Short Story Saturday: Alabama Dog Rot: A Creepy-Colin Escapade by Guest Author Paul Skelton

Alabama Dog Rot

(A Creepy-Colin Escapade) 

by Paul Skelton

   Desperate Dan (otherwise known as Daniel Eastwood) worked at Lather & Sons timber yard. He drove a bright red Ford Ranger and lived opposite the Gilby family, where sixteen-year-old Creepy-Colin lived. Colin had recently had his first sexual encounter with a neighbour, seventeen-year-old Jessica Wilson, and was now developing an unhealthy crush on thirty-five-year-old Janette Simpson, Desperate Dan’s live-in girlfriend. Colin employed various surveillance devices to witness her more private moments, when opportunity allowed. Opportunities were somewhat limited, as Colin was an apprentice at Lather's, and he was driven to work each day by Desperate Dan. His only opportunities occurred when Desperate Dan went to the pub and came home late at night, and Janette would (whilst he was out) perform her pampering activities, which, among other things, included shaving some very personal areas.

* * *

   'Gonna be away this weekend, Col'. I'm goin' to see a dog from a breeder down near the New Forest,' Desperate Dan confided on their way to the timber yard one morning. 'If you fancy earning some extra cash, I've got some gardening jobs 'round my place want doin' while I'm gone.'

   'Gardening’s not my thing, Mr. Eastwood.'

   'Okay, son, that's a shame. Janette can probably manage on her own, anyway.'

  Creepy-Colin had imagined Desperate Dan and Janette would be away for the weekend together. The fact that he had been mistaken in this assumption changed the incentives considerably. Creepy-Colin’s interest was now aroused, in more ways than one.

   'B-b-but, I could do with some extra cash actually, Mr. Eastwood, and if Janette’s there, she would be able to show me what wants doing and how to do it.' Colin then blushed, his pimple-ridden, oily skin became clammy and sweaty. 'I-I-I don't mean it,' (he did), 'I mean the work, er, the jobs, I mean.'

   'Hahaha, you crack me up, Colin, you really do. Hah hah. Yeh, she'll give you a hand.'

   WOW! thought Colin.

   'And I'll pay you thirty quid. There's a lawn to mow and a bit of hedge trimming,'

  'Trimming?' Colin nearly flipped, mentally picturing Janettes electric shaver in action.

   'And the weeds need a good seeing to.'

  Creepy-Colin needed “seeing to”, and when they reached the timber yard, he leapt from the Ford Ranger and made a dash for the Lather’s trade counter building where the toilets were situated.

   'You okay, son?' Desperate Dan called out as Colin sprinted across the yard to the toilets to deal with an uncomfortable problem, requiring instant gratification.

* * *

   Creepy-Colin saw Desperate Dan drive off at seven o'clock the following Saturday morning, and he decided to call on Janette a good half an hour earlier than planned.

   It's the early bird that catches the worm. He thought to himself, sniggering as he drenched himself in his Father’s favourite Diesel aftershave.

   Janette Simpson opened the door to Colin, clad in a short pink silk robe, which left little to the imagination. Creepy-Colin drooled.

   'Oh! Hi, Colin, you're early. Keen to get down to it, are you?'

   'Oh, God, yeh . . . ' He gulped, his eyes bulging. 'I mean, er, the gardening. Yeh, I like to make an early start.'

   'I'm impressed, Colin.' She smiled. 'I haven't showered yet, and I need to make myself decent, I do apologise.'

   Don't apologise. Thought Colin.

   'So, why don't you go through and fix us both a nice coffee while I get ready? The coffee’s in the percolator, the mugs are on the drainer, and, oh, there's some cream in the fridge.'

   Cream? Oh God! Colin thought, his head swimming, catching a glimpse of naked breast and nipple as Janette turned to go upstairs. Following her through the house, Creepy-Colin got another eyeful, “upskirt”, as she ascended the stairs.

* * *

   Janette sat down to her coffee, dressed in tight-fitting shorts and a loose, plaid shirt tied into a bow 'round her midriff. When they had finished the coffee, they set about the various tasks. Colin made much of “needing help” in order to be close to her as often as possible and peek down her open-necked shirt, noting that, on this hot day, Janette was bra-less. Colin worked hard though, mainly to impress Janette. They chatted amiably throughout the day, Colin trying to fit in as many compliments as possible, and Janette revealing that she may move out to get her own place soon, as she didn't want to share the house with a dog. She thought she would carry on seeing Desperate Dan but didn't imagine the relationship “going anywhere”. Eventually, the work was done, and Janette suggested that Creepy-Colin should take a shower before he went home.

   Colin undressed and stepped into the shower, hoping against hope . . .

   'You don't mind sharing, do you?' Janette purred as she slithered, naked, against Colin’s wet body in the hot shower.

