Archive for April, 2011

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THE PIG FARM: By Anthony D. Redden

Saturday, April 23rd, 2011

Joshua awoke suddenly. He began choking and gagging on bloody sputum as he struggled for air. A large dog collar had been tightly strapped around his neck and attached by a chain to the ceiling. Similar belt-like fastenings restrained his wrists and ankles. He was held securely upon his knees, arms extended as though crucified. Joshua could feel the deep grip of the leather around his throat as his own weight was slowly strangling him. Rising upon haunches to relieve the pressure, he began to writhe within the restraints to loosen their grip. It didn’t work.

Joshua attempted to re-compose, but his weak and bruised body was shaking uncontrollably from fear. Frantically looking around he found that he was in what appeared to be an old barn. His field of vision was restricted by the restraints however he could tell this was a vast place. Huge dirty corrugated sheeting formed the roof and large wooden beams zigzagged above him supporting the immense structure. He was held within a small cubicle, possibly intended for holding cattle or horses and he assumed either side would be similar. To the front of him he could see a man dangling from the same chains and manacle set up. The man was obviously dead. Blood covered his half naked body and various entrails and organs hung from a large tear in his abdomen.

An acrid stench violated the air and Joshua began to feel nauseous. Again he began to cough upon his own saliva and blood, but this time his whole body retched as vomit erupted from him spraying upon the floor. Joshua spat the remnants of sick from his mouth in between gasps of air.

‘Soo-eeeeee! Piggy piggy!’

A man’s gruff voice squealed with menace from a doorway somewhere behind Joshua. Instantly the whole barn erupted with deafening screams and moans, and the intense clanging of chains told Joshua that this barn was full of others also in his predicament. The air suddenly filled with dust and debris as the barn’s old wooden structure bowed and shook under the force of seventy people trying to escape their restraints.

‘Help!’ He screamed out of anguish although he knew it was futile. ‘Help! Someone fucking help me!’

Joshua suddenly felt a hand fall upon his shoulder and someone’s stale whiskey soaked breath upon his face.

‘Well well. What do we have here?’

Joshua tried to turn to see the man behind him but couldn’t. He called back to the unknown man.

‘Mister! Look mister, there’s been some major fucking mistake here! I don’t even know who you are or what you’re doing here, but please…please let me go. I can get you money…anything?’

Joshua felt the warm noxious breath again as the man drew even closer.

‘You’re right, there has been a fucking mistake here.’

‘Oh thank God! Yes…yes…so please…’

‘The mistake is that you’re still fucking alive.’

With that the man stepped back from Joshua and undid his belt and dropped his jeans. He then shuffled back and using both hands began to massage Joshua’s shoulders. He leaned in close again this time whispered into Joshua’s ear.

‘It’s been a while since I fucked a live one.’

Joshua frantically scanned his surroundings again for some understanding of his fate. Then he saw it. The dead man in the cubicle in front of him was screaming and writhing around within his restraints. Guts still hanging from his gaping wound and flailing like wet laundry across the dusty ground with each jerk of his body.

All logic was telling Joshua that what he was seeing was impossible. That the man before him was dead. Then another man walked into view. This man was wearing a pair of small black shorts and a pair of knee high waders. He tipped his Stetson hat towards Joshua before screaming ‘Soo-weeeee Piggy!’

Joshua felt the warm stank breath upon his face again.

‘Welcome to the Farm little pig!’

___
©2011 Anthony D. Redden

Writer of poetry and short stories for over 17 years, with a passion for the dark and macabre. Graduated with a degree in Applied Social Sciences and is currently studying towards a degree in Literature. Currently living in Derbyshire, in the heart of England with his wife and two children.

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DINNERTIME: By Rick McQuiston

Friday, April 22nd, 2011

I’d never noticed it before, the way my wife’s left eye twitches ever so slightly when she smiles. Don’t ask me how I never noticed it till now. I like it though, it gives her character. Makes her human…well, almost.

“Do you want some more hon?” she asks sweetly.

I couldn’t help but smile myself. After fifteen years of marriage she still holds the key to my heart. And then there’s the kids. They are the glue that holds us together. We’re the bread, they’re the peanut butter and jelly. We’re the gloves, they’re the hands. We’re the…well, you get the picture.

I reply politely, “Yes dear, just a little more.” I know I need to watch my weight but its not often that we have such a delicious meal like this.

I love meat. My whole family does. Barbecue, broiled, smoked, whatever. They are all good.

My wife smiles again, twitching eye and all, and shovels another large portion of juicy red meat onto my plate. My two young sons both look up at me. Their faces reflect their love, which is matched only by their innocence.

Life seemed incomplete before they came along. I felt like I was on a boat sailing endlessly through open waters with my wife along for company.

Kevin, my youngest, flicks tiny pieces of meat between his knife and fork. I sternly tell him that’s its dinnertime, not playtime. Sometimes you have to be firm, although I must admit that my wife is far better at tough love than myself.

Dinnertime has always been somewhat sacred to me. Sitting down with loved ones to enjoy a good meal is one of life’s greatest unsung pleasures in my opinion.

Stevie, my oldest, chuckles loudly.

“What a dummy,” he says while looking at his brother.

“Stevie!” my wife snaps just as I nearly choke on a piece of meat too large to swallow. “That’ll be enough! Now finish eating.”

Stevie was always on watch for his little brother to make a mistake or say something foolish. I guess siblings can be like that sometimes. But Lynn and I know they really love each other.

After three servings I concede that I’m full. I push myself away from the table and saunter lazily towards the couch in the living room. Lynn soon joins me. She looks over toward the window to the left of the front door. A perfect circle the size of a grapefruit decorates the glass pane. Directly above it, the lock mechanism remains unlatched.

“I wonder why the thief bothered to close the window,” she says while positioning a mauve colored pillow underneath her arm. “Like we wouldn’t notice.”

I smile at her and add, “Well, those types aren’t the brightest sort.”

She nods and pulls the afghan she’s been stitching up onto her lap. She then begins her work.

After finally settling on a channel, a rather graphic documentary about lions, I notice the pizza boxes stacked by the front door. I’d left them there earlier, forgotten all about them. They were meant to be our dinner.

“Think we should put the pizza in the fridge for tomorrow?” I ask.

Lynn pauses from her stitching only long enough to respond.

“Good idea honey. We can have it for dinner then.”

I nod and get up off the couch. Picking up the white cardboard boxes, I stride into the kitchen and toss them into the fridge. Then I begin to clean the kitchen. I toss the hands and feet into the trash can, never did like the extremities, and begin to wash the dishes. My thoughts drift back to dinnertime. Such a well-prepared meal as only my lovely wife could do. I lick my fangs at the thought of it.

_____

©2004 Rick McQuiston

Rick McQuiston been writing horror fiction for over ten years and has had nearly 200 publications so far, including in Demon Minds, Alienskin, Horror Library and Dark Distortions Vol. II from Scopia Press. He’s written four anthology books, “Many Midnights”, “Chills by Candlelight”, “Beneath the Moonlight, and “As Mean as the Night”, which are available on Lulu and Amazon. Currently, he’s working on his first novel, a zombie tale titled ‘To See as a God Sees’. Rick is also a guest author at Memphis Junior High School.

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