H-Day Part 2- Soul Stealer: The Kiss of Death
Remember, these are a very rough draft and not even close to final. They are more like the initial ideas I get and quickly spew out. I hope you enjoy it for what it is!
WARNING: The story that follows is full of senseless violence, gratuitous sexual descriptions, and blood; lots and lots of blood!
Oh, how I love Halloween!
“God damn it, Myrtle. What are those Maigny kids up to now?” crowed Gunther Sinclair from reclined position of his favorite chair.
“What? I didn’t hear a thing and neither did you. That TV is up so loud the Maigny’s are probably wondering what we’re up to! Put your hearing aid in and turn down that TV!” Replied Myrtle Sinclair from within the confines of her remodeled kitchen. She stood at the kitchen sink finishing up her dishes and watching as the rain came down in buckets. The drops races by the back porch light, which was on and casting eerie shadows (Are there other kinds of shadows in a thunder storm?) across the back yard, and they looked like small tracer rounds shooting down from the heavens.
“What, Myrt? Did you say something?”
“Crazy old man,” she whispered under her breath.
A flash of lightning lit up the sky and with it the body of a large man coming from the bushes between the two back yards. Myrtle saw him as clear as day and dropped the dish she had been drying. “What the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks was that,” she gasped.
WHAAAAA-BOOOOM! Another round of thunder that shook the house and startled the 83 year old Myrtle Sinclair.
“What now, Myrt? Can’t you let me watch TV in peace?”
A series of lightning flashes once again lit up the sky and gave Myrtle another look into the backyard at the — at the man who was no longer there. “Oh well,” she said to no one. “I guess it was these old eyes playing tricks on me again.”
The old woman placed the dish in the cupboard to her right and turned back just in time to see a hulking mass of a man dive through the kitchen window landing on the sink in front of her and falling onto the cold ceramic tile floor.
“God damn it, Myrt! What the hell do you want? Either come in here and ask me or leave me alone!” Old Gunther said as his ears strained to pick up what he thought his bride of 63 years might be saying. He decided it was nothing and went back to reclining the night away.
Myrtle Sinclair’s heart raced with fear. She attempted to scream, but the man was on her before she could take a breath. His large hands encompassed her throat and squeezed like a vice. She looked deep into the eyes of the man and saw nothing; not a flicker of life, just two black orbs glaring back at her void of emotion.
The old woman’s heart stopped beating at roughly 10:39PM Saturday, October 20th. Her body dangled lifeless from the hands of the killer. The man cocked his head to the left in an awkward
jerky motion and pulled the womans face tight to his. His lips like two wet, sticky slugs pressed firmly against the womans old, dry, parched mouth.
Just then the mans body went limp and slumped to the floor. Myrtle Sinclair stood tall. Her ears perked up as she heard the booming volume from the TV where Gunther Sinclair relaxed. She adjusted her sagging bosom, pulled up her flowered skirt, and checked her makeup in the stainless steel refrigerator door. Two black orbs stared back at her. She licked her lips and went off towards the living room where her husband awaited.
Startled by her sudden appearance, Gunther almost fell backwards in his recliner. “Damn it, Myrtle. What in tarnation are ya doin’ out there? Did you break a glass or something? I thought I heard a ruckus.”
Myrtle flung her right leg over the recliner and in an instant she was on top of Gunther. She straddled him, her hips began to slowly gyrate as her hands tore her blouse and bra from her body. Her ancient breasts flopped flat against her stomach, wiggling and jiggling to the swaying of her midsection.
“Fuck me, your old man! Give it to Momma like you used to! Take that old prick of yours and fuck me hard. I must feel that cock deep inside me. Let me ride you until my hips break, then turn me over and stuff my ass. You know you want too you filthy old fuck!”
Myrtle, or who ever she was, grabbed on of her floppy tits and lowered it into Gunther’s mouth. She/He/It felt the raspy surface of Gunther’s tongue slowly flicking at the nipple. The thing thrust the tit deeper into his mouth with enough force to crack his jaw. Gunther instinctively bit down hard taking the erect nipple off in his mouth. Warm, thick blood flowed into his mouth as he began to gasp for air. Deeper and harder the tit was jammed into his mouth until it formed a perfect seal cutting off any possible air flow.
Less than a minute later Gunther Sinclair’s body went limp as his bowels relieved themselves one last time. Urine and lumpy shit filled his already stained boxers.
Myrtle lowered her head down to his and took his lips with hers. Her body slouched to the right and came crashing down taking out a floor lamp and popping the bulb in the process.
Gunther’s body rose from the recliner and marched off towards the door. He ripped the 3 inch mahogany door form the frame and headed out into the ensuing downpour. His eyes, black as the night scanned the streets back and forth until the stopped and focused on the only other house on the block with a light on; the house of Clarice and Ben Washington and their twin infants Joshua and Jay.
Gunther stepped off of the porch. The rain instantly soaked him to the core. The wetness mixed with the piss and shit in his pants and created a brown trail that quickly washed away. Lightning flashed once again. The Washington house went dark…