   The fantasy ended abruptly when he heard Janette asking, 'have you come yet', and giggling from just outside of the door. He realised that she had been spying on him and what he was doing in the shower.

   She entered the bathroom fully clothed.

   'Sorry, Colin, I couldn't resist.' She sniggered. 'It's just that you've been so obvious all day. Really creepy, with those compliments, y'know? Bit pervy, Colin. Now hurry up, sort yourself out and get decent. I'm going out.'

   Creepy-Colin got decent and went home, deflated.

* * *

   Next day, Sunday, Colin got a call from Desperate Dan at around three in the afternoon, asking him to come over to collect his thirty pounds.

   'Ah, come in, Colin, and meet Lola.' Dan was beaming as they walked through to the kitchen where a grey and white puppy sat dozily on a dog blanket, 'There's Lola. She's half Greyhound, half Bearded Collie, only eleven weeks old. What do you think?'

   'Nice, Mr. Eastwood. She's a Lurcher then?'

   'That's right, Colin, she's a rough-coated Brindle dog. You know a bit about dogs then?'

   'Yeh, a bit. How much did you pay for her?'

   'Eh, don't worry. Here's your thirty quid.' Desperate Dan winked and handed over the cash. 'If you must know, I paid a hundred and fifty, not bad, eh?'

   'She's got some nasty sores, Mr. Eastwood.' Creepy-Colin was inspecting the dog closely.

   'Yeh, the breeder gave me some cream for those; look.' Dan picked up a jar from the Formica kitchen table and handed it to Colin who studied it meticulously. Colin then got his smartphone out and started browsing the internet.

   'What is it, Col'?' asked Dan.

   'Hang on a mo' . . . , she's very quiet, looks knackered. Has she vomited at all?'

   'Well, yeh she's tired, it was a long trip for her cooped up in my cab. She did puke a bit when we got back, probably travel-sickness.'

   'Appetite? Is she eating?'

   'Well, I put a bowl of food for her out as soon as we got back. She hasn't touched it yet, but . . .'

   'Alabama Dog Rot!'

   'Alabama what rot? Dog rot?'

   'Yep, reckon so,' Creepy-Colin said confidently. 'There's been no real clinical research, but the first cases affected Greyhounds in Alabama U.S.A. in the eighties. In the UK there's been about a hundred cases, most of them around the New Forest. The disease attacks the blood vessels, the kidneys, and affects renal movement. It's hard to treat and almost always fatal. Look, Mr. Eastwood.'

   Desperate Dan looked at the screen on Colin's smartphone, and he went deathly pale. He gulped a few times and then started ranting.

   'Right, I'll get her to a vet tomorrow. Meanwhile, I'm getting onto that bloody breeder. I'm gonna fuckin' kill 'im!'

   'No time for that, we've gotta act fast, Mr. Eastwood. If she's vomiting and not eating, it's advanced. The skin sores are already breaking. She's literally rotting away.'

   'What can we do, Colin?' Dan wailed and then started sobbing.

   'Not sure, but you stay here, have a drink or something. I'm off to get some stuff I've got, might help slow it down. Then tomorrow you can get down the vet's.'

   Creepy-Colin dashed home, and once in his room, started fetching bottles of various liquids from under his bed. He then started mixing them together, carefully examining the results each time he added something to the concoction. Finally, he filled some syringes with the formula and rushed back to Desperate Dan.

* * *

   Dan didn't show up at work for the next five days, he was taking some unpaid leave to attend to Lola. The following Saturday, Creepy-Colin was supping a pint of Coors that Desperate Dan had bought for him at the Rose and Crown public house.

   'Cheers, Col.' Dan raised his glass of Newcastle Brown. 'Yep, thanks to you, mate, Lola’s okay. The vet didn't have a scooby-doo, just offered me more skin cream. So I got her home and hoped for the best. I did administer another injection, as you suggested. Now, she's eating me out of house and home, and energy? Blimey, I've never known a dog like it. You should see how fast she can run when I take her down the park.'

   'She's grown a lot, hasn't she?' Colin was stroking Lola under the pub table.

   'Yeh, you wouldn't believe it's the same dog, would you? Drink up, Colin, I'll get you another.'

   After two more drinks they left the pub, and Lola, loping beside them, was now the size of a mature Great Dane. She stood thirty inches in height and weighed in at nearly one hundred and sixty pounds. Desperate Dan should have been worried.

* * *

   Creepy-Colin didn't fire up his computer to spy on Janette Simpson that night, as he knew she had moved out. He would miss her. He got ready for bed and settled down to look up breeds of dog, in particular, larger breeds. He was concerned by Lola’s sudden growth spurt, even if Daniel Eastwood wasn't. Then his mobile rang.

   'Hello?'

