. Things are so hazy. The older boy thought.

  “I’m teasing, you silly shits. My mother is alive and well although I wish she was in hell!” Cherry said.

  “But no seriously,” she continued talking in her yard under the moon to the boys twirling her hair speaking casually, dementedly as if none of this was out of the ordinary or strange. Do you need to change? Your XXL diapers?

  “This chic I use to work with at the club use to stick knives, real knives, up her pussy during her performance. Now that’s crazy! She was murdered in the back parking lot a few years back. Some heroin junkie freak killed her. Stabbed her like six times straight up her cunt. Man that would have had to hurt. What a bitch. Try sleeping with that on your mind.”

  What a way to end the night Ms. Trick with your weird, creepy tale to give the boys a fright on this strange night. Now that’s all right!

  “Ooohhh” her eyes went googly “Look what I found.”

  Her thirteen year old persona decided to join the party. Out of her pretty pink basket she pulled her putrid puppy that passed away when she was six. Twenty six year old dead puppy beats weird creepy tale. Rock paper scissors.

  “Would you like to pet him?”

  She lowered the stiff small carcass to the boys. They retreated trying not to vomit through their red ball gags. Then a look of sadness formed on Cherry’s face. She began to cry like a child. Mood swing dementia, inner child fantasy breakdown, get outta town.

  “Yoouu don’t like meeee,” she pathetically whined and wailed.

  She plopped to the ground with pink all around, black mascara streaming to her frown. She covered her face and cried.

  “Is it me? Why won’t you boys play with me? Do you not like me?” Cherry was genuine. Genuinely fucking crazy but genuine. Poor girl. Her back was toward them as she sniffled and cried like a drunk girl in the bar parking lot sitting in her own vomit.

  “Is it my vagina? Does it smell? I know some girls have a problem with that but I do my best to stay fresh down there.”

  As Cherry babbled over her non smelly cunt, the unlocked fence in her yard caught the young boy’s eye. The older boy shook his head vehemently urging his Christ buddy not to be stupid and try to wiggle over to the fence.

  “…..I mean it’s part of my job to keep clean, you know for the customers.”

  The young boy made his move. He wiggled on his belly like a worm to freedom. He looked like a giant alien baby in search of milky from his ba-ba or maybe from his mama’s ta-ta’s.

  “…..My algebra teacher said it didn’t smell.”

  Sweat coated the older boy’s forehead. Fear reassured him that he was dead.

  ….”I don’t know, maybe it’s all in my head,” Cherry said.

  She paused and collected herself sitting in the white light of the moon. The night became silent. The only sound was the buzzing of the insect world down in the dew of the grass. Cherry turned and faced the older boy. She sniffled a couple of times and said,

  “Do you think haunted demons can fly out of the sun?”

  That’s it! Run, run, run! Farewell, sayonara, auf weidershen motherfucker!

  Older Christ warrior screamed through his ball gag to the wiggling Christ warrior in the grass. It sounded something like that skinny nerd screaming ‘jake’ under the glass table in that 80’s teen flick.

  “Hey!” barked the now twenty six year old angry, funhouse freak slut.

  “Get back here you little runt!”

  She threw her dead puppy to the ground and stalked towards the boy. You tried son, too late though. She stood above him, his back to her. Her thick black boots as black as the night.

  “Turn around and face me,” she said calmly in a light voice.

  “That’s it sweetie.”

  Then, “DIRTY DOG DIRTY DOG DIRTY DOG!”

  Harsh, violent vocal treachery. Lunatic dark laughter follows.

  “You thought you could sneak away and bust up my party. Well I ain’t having it girly!”

  Her big boot met his young chest and something cracked. Older boy screamed “jake jake!”

  “You shut up back there!” she yelled.

  She kicked him again. Crack! Bloody, horrific scream. Rock and roll boots blood galore. His eyes wide with horror and pain with a touch of furiousness at the wild stripper gone mad. She removed his ball gag.

  “Derek!” The young Christ warrior screamed.

  Older Christ warrior responded with “Jake Jake!”

  Annoyed and pissed off, Cherry said, “Can’t you see I’m trying to kill you.” And raised her boot again.

  “Wait wait”

  “What what”

  “Don’t don’t”

  “Please please”

  “Stop stop”

  “Why why”

  “Don’t cry don’t cry”

  Shoot a tiger in the eye. Kick! Scream! She dug her boot deep into his young chest.

  “You shoud’ve gotten me that puppy mommy! Oh, she did. He’s over there, oops” Smash! Kick! Scream! He screamed for help loud and high.

  “Scream scream scream all you want. Don’t you know all my neighbors are deaf?”

  Cherry joined in and scream with the young Christ warrior.

  “AHHHHHHHH”

  “Sounds like earlier doesn’t sweetie” she winked at the older boy. He wanted to puke. She kicked and kicked and kicked some more. When the kid wakes up he’ll be sore. But he won’t wake up, Never, ever, ever! It’s hard to wake up without a brain that’s been splattered from here to Maine. Gooey, gooey morning dew mixed with bloody brain battered stew.

