HauntedMTL Original – 12 June, 1982 – Harry Fernando
12 June, 1982 by Harry Fernando
Shudder. A shiver runs down his back. Throb throb. His temples throb in a frenzy of anger. A buzz of excitement runs through his body. She shudders underneath him. Leaves crunch and twigs snap under the weight of their bodies. The fabric gives away in his hands, to soft flesh. Screams fill the air. Deafening. Shrill. Shut up! Shut up! No! He had stuffed handfuls of dirt into the mouth of the whore before. Grunt grunt. A hungry pig. He’s crushing her small weak body. Soft. He doesn’t bother freeing himself from his slacks. Soft. Weak. Weaker. She’s so weak. He laughs. Howls. Loud enough to drown out her shrill screams. Morphing. He howls like a beast. A God. A man. Mad. The Devil. Hungry. Insatiable. He is everything. Nothing. He is nothing.
‘YOU’RE NOTHING! A USELESS LITTLE BOY!’ the ugly old hag would scream as she beat him bloody. He lets out a guttural cry. Hot tears stream down his face. His fingers pull fistfuls of his hair in a primal desperation. He paws at the limp body beneath him. Spit spraying her plain pale pubescent face. Grunt grunt. His tongue against her cheek. Warm. He touches her chest. Soft. Pinching, squeezing and pushing down so hard he feels her brittle ribs crack. He wanted to crush her. His teeth graze her cheek biting at the soft flesh. Warm. Weak. Soft. Wet. Slippery. Pungent. Urine. She had started mewling. Weak. Small and pathetic. Weak. Weak. ‘YOU’RE WEAK! PATHETIC!’the old hag would snarl. He snarled. He had her ugly scowl, her hot ugly rage. The soaked dress tossed, she lay bare under him.
Heaving.
Her ugly scowl.
STAB STAB!
The knife cuts her soft weak throat.
Soft.
The painted whore laughed.
Hard.
STAB STAB!
Again and again! Blood pours out a crimson velvet. Hard. He spreads her legs. Crotch against hers. Hard. Slashes across her chest blooming red. White skin sliced. Hard. She squirms. Warm. Warm. He’s panting, moaning. Dry leaves around them are now soaked. Black. They look black. Moan. She’s beautiful, colored red and warm. His fingers digging into the cuts. Violating her flesh.
Her soft meat, like a sweet peach.
Her ugly scowl, a laughing whore, meek disappointment.
Throbbing.
Hard.
The knife cuts the girl’s flesh, he carves her face. Just for him. He peels her skin back like a split cherry. His mouth meets the gash on her check. Thrusting. His tongue in and out the warm gash. Thrusting. The knife in and out her soft stomach. Thrusting. His hips against her slack body. Hard. Hard. Grunting. He frees himself. Knife tossed, gripping himself, he stares down at his masterpiece. His. His. His. Throbbing. His body shakes. Shudder. Her eyes were wide open, staring, blank. Her face carved. Red spread over the pale white canvas of her body. Legs spread wide. The white of her inner thighs and the soft pink are unstained, untouched, unharmed. Grunt grunt. Both hands on her middle. Smearing the blood across her stomach. Up and down her body, fingers reaching into the warmth inside of her gaping bloody slashes.
Poke.
Warm.
Prod.
Wiggle.
Warm.
Moan.
Slippery.
Slide.
Grunt.
A wild boar.
HARD HARD!
Face buried the sticky slippery crimson wet.
Lapping at the bloody gashes.
Split cherries.
Wet. Oozing.
Grunt.
Moan.
Pant.
Oozing.
Shiver. Shudder.
HOWL!
Red.
Bursts of flashing white.
Black.
Red.
Grunt.
Grunt.
Grunt.
Handfuls of wet dirt and leaves soaked. A broad swipe of black across her torso. Mud on her face. A little woodland nymph. A bed of leaves, thorns. Her soft pink, cut, carved. Soft. Eyes wide, staring, accusing.
Her ugly scowl, a laughing whore, meek disappointment.
Grunt.
Slash slash! The blade slices. A soft pink oozes. An X carved on each eye. Boneless with release. He lay back down in the mess he made.
THE END
H. Fernando is currently completing her Bachelors in Arts and Social sciences, double majoring in Gender & Sexuality studies and Writing. As a horror enthusiast, she enjoys dabbling in disturbing oddities and unconventional narratives.
I wrote this script for Beyond the Veil awhile back, exploring the bond between two twin sisters, Edith and Edna, who had lived their lives together. There was a terrible car crash and someone didn’t make it. The other is trying to contact them beyond the veil…
Beyond the Veil Setting:
Two women reach out to one another individually in a séance setting.
One sits on one side of a dining table. The other sits at the other side. Each studies a candle just beyond her reach; there is darkness between the two candles. The long table is barely hinted at in the interstice between the two but it is clearly present.
The camera is stationary showing both in profile staring through each other.
The women are both portrayed by the same actress who is also the voice of the narrator, who is unseen. All three voices are identical so that it is impossible to tell which of the two women the narrator is supposed to represent.
Both women are spliced into the same scene. They are together but apart. The two candles remain for the duration of filming so that the two halves of the film can either be overlapped (so that both women appear incorporeal) or cut and sandwiched in the middle between the candles (so both women appear physically present). It is possible to set the scene thusly using both methods in different parts of the story, with both women seemingly flickering in and out of being, both individually and apart.