   'Hi, Colin, it's Janette. Look, I know it's late, but I want to apologise for making fun of you last weekend. I want to make it up to you. I've got my own flat, now, all to myself, and I'm home alone wearing my silk robe, the one you saw me in last week. Nothing underneath, Colin.' She spoke softly and sensuously. 'Come over, babe, and do a bit of gardening with me, yeh?'

   Colin stared at his phone, open-mouthed, instantly getting a hard-on, and momentarily couldn't think what to say. Then he decided to follow his instincts.   'What kind of fool do you take me for, Janette? You can't do gardening in a flat.  There's no garden. I wasn't born yesterday. Huh!' And with that, he terminated the call without waiting for an answer. Then he turned his phone off.

   Janette stared at her phone and threw it across the room in temper. Then she slid out of her robe, feeling rejected, and resorted to pleasuring herself. She was too far away from Desperate Dan’s house to hear the howling and screaming. But Creepy-Colin wasn't, and on hearing the commotion, he peeked outside. He saw Lola on Desperate Dan’s front lawn tearing him to pieces, throwing him around like a rag-doll. Creepy Colin wasn't the only neighbour dialing “999” at that point.

   Lola’s body lay dead on the front lawn, and to Colin, looked even bigger than he noticed at the pub earlier. The hide had large slits and splits in it, as if the animal had literally grown faster on the inside than the skin on the outside could keep up with. It had taken several gunshots from the Police vet before Lola went down, and Paramedics arrived to retrieve what was left of Desperate Dan.

   'You Colin Gilby?' the Police Constable asked, and Colin nodded in affirmation. 'And you work with Mr. Eastwood, I believe. Do you know anything about his dog?'

   'Bought Lola a few days ago in the New Forest. She got sick, and he took it to the vet. Alabama Dog Rot, I think. They gave him some cream.' Colin shrugged.' That's all I know.'

   'Thanks, son, never heard of Alabama Dog Rot. Vet should know what it is.'

* * *

THE END

Snippet Saturday: Your Momma Didn't Raise You Right an excerpt from 'Wraith'

First off: this post is a great example of why you get the content warning when clicking on a link for my blog. This excerpt contains both sexual and violent content while balancing a bit of adult humor. So, continue reading with that in mind. 😉

Your Momma Didn't Raise You Right

an excerpt from 'Wraith'

Turning the corner, I glanced around, disappointed at the lack of people. Maybe it was too early, but usually at the truck stops I was familiar with, the first shift of panhandlers were in place at the break of dawn, swindling truck drivers and travelers before they could get their first cup of coffee and fully wake up.

“Shit!” I swore, and then bit my lip, narrowing my eyes.

“Such language from such a purrty thing. Your momma didn’t raise you right.” The voice came from the parking lot behind me.

“Excuse me?” I spun around and glared at the broad-shouldered, mostly silver-haired man stepping up on the store’s sidewalk.

“Don’t get me wrong, while you ain’t marrying material, a girl with a dirty mouth usually carries that dirty over elsewhere.” He waggled his eyebrow at me. “I’ve got fifty bucks if you show me how dirty you can be.”

“Are you fucking kiddin’ me?” I laughed at him and rolled my eyes. “Ugh!”

“Name’s Rusty.  If you change your mind, I’ll be out in a few. We can put that dirty little mouth of yours to work. Maybe, I could scrape up another twenty-five if it’s more than just your mouth.” He stuck his tongue out and flicked it furiously, lapping at the air in a suggestive way. “Who knows? If you’re a good little, dirty girl, I’ll give you a ride on the Rusty Racer.”

He walked in through the automatic doors as I gagged, forcing down the bile that threatened to come up my throat and out of my mouth. Who the hell names their tongue? I thought with a shudder.

I walked to the opposite side of the building and looked along the empty walkway. Frustrated and irritated, I started back to the car.

Just eat the truck driver. That guy seems like a prick, anyway. I’ll have someone clean it up later. Bastian’s voice glided through my mind.

I recoiled at the thought but decided the options were limited, and the guy pretty much invited it. Fine. I guess you’re right. I’ll be around in a bit. Gotta wait for him to come back out.

You could always take a little longer, have a little fun . . . try out the Rusty Racer. The sound of laughter echoed through my head.

Um, yeah. Nah, I’m good. I shook my head, trying to erase the image that passed through my thoughts.

He’s not too bad looking. Not hot, but I guess you like ‘em to look like they’re barely out of high school. His words struck hard when I realized he was referring to Marshall. Not that Bastian looked any older.

Bite me, I retorted.

Only if you ask nicely, he replied, catching me off guard.

“Still here, I see,” the trucker said behind me.

I tried to compose myself before turning to face him, knowing a blush had crept up my cheeks from Bastian’s last comment. “Yeah, turns out I like to be dirty. You don’t even have to pay me.” I smirked.

His jaw went slack, and he seemed at a loss for words.

“Unless you didn’t mean it. I can go find someone else, but I really wanted to see why you call it Racer.” I pouted my bottom lip out. “Like can you put a vibrator to shame or is it just over quick-like? I suppose if it’s done properly, quick is fine as long as it actually gets the job done.”

He stood there dumbfounded.

I huffed. “I see,” I said, pouting my bottom lip out further, “you’re all bark and no bite.” Turning, I took a step to walk away.

He gripped my wrist, causing me to spin back around and face him again, need burning within his hazy blue eyes. “Where you going?” He pressed my palm to the bulge at the front of his jeans. “You can’t cause this, and then just walk away.”

“Technically, yes, I can, but I won’t. Where are you parked?” I asked, shaking my arm from his grip.

“It’s the red and blue rig over that way.” He jutted his chin toward the left side of the parking lot.

“Well, let’s go get that little guy taken care of.” Taking the lead, I headed for the semi he’d indicated.

He unlocked the door when we reached the truck, and he made sure to ‘help’ me into the cab by grabbing my ass as I climbed in. When I slid the curtain to the side, I was surprised by what was there. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t a full set-up—king size bed, sink, mini fridge, and a T.V.

“Nice,” I said, walking to the bed and sitting down.

“Worth every penny.” He stood hovering just in front of the curtain before he reached back to pull it closed behind him.

I patted the bed beside me. “Well, get over here and show me what I’m working with.”

Uh, Coral, what are you doing? The words drifted through my mind, uncertain.

I chuckled internally. What I do best? Seduce and slaughter. I thought you knew that?

Can you not project? I don’t really want to watch this. Bastian’s words were contradicted by the way they drifted through my mind, more with a tone of interest than disgust.

What? You’re an adult. You can handle a blowjob. It . . . well, it just might be a little bloody. You’re not opposed to blood, are you? I mean, you do drink it, right? I let the words pass through my mind to his as I watched truck-driver Rusty drop his pants.

Um, Coral, that thing’s not a straw? Please, don’t act like it is. That’s just not right. I don’t care how much of a creep he is. Bastian’s words nearly had me sputtering with laughter, but I held it in.

“Aww, he’s so ready, but you’re still all the way over there. What are you waiting for? Kick your pants off your fucking ankles and get over here,” I said, and then licked my palm before inserting two fingers into my mouth and sucking them.

Rusty whimpered, honest to goodness whimpered, and then did what I’d told him. When he was close enough, I wrapped my moistened hand around his hardness, stroking down and then back up the length of him. My thumb glided over his tip, catching the bead of slickness that had left him.

Bastian pleaded in my mind about not wanting to watch, did I not have an ounce of humanity? Blah, blah, blah. I hadn’t actually planned on putting my hand on the thing, let alone my mouth, but Bastian’s freak out was too much fun.

I looked up at the man in front of me, his eyes were intent and focused on my hand as it slowly slid down the length of him and back up again. “Why don’t you lie down? Get comfortable?” I said and moved my hand away from the throbbing lump of flesh.

He sat down beside me and laid back, sliding further up the bed to where only his sock-covered feet hung off the edge.

I could practically hear Bastian’s labored breathing. Seems he didn’t mind so much ‘watching’ the ongoings, but he seemed just as surprised as Rusty did when my pocketknife sliced through his femoral artery.

No, neither one of them noticed as I’d slipped the blade from my pocket or even the small click it made as I opened it. I’d adjusted myself like I was going to take him into my mouth, and then there was blood everywhere as I plunged the blade through the thickness of his thigh. It made a much bigger mess than I’d anticipated before I could seal my lips around the incision.

The shock of it left truck-driver Rusty silent, and he was dead before he realized what had happened. Of that fact, I was nearly positive. Once the blood stopped filling my mouth, I pulled back, noticing the creamy splash of ejaculate across the man’s lower belly and up his shirt. His face locked in an expression between ecstasy and fear.

That was all kinds of wrong. Bastian’s words sounded somehow breathless as they flowed through my mind. You weren’t always this ruthless. It’s . . .

Hot? Sick? I offered.

Unnerving, yet, strangely compelling, he said.

I shook my head. I’m gonna need you to drive back here. I’m a mess. I need to shower when we get to that bitch’s house.

**Note: this excerpt is not a final draft. It is subject to change before the release of the final product.

Short Story Saturday: 'The Dog Star' from Guest Author Paul Skelton

Author Paul Skelton

The Dog Star

by Paul Skelton

It was a Wednesday afternoon, August 8^th to be precise, and Jenna Muldoon was sunbathing in her back garden, in her birthday suit. Not that it was her birthday; that was in July, she was a Gemini. Whilst Jenna attached little significance to her star sign, Charles Rixon did.

Charles was perspiring heavily, partly because it was a hot clammy afternoon and partly because he was studying Jenna’s naked form through his telescope from the balcony of his 12^th floor flat in Goldings House. It was a good ‘scope, a Hitachi Cirius named after The Dog Star. Such was its power that Charles could clearly observe every cleft and mound on Jenna’s body.

Mo Saheed regularly passed Goldings House on his beat. He was the local P.C.S.O., or plastic cop as the resident louts called him. They were the brash and proud keepers of dangerous trophy dogs, widely feared and reviled. Mo, on this occasion, was following up a complaint from the caretaker, Neil Barlow, of the Primary School overlooked by Goldings House. The school was hosting an outdoor summer holiday sports activity day, and having spotted Charles Rixon using his telescope, Neil was concerned that he may be spying on the children playing outside.

Mo nervously entered Goldings House and took the lift to the 12^th floor. He had calculated which flat was home to the guy with the telescope. Charles took an age to answer the door, but when he did, there was instant recognition and familiarity.

‘Hey, it’s the plastic cop. How ya doing, Mo?’

‘Yeh, good. Thanks, mate. Can I come in for a minute, gotta check something with you,’ Mo replied.

‘Yeh, come on in. Shut the door, come through and take the weight off,’ responded Charles cheerfully.

Mo did as he was bade, and he sat down on a comfy old chair in the main living room. The doors to the balcony were wide open, the Hitachi Cirius in full view.

‘Nice telescope, Charles, looks expensive.’ Mo observed.

‘Yep, cost over a grand, very powerful. Got it with the compensation money. So, how can I help with your enquiries then, Mo?’ Charles smiled easily.

‘Well, it’s Mr. Barlow at the school, mate. He’s a bit worried about what you may be looking at through that thing. It’s to do with child protection.’

Charles laughed. ‘Really? Well he needn’t bother himself, I’m into astrology. It’s my new thing.’

‘What, during the day?’ Mo was incredulous.

‘Well, yeh. These few days in August are the perfect time to observe the so-called Dog Star, which comes up with the sun.’

Before Charles could stop him, Mo had risen and was on the balcony, peering into the telescope. Then Mo turned to look back at Charles, his face glum.

‘Oh . . . mate, that’s sad. Voyeurism?’

Charles was suddenly tearful. ‘Yes, Mo. I know. I can’t let go, hurts so bad.’ He sniffed.

‘Look I know she was a bitch, but you need to move on, mate. There’s laws against this sort of thing. It’s a bit pervy.’

‘Look at me, Mo. That accident cost me my job, my mobility, and her. My so-called girlfriend. Everyone said she was selfish, but Christ almighty, she dumped me while I was still in hospital. She said she couldn’t fancy a guy in a wheelchair. How cruel’s that? I’m a Leo, she’s Gemini, we should have been compatible.’

‘It’s not you, is it, Charles, badmouthing her on social media? Posting those pictures of her on that revenge site? Are you the—’ Mo was cut short.

‘YES, MO!’ ranted Charles. ‘It’s me. I’m the troll called “Dog Star”. I’m posting all those naked pictures and stuff. Just desserts, I think.’

Mo was conflicted as he left Goldings House. Should he report Charles as a peeping-tom, a troll, a pervert? Should he, as a friend, turn a blind eye? Lost in these thoughts, Mo carelessly walked into the path of a delivery van and was killed instantly, so the decision was never made.

Jenna’s conflict was very different. She knew exactly who the “Dog Star” troll was but couldn’t bring herself to hate him for it. She felt too guilty for that, and yet, she couldn’t go on living with the cruel comments and revenge porn. As she lay there that afternoon, naked, she hoped Charles could see her one last time, whilst the overdose of tranquilizers, she had taken, took effect.

Later, as the sun (and its attendant Dog Star) went down, Charles had ventured out in his electric wheelchair. He was headed for his local Tesco Express to buy some Frosty Jack cider, which he called “brain damage”. The pack of Rottweilers were off the leash, their owners high as kites, and Charles stood no chance against them. Mauled and maimed, Charles died to the sound of the frenzied dogs howling, but he managed to add one last cry to the cacophony: ‘I AM THE DOG STAR, SEE YOU IN HELL!’

Snippet Saturday: Idiots an excerpt from Halfborn

A Halfborn excerpt

I knew the risks of bringing Marshall out, but everything had gone so well. We were within a quarter mile or so of the R.V. as the scent assaulted my nose. Marshall hadn't gotten a whiff of it yet. The scent was poorly masked by what I could only guess was deer urine. I briefly thought we could make a run for it, making it to the Winnebago in mere seconds. Although they were somewhere between us and our destination. Then the bloodlust shot through me. It was too late, but I tried to fight it anyway.

“Marshall! Please don't!” I yelled, but he was already gone.