  “Now it’s your turn big boy” She cracked her knuckles and he started to wiggle away.

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going” said the pink piss nightmare queen looking all haunted and obscene. He gave up. Nowhere else to hide. He looked to the sky. “God, please” he prayed.

  Her saw her standing there at the other end of the yard looking eerie, creepy and oh so pink under the moon light. Cherry stomped her way across the yard in the black of night in her blood wet giant kiss boots, wearing her pink prom dress, in her smudged mascara. What a mess.

  “Please god, help me,” the Christ warrior cried.

  All his prayers came out sounding like “jake jake”. Accept it son, your dead meat. Should’ve kept walking in the heat right on past 1313 Devules Court. Now you’re fucked. Cherry began humming a familiar tune in the light of the moon. It will all be over soon.

  “These boots were made for walkin’.” Creep, creep, creeping closer. “And that’s just what they’ll do.” So c
lose, so close. Now she stood over him, her horrid face above the Christ warrior like a living nightmare in the flesh.

  “One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over”

  SPLAT!

  The next morning. A new day. Hello Saturday. Apple jacks heaven. Morning breakfeast at seven. Bright eyed and bushy fucking tailed. Cherry Trick twirled around her kitchen with pink madness blowing kisses to Marylin. Pink stove, pink microwave, pink countertop she can’t stop dancing and laughing. It’s a wonderful day. It’s the goddam sound of music at the fucking Trick residence. But wait where are the boys? Ms. Trick’s little human toys. They had come so far and worked so hard. They’re right back there buried in her back yard along with the mailman, the milkman, the meter man, the gas man, that dreaded tax man.

  That’s a lot of killin’and a lot of pissin’ for poor Ms. Trick.

  Bloodsoakedleatherwhip!Femalehairblondesluttyfacelipstickrapelipstickfacesluttyblondehairfemale

  Knock knock knock. “Who is it? I’ll be right there.” Primp pee and brush hair. Same tall black boots, same tight pussy blue jeans, same white top minus the blood. She opened the door so very slow.

  “Hi ma’am my name is Detective Monroe”

  “How can I help you” Cherry said.

  “Well ma’am there’s been a disappearance.”

  She blushed at ma’am and told the detective her name.

  “Well Ms.Trick two boys have gone missing.”

  “Missing?” she said.

  “Yes missing Ms. Trick.”

  “Please, call me Cherry” she smiled.

  “Ok, Cherry” He smiled back.

  “This is all very dreary Cherry but you see, the boys haven’t been seen since a quarter to three, yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?

  “Yes, yesterday.”

  “Well what do ya’ say.”

  “Here’s a picture of the boys. Sources say they were in this area yesterday afternoon. They were out and about spreading the good word. They are connected to the kingdom of Jehovah congregation here in town. ”

  Don’t frown Cherry. “Can’t say they look familiar.” Liar, liar tight pussy jeans on fire.

  “Well that’s too bad. Their Mother is worried sick about them. They’re brothers. David 21 and Derek 19.”

  “Brothers?” Cherry said shocked.

  “Yes brothers.”

  Holy shit oh brother. Cherry’s inner evil self was boiling over with excitement high fiving itself. Yahtzee you slutty thing, but keep it together girl, Cherry thought to herself. She shook her head slowly.

  “Oh that’s so sad.”

  “Yeah and it’s too bad. They’re good boys.” He said.

  No they’re not detective, no they are fucking not, Cherry laughed inwardly.

  “Here’s my card Ms. Trick. If you see anything give me a call.”

  “You want a pop cop, it is so hot,” Cherry asked.

  “It is hot, but no pop, thanks.”

  Just then the carousel like tone of the local ice cream truck pulled into Devules Court.

  “I sure could go for some ice cream though’” Detective Monroe smiled.

  “So could I detective, so could I.” She licked her lips.

  Cherry’s heart sped up with excitement as she gazed at the ice cream man behind the wheel of the large white truck with hand drawn pictures of chocolate and vanilla ice cream cones on it.

  She bit her bottom lip in anticipation as she and the detective walked towards the truck under the hot mid-morning sun; her long black boots making a long sexy stride.

  “What’ll ya have little lady?” The ice cream man asked cheerfully.

  “I’ll have a sundae with extra whip cream, oh and a cherry on top” Cherry said with a wink and an evil smile to the ice cream man with her sights now set on a new (bloody) adventure and her mind’s eye on the bedroom.

  Sisterblood

  There once were two sisters that played in a metal band appropriately titled Witch Killer. Tori played bass and delivered vo-kill harshness and her little sis’ Traci played guitar. They struggled hard and played hard to and soon they found themselves on the road crushing clubs across America. It was good times for all including the sister’s boyfriends Steve and Bill who joined them on tour. After a brutal show in Terre Haute, Indiana, Traci found herself throwing back mini shots at the local watering hole with some fans and Witch Killer roadie Larry. Her man Steve didn’t feel like partying that night. He told her he was going to crash for the evening. Later she stumbled back to the tour bus in the wicked cold January night air. Opening the near frozen door to the tour bus, she stepped inside.