Script:
I. Black, audio only.
Narrator:
I was riding with my twin sister.
We were in a terrible car crash.
The car drove over the median and rolled.
It spun off the road where it caught fire.
There was smoke everywhere.
My sister didn’t make it.
II. Fade in to the long table with two lit candles; flames flickering.
Two women are just sitting at either end.
They stare blankly through each other.
Call and Response
Edith: Now I’m trying to contact her…
Edna: …beyond the veil.
Simultaneous:
Edith: Edna, do you hear me?
Edna: Edith, do you hear me?
Together (In Unison):
If you hear me, knock three times.
Narrator:
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Call and Response:
Edith: I miss you terribly.
Edna: I miss you so much.
Edith: Do you remember…
Edna: … the car crash?
Edith: We rolled…
Edna: … over the median.
Edith: There was fire.
Edna: There was smoke.
Edith: I could hear the sirens.
Edna: They were coming…
Edith: … to rescue us.
Edna: But they were so far away.
Edith: So far…
Edna: … away….
Simultaneous:
Edith: Are you okay?
Edna: Are you hurt?
Together (In Unison):
Knock three times for yes. Knock once for no.
Narrator:
Knock
– pause –
Knock
– pause –
Together (Syncopated):
What’s it like, on the other side?
– long pause –
Simultaneous:
Edith: I miss you, Edna.
Edna: I miss you, Edith.
Together (Syncopated):
It’s so lonely here.
Call and Response:
Edith: There’s no one here.
Edna: I’m all alone.
Edith: Without you…
Edna: …the spark of life…
Edith: …is gone…
Edna: … so far away.
– pause –
Together (Entirely Out of Sync):
It’s so dark.
III. Fade out to black
Narrator:
I was riding with my twin sister.
We were in a terrible car crash.
The car drove over the median and rolled.
It spun off the road where it caught fire.
There was smoke everywhere.
I didn’t make it.
I had planned to actually turn this into the video for which it was written, but quickly discovered that my plans for recording required a space that was too drastically different from my new house (and new large gaming table) and that my vision for filming could not be well-fully executed or realized. So now it exists as a script only.
And feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.
Yeah yeah, the insects tend to get ALL the attention here on Nightmarish Nature. But honestly, this one takes the beefcake. It’s the New World Screwworm Fly, and it’s as terrifying as the name suggests. And they aren’t limited to the Americas, there is an Old World version as well, as they can be found pretty much anywhere tropical or seasonably suited.
Revolting Little Buggers
The Screwworm Fly is a parasitic fly larvae that burrows into its host to feed, named because it seems to screw deeper and deeper into the flesh over time. This process is called myiasis and do NOT look it up online, you WILL regret it. They blur those images out for very valid reasons, trust me (and not because of pornographic content). And these maggots will continue to burrow en masse, rather than staying put as a botfly larvae would.
Do Not Do an Image Search on Screwworm Myiasis, Like Seriously – You Will NEVER Unsee That
The female Screwworm fly lays her eggs on an open wound or orifice of her chosen host… And not just one egg or a couple of eggs, no – hundreds, even thousands of them. Let’s let that sink in a bit, shall we? Or screw in as it were. Although any warm-blooded animal is a prime target, cattle are a fly favorite, costing millions of head of cattle to this sick and disgusting horror annually. And if beef isn’t on the menu, Fido or even yourself might be.
The Great American Worm Wall
In fact, this particular feature here on Nightmarish Nature is so terrifying that the United States has made agreements with all of Central America, even including countries that do not generally share its interests, in order to create a “Great American Worm Wall” to prevent them from spreading back into the United States. I’m not going to go into all of the creepy and juicy details of this bizarre science fiction freak fact, you’ll just have to watch it here on Half As Interesting’s YouTube channel.
Essentially, the Worm Wall is a complicated byproduct of scientists studying radioactivity on the flies’ maturity as well as the flies’ sexual lives and using this information against them to nearly eradicate the species and banish it from much of its former range. So, Peter Parker, if you thought everyone was messing with your love life before, be glad you weren’t bitten by a radioactive Screwworm.
If you’ve enjoyed this segment of Nightmarish Nature, feel free to check out some previous here:
Like I said before, I’m really getting into the spirit of the season this year. So reconsidering The Mourners yet again, and haunting the faith a bit, I decided to share a poem that I wrote thinking about All Hallows Eve as a preview of more things to come this month of October.
On Becoming Hallowed
Holy. Holy. Holy. Light the candle. Chant the hymn.
For now the veil between the living and the dead grows thin.
Fingers held to lips in silence; lies beneath their skin.
Family found, ancestral ghosts return to haunt their kin.
Skeletons in closets, grotesque yearnings trapped within.
A bleached and bony face flashes a slightly knowing grin.
It’s not the shadows but the darkness that we fear therein.
Bless this Church whose saintly bodies live and dwell herein.
Unto Death, they claim to sanctify our souls from sin.
Those familiar faces shame; this fight we cannot win.
Come what may, they betray. Pray/prey and heads will spin.
Forevermore and evermore to nevermore… Amen.
I thought this poem really captured All Hallows Eve, in some of the same sentiments as the movie High Spirits, which I loved almost as much as Beetlejuice back in the day.
And feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.