Screams erupted, and I ran toward them. Three different voices—two sounded in panic, while the third shrieked in pain and agony. I was finally able to get my eyes on the situation as shots rang out. Marshall held a grizzly of a man in his arms, his mouth latched to the guy’s throat. I had a fleeting thought of beard hair getting stuck in his teeth, then the sensation of bullets biting into Marshall's back chased it away.

Marshall threw the grizzly man's lifeless body to the ground and turned on the other two. They stopped firing. Whether it was because they'd run out of bullets or realized the shooting was doing nothing, I wasn't sure. Marshall stalked toward them. The younger, clean-shaven one turned and sprinted away as quickly as his legs would take him. The other had frozen in shock.

Marshall, being an animal of opportunity, naturally selected the one that had frozen. Leaving me to take chase. I couldn't let the guy get away, no matter how crazy his story would have sounded to people. I dropped my mental barrier, letting Marshall's bloodlust take over. As I caught up to the man, I jumped toward him. I came into contact with his body with more force than I intended, and he fell forward. His head smashed into a rock with a loud crack. His body twitched and jerked on the ground. I went for the strike when the smell of blood entered my nose.

I walked around to where the man's head lay on the rock. My gut wrenched at what I saw. The force of the impact had split the man's skull wide open. Blood pulsed steadily from the wound, pooling on the ground, and through the separation of bone, the man's brain was clearly visible. As I stood there, staring at the horrible scene, Marshall came up, still driven by his bloodlust. Either he didn't see what I did or didn't care. Instead, he went straight for the gushing wound, licking and sucking at it. He gulped greedily.

He looked up at me briefly, and I shook my head to refuse what I assumed was an offer to join him. I couldn't bring myself to feed. Not after what I saw. The man twitched on the ground as Marshall sank his teeth into the guy's neck. I listened to the beating of the man's heart slow, then ultimately stop. Marshall lifted his head and looked around, the wildness in his eyes dying a little as he wiped away the trails of blood from his chin.

“Are you finished then?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He glanced around, again. “Shit! I'm sorry.”

I wasn't sure if I was angry or disappointed. Maybe a combination of the two. I gave up on trying to understand the feelings that coursed through me. “Listen, Marshall . . . Just don't worry about it. This is my fault. I knew better.”

“Hey now, I'm the one that has no control. So how is this your fault?”

“All of this is my fault, Marshall! Can't you see that? I'm the reason you are how you are.”

He lifted himself from the ground. I gave the dead body a glance and started walking. I went back to the area where the other two bodies were. Marshall followed on my heels. I took in the area for a minute. Then I walked away, toward the direction of the Winnebago.

“I'm not dealing with this! Come on, Marshall.”

“But . . . Shouldn't we do something with them?”

“I just said, I'm not dealing with it. Let 'em rot. It was such a perfect day, and they ruined it. Just. Like. That. Ruined!” I said, feeling that much less than who I used to be. “What the fuck were they doing out here anyway? Idiots!”

I tromped through the trees, letting the rage that began within me take over. Rage had to be better than feeling sorry for the guys or feeling disappointed in Marshall's actions. I was angry that the day hadn't played out as it should have. Every bit of fun and distraction had been taken away in a matter of a minute or two. I was angry that I let myself get in the way, and I fought the bloodlust in me. It was a rage all in itself for not being sated.

*You can find and purchase Halfborn on Amazon HERE. Available in ebook and paperback formats, and you can read for free with Kindle Unlimited.

Short Story Saturday: Special Guest Post Paul Skelton with Squiddies

Paul shared this story with me a few weeks ago. He wrote it after reading and being inspired by my short story Remains, which I shared at the beginning of November. Honestly, I'm honored that he was inspired by the story and chose to write one of his own, featuring his own version of the Space Squids.

Without further ado, I give you Squiddies written by Paul Skelton. Enjoy!

SQUIDDIES

Lamont; Michigan; U.S.A.

    ‘They’s white slimy slitherin’ critters, I tell ya,’ Skeet Baker told the disbelieving Sheriff Bellamy. ‘With tentacles like squids a’ got,’ he added helpfully.

    ‘Yeh, ‘n’ they come down in a shiny dome shape craft, what wuz lit up like a Christmas tree. Soon as they wuz a’ slippin’ an’ a’ slidin’ in our direction, it wuz a case a’ jump in the Blazer and we lit outta that yard a’ ours an’ straight here. I tell ya, Sheriff, ya should call out the military,’ Skeet’s son Tyler added.

     ‘There’ll be time enough for that once I’ve assessed the situation,’ the Sheriff answered as he scribbled furiously on his note pad.  ‘Now, how much moonshine you two cow pokes bin imbibin’ tonight, huh?’

    ‘Ain’t touched the ‘shine, Sheriff, plate of Franks n’ beans washed down with Root beer is all we done, right, pa?’

    ‘Tha’s right, Tyler. Now, Sheriff, I’m urgin’ ya, they alien Space Squid things are huge, an’ they can’t be here t’ see ZZ Top rockin’ The Kazbah or pop a Bud Light down at Eezy-Nix, can they?’

    ‘Okay, boys, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll tool us up, call my Dep’ an’ meet up over at your shack. If you’re yankin’ my chain, you’re both in for a stretch in my cooler, gottit?’

    They “gottit” and were soon powering up the North Road in the Sheriff’s Dodge Journey with “Blame It On The Boom Boom” by Black Stone Cherry blasting out of the infotainment system.

    Deputy Frazer was already at where the Baker’s shack once stood ahead of them. The Dodge screeched to a grit kicking halt, slewing a drift as it did so, and three shell shocked men leapt out from the car.

    ‘Jeez-us,’ exclaimed Skeet Baker.

    ‘It’s all . . . slime. Nuthin’ left, just . . . slime,’ Tyler was hyperventilating.

    ‘There’s a dome shaped craft over yonder, behind the bluff. You can just see the top of it shinin’ in the moonlight. It’s too hot to approach beyond, maybe, ten meters, scorched the dirt, it has. No sign of any critters, ‘cept for this slime,’ Deputy Frazer informed them.

    Sheriff Bellamy walked towards a gap in the slime and shone his torch into it.

   ‘Tha’s where our basement wuz, sherf.’ Skeet spat a great wad of chewing tobacco infused saliva as he said this.

    As the Sheriff moved in on the hole to the basement, Deputy Frazer came up beside him and shone his torch into the hole too. As he did so, two huge tentacles shot up through the hole and grabbed the awestruck law enforcement officers. The tentacles wrapped right round them several times, squeezing the breath from their writhing bodies. Then as quickly as they emerged, the limbs withdrew back into the basement, dragging the two men with them with a loud, wet, sucking sound. Skeet and Tyler screamed and turned to run back to the squad car, only it was now invisible, engulfed by a milky-white squid. Frozen to the spot, father and son looked around wildly for a place to retreat to, but time wasn’t on their side, as even longer tentacles slithered from the creature, firmly gripping both men, and lifting them into the air.

* * *

Harpenden; Hertfordshire; United Kingdom.

     James and Kate Lewis were lounging in front of the TV, watching a DVD of the “Wolf Creek” series, season two, in which Mick Taylor had just murdered a safari tour driver and had commandeered the tour bus replete with its occupants. Their seventeen-year-old daughter, Tawny, was “busy” with Brent Henderson in her bedroom. Brent, the local twenty-five-year-old handyman, had accessed her quarters with his ladders. As a handy person, he was respected and trusted, but as someone to leave your daughter alone with, he was not. He was already twice married, with a mistress and somewhere in the region of nine children attributed to him, six of which were illegitimate. Just as Tawny was reaching orgasm, a thunderous, deafening sound drowned out her squeals of pleasure, and Brent looked up to see the ceiling cracking and bulging alarmingly. The tentacles whisked away the two lovers in seconds just as James raced up the stairs in response to thunderous crashing noises. He never got even close to Tawny’s room as the entire upstairs was destroyed, and the tentacles grabbed James. Kate Lewis ran out of the back door to the garden and saw a Space Squid attacking her house and most of all the other houses, including the late Eric Morcombe’s pile. She ran for her life down the considerably large garden and hid in the potting shed. She instinctively knew her husband and daughter were gone but had had the presence of mind to bring her handbag, which contained a decent sized flask of Vodka and a pack of Silk Cut cigarettes. As she swigged some Vodka to calm her nerves and shakily lit a cigarette, she searched out her android cell phone to call the emergency services. There was a “no service” message icon glowing back at her, and then she nearly jumped right out of her housecoat, when a voice spoke out.

    ‘Spare me a fag, love?’ growled Roger Hampton, a fifty-eight-year-old homeless person.

     Kate shrieked, shrank away from Rodger and threw the cigarettes over to him. He produced a lighter and lit himself a cigarette.

    ‘I’m not going to hurt you, love,’ he puffed, in a surprisingly gentle growl. ‘I’m just an old fool on the scrap heap of life, dossing in here mainly to avoid those things out there. I call them Squiddies, and they won’t get us in here because they can’t stand Creosote, and this shed is treated with it. How do I know that, you may well ask? Well, firstly, I can smell it, and secondly, I remember seeing that Henderson chap applying it for you in the summer. Then he, er, applied himself to your daughter, so to speak, right atop that fertiliser bag you’re sitting on.’

    ‘Good God,’ she gasped as Rodger wheezed out a chesty cackle.

    ‘You don’t remember me, though, do you? No? Well, I was your family GP in the nineties, when you got the measles because your mother declined the jabs. I was a pretty good doctor back in the day—family, nice house, brand new Lexus on the drive and, sadly, a gambling habit. By the millennium, I’d lost the lot and ended up adrift. I remember you of course, dear sweet child you were, Katey. Well, here we are, better look out for each other.’

     ‘Gosh, yes I do remember you. Doctor Hampton, isn’t it? Crumbs. How do you know about those squid things may I ask?’

     ‘Well, I can tell you that the first batch arrived six weeks ago, incognito. The craft is submerged in Stanborough Lakes over at Welwyn Garden city. I saw it sliding under the water, steam rising from it and a hideous hissing sound when I was up there fishing up. I decided to pack up and get away, as did some other anglers, but then my float went under and the rod twitched, so I reeled it in. I’d caught a baby one, and it was a feisty thing with sixteen tentacles. Interestingly, none of its limbs had suckers on them, just the most clingy, sticky slime I’ve ever encountered.’

    ‘Crumbs, er, where is it now?’ Kate enquired.

    ‘Aha, don’t worry dear, it’s safely out of the way. I ate it. Anyway, the Squiddies are here to collect human specimens for research purposes. They will be discarding people of authority, such as leaders, chiefs and politicians. Yes, they’re using volcanoes to dump them in.’

    ‘Really?’ Kate now sounded sceptical. ‘You know this, or did you dream it, Doctor?’

    ‘Oh, my dear Katey, I fully understand why you would doubt what I say, just look at my shabby appearance. The baby one I caught was like an open book full of information. Yes, I found that I had a telepathic link with it. It, of course, being the operative word. You see, these Space Squid things are genderless, sexless, hermaphrodites, much like slugs and snails. Yes, indeed, I would classify them as a type of mollusc, in actual fact,’ Rodger Henderson concluded.

    ‘Oh, Doctor,’ Katey blushed. ‘You might be a bit scruffy, but you look okay to me, really. You’re still quite handsome.’

    ‘Oho, am I? Well, I always had a shine for you, especially when you were in your teens. Yes, some of my exploratory examinations went a little further than perhaps they should have, particularly when you thought you were pregnant at fifteen. Yes, I remember that very well.’

    ‘Did you fancy me, Doctor?’

    ‘Let’s be clear here, I possess an addictive personality, hence the gambling addiction. My obsession with teenage girls was much the same sort of complaint, and, being a Doctor, I had easy access. I rarely wanted sex with my girly patients, just to touch, fondle and arouse them, whilst arousing myself of course.’ He paused. ‘Fact is though, in your case, yes I did desire full intercourse.’

   ‘Do you desire some fun now?’ Kate surprised herself.

   ‘Well, I can still raise an eyebrow, and you’re what? Thirty-eightish? Yes, why not?’

   Kate removed her house coat and teased off her knickers from underneath her flimsy nighty, whilst Rodger fumbled around inside his loose-fitting tracksuit bottoms. As Kate Lewis leaned back on the fertiliser bag, parting her legs as she did so, a white slimy tentacle extended from Rodgers nether regions and entered her vagina. The initial feeling of ecstasy soon turned to discomfort and then agony, as the tentacle explored further into Kate’s body.

    ‘Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t have had the squid after all,’ Doctor Rodger Henderson told himself as he strolled out of the potting shed and across the Lewis’ vast lawn toward a hovering space vessel.

* * *

All Aboard The Squiddie Express.

     ‘Aha, here’s Doctor Henderson himself, folkingtons,’ a jovial Melvin Cartwrirght announced to the motley group sat cross legged on the floor in front of him.

    ‘Aha, greetings, mugwumps. Before we start the one to one consultations, I’ll take any questions you may have. Just raise your hand. Yes, you sir, er, Bellamy isn’t it?’

    ‘Sure is, limey, just exactly, where are we?’

    ‘Inside the main cargo hold of the XC5555 unit, which is a space craft. It has a hemispherical drive unit capable of thirty billion horsepower, which runs on Creosote, a centric gravity simulation unit and an air conditioning system specifically designed for us humans. We are guests of the Rambastical Alien Elite, or “RAE” for short, a colony of Space Squid from the planet M075zz731A. We’re approximately seventy thousand miles from Earth, heading towards Pluto. But, of course, there’s no windows here, so you could actually be in a warehouse at Maylands Avenue in Hemel Hempstead in England. You decide.’

     ‘Why?’ James Lewis spoke up.

     ‘You didn’t raise your hand, Lewis,’ the Doctor scolded him, ‘but I will answer your question anyway since everyone will be wondering the same thing. This is a holiday of sorts, in which some of you will breed, be medically examined, experimented upon or eaten. Your fate largely depends on your intellect and level of co-operation. By the way, Lewis, I’ve had your wife in the potting shed. Yes, waited years to do her and fill her with slime. Feel co-operative do you, James?’

* * *

THE UNTIMELY END