  “Holy hell!” she yelled out drunkenly, “Somebody’s been fuckin’ on this beast! Smells like a damn whore house!” She laughed uncontrollably.

  Then staggering down the narrow hallway, she swung open the dark blue curtain to a small room on the bus; the only area with a decent sized bed. Her brown eyes widened when she saw two large hands cupped around a milky white bottom, with long black strands of hair snaking its way down the back and over a hip. Traci covered her mouth in disbelief at what she saw; her man Steve was fucking her sister Tori, or rather Tori was fucking Steve. It was unfortunate. And it was also unfortunate for Tori the back stabbing bitch bass player and the tool beneath her warm thighs. Something snapped in Traci at that very moment. Her whole life flashed in front of her flooding eyes. Her thoughts were shrouded by flame, fire and unspeakable hate. She saw a picture in her mind of her and her sister holding each other with smiles as big as the sun. It turned to blackened ash. Black Sabbath Vol.4 was playing loudly on a cd player in the small room of infidelity. They never heard Traci swing open the blue curtain or even get on the bus. Nauseated by the horrible site, she drunkenly stumbled backwards toward the entrance of the bus. She exited and almost slipped down the large steps. She fell to her knees and threw up on the sidewalk. Slimy red chunks of sickness coated her midnight blue hair. It froze almost immediately.

  The next day at sound check on the extreme eastern side of the state, the band began setting up their gear at Pierre’s in Fort Wayne. Unbeknownst of Traci’s findings, Tori knew something was wrong with her sister. Her body language gave it away. She hadn’t spoken to Tori all day. After a lackluster sound check, Tori asked, “What’s up little sis? You seem a little off today?” She didn’t want to speak to Tori much less even look at her. Also there were some members of Kendra Says Kill watching them play and she didn’t want to cause a scene. “I’m ok, just a little hung over, that’s all.”

  All morning she replayed the heartbreaking scene over in her mind. Sadness mixed hate, hate mixed with rage, and rage created the hellish beast inside her scratching to get out. She knew what had to be done. There were a few hours to kill before Witch Killer went on that evening. Traci made good use of them by heading out to the local hardware shop.

  It was another brutal show and another satisfied crowd of metalheads that night in Fort Wayne. Traci watched Kendra Says Kill from the side of the stage. She was on her third beer and second shot of Jim Beam, more than her five foot frame could handle. As usual at the after party Traci’s boyfriend Steve was full of lies. “You go ahead baby, I’m bushed again,” he told Traci convincingly. She wrapped her hands around his greasy hair and gave him a kiss. “You can’t handle this rock star thing can you?” She laughed as they turn away from each other. Her eyes turned red. A cringed, hateful grin glowed dark on her face. She could almost taste the blood.

  The after party was in full affect as Traci stepped out in front of Pierres. The biting cold sliced at her face. A faint dust of snow began to fall. A large almost full moon shined brightly down on her midnight blue hair just as she took one last hard swig of whiskey before throwing the skull engraved flask to the ground. She walked up to her sister’s tour bus and went inside.

  The sound of sex could be heard throughout the tour bus as Traci leisurely walked down the hallway. The aroma of sex filled the bus. She ran her fingernails a
long the sides of the wall as she walked along the plush, dark red carpet. In her hand she gripped a large wooden handle of an axe which she drug behind her. She came upon the dark blue curtain to her sister’s room. Be my Lover by Alice Cooper graced the sex tinged room as she slowly pulled the curtain open to find once again her whoring sister on top of Steve and his hands planted firmly on her full, luscious ass. Trace whistled along to Alice. The rage of a blue haired, psychotic young woman with clenched teeth reared itself on the mirrored reflection of the behemoth axe. The shiny chrome life ender sparkled on its first downward swing making a deep and painful indent into the cheating couples joined together snake and hole. A gush of blood splattered and splashed on Tori’s creamy white buttocks and wide hips. Lines of red dripped down her back thighs as the couple howled in unison. The second swing of death produced more blood and an even deeper gash. Tori and Steve’s screams turned to deathly moans. On the third and final swing, Traci exhaled a short breath of drunken, sister killing exhaustion when she lifted the heavy axe. SPLASH! No moans. Just Alice. “Baby if you wanna be my lover. You better take me home.”

  Traci backed away from the blood soaked sheets on the bed with a smile on her face, admiring the deed she done. With a tilted head and a twisted grin she blew a bloody kiss to the heap of bloody flesh. “Together forever know,” she said. She lifted her killing tool and a haunting stare reflected back at her from the bloodied chrome of the axe. “Look at you little bloody princess, axe slashin’ sister killer.” She stepped out of the bus back into the cold January air. But she felt nothing.

  Third from the sun (Prong version) began to play at the after party. She kneeled down with her back against the brick wall of the club. With her bloody axe in hand her sister’s blood dripped from her wrist to the snow covered ground. She lit a cigarette and patiently waited for the police to come and take her to her new home.

  The Pack