Cult of Kill #1 Read online

  Table of Contents

  CULT OF KILL #1

  Connect With Us

  The Boy With the Razor-Sharp Teeth

  Clitorissa and the Incredible Edible Leg

  Screaming Greens

  The Magic Cupboard

  The Mind’s Filthy Lesson

  Tall Tail

  Twins

  Tequila Son

  Chocolate Jesus

  Infidelity

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  CULT OF KILL #1

  Patrick Kill

  First Edition

  Cult of Kill #1 © 2016 by Patrick Kill

  All Rights Reserved.

  A DarkFuse Release

  www.darkfuse.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  This book is dedicated to the Devil. Because no one dedicates books to the Devil.

  The Boy With the Razor-Sharp Teeth

  Every smile seemed dangerous with pointed teeth and bleeding gums. And with dark beady eyes and breath that could choke a mule, no one ever talked to the boy with razor-sharp teeth.

  His deformity was so evident his name became “The Boy With The Razor-Sharp Teeth.” Even Ms. Adams addressed him as such ever since the morning he first arrived during show and tell.

  Jimmy Wilson had just finished showing off his new wooden rubber band gun by flipping Jackie in the rear. Ms. Adams jerked the gun away from him as The Boy With the Razor-Sharp Teeth entered.

  I looked in the doorway and there was the hideous smile. Susie and Jenny screamed, Ms. Adams gasped, holding her chest. Jimmy Wilson looked up, shouted “What the F—” before his jaw dropped.

  The freakish boy quickly shut his mouth, looked down into the rust-colored carpeting.

  “You must be Daniel,” Ms. Adams deducted, finally collecting herself though her face still slightly cringed. “Come sit in the circle…we’re in the middle of show-and-tell.”

  The boy shuffled over next to me and crossed his legs. A sour, rotten smell drifted from his gaping mouth. The girls shifted away.

  “Okay, I believe it’s Sarah’s turn. What do you have for us today?”

  Sarah Weller opened the cardboard box in front of her as Jake Foster probed the holes poked through each side.

  Something squealed inside until she pulled out a fat rodent.

  “This is my guinea pig, Virgil.”

  Ms. Adams smiled. “Class, let’s all welcome Virgil to his first day at school.”

  Everyone sat in silence, staring at The Boy With Razor-Sharp Teeth.

  “Pass him around, Sarah!”

  As the pig moved counter-clockwise it dropped a pile on Liz’s forearm, chewed a hole in Brandon’s shirt pocket, and crawled up Megan’s dress. The pig wriggled in Jake’s hands until he reluctantly handed it to The Boy With Razor-Sharp Teeth. The guinea pig glared up at the boy, unmoving, like it, too, was terrified. The Boy With Razor-Sharp Teeth studied it closely, like it was the first animal he had ever seen, softly stroking its head.

  Then he popped the guinea pig in his mouth and started chewing.