Satanskin by James Havoc

Author:James Havoc
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: Horror
ISBN: 9781908694270
Publisher: Elektron Ebooks
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

XII : DITCHFINDER

Alas, poor Gutrig! – The very cunt of night has bled into his sleeping mouth.

Star saturated, he was spewed up and carved down in a hole where bad things shed skins. His Daddy would come home from killing drunk on arterial mink blood, fisted with reels of gleaming viscera, sulphuric vomit fonting from his copper graven gizzard. He had four testicles; barbed white worms poked from the abscesses on his huge, unclothed penis. While Gutrig gorged on regurgitated meat, he would root around inside Mummy. One night, his fearful rummaging split her in two. Down amongst the compost and cockroaches, Daddy howled and howled. Gutrig looked up at the grievous vermilion sky. It resembled a face destroyed by sharp teeth. First came floating organisms, like ciphers for destruction, and beyond them the planets, dancing with the elegance of burning children. Under this bad zodiac, he abandoned the nest.

Alone, a sad scavenger in the rank, unbounded wilderness.

Thorn riddled hearts dangle from the vicious trees, whose fruits bear the seeds of cannibalism. Everywhere, open graves. Gutrig comes to a place where no dogs howl. Here, the heavens are negated by the copulating cedars, and the only illumination drips from overhanging gargoyle lanterns of oppressive iron. The serpentine path is demarcated by piles of stripped skulls with pizzles rotting in their eyesockets. At its end, he spies an edifice shaped and shaded like a bruised mouth: the palace of the Queen of Slits.

She is caparisoned in a grey, wriggling cloak of live rats, stitched together with catgut. All manner of knuckles adorn her brow.

She parts the cloak. Her skin is fathomless and mercurial, an elastic mirror in which Gutrig catches the first ever glimpse of his own face: a smudged portrait, the semi digested flesh almost molten over glints of bone; no nose, just a spike filled maw and the solitary eye, adrift beneath a clouded yellow cataract. Startled by himself, Gutrig fails to notice the Queen's soft approach until his senses are assailed by a fish head stench. Tracing its origin, he comes face to face with her fabulous genitalia.

Loaded like iron, Gutrig is slowly drained of all consciousness by means of a sexual lesion; dimly aware only of the arhythmic whirring of her lethal reproductive organs from beneath their adipose dewlap of stubbled, greasy skin. On a brink, he senses the advent of some massive universe; the very seams of fear are about to burst, and a delinquent aristocracy shall pray before the crimson altar.

There are ditches within ditches. The Queen's elongated labia snarl corruptly, disclosing the suggestion of a twilit, carnivorous poppyfield. Gutrig can soon discern this interior domain with intense clarity; its iconic, ruby dawn, filtered through a skin chilling mist, meaty and sugared, pervades.

Everywhere, wheels bearing gutted torsos that teem with web dwellers. Ahead, the caves. Here Gutrig found Daddy, the stone walls of his home daubed with friezes depicting life in the belly of a raven.

Flat on her silvery back amongst a tangle of pelts, legs parted, the Queen.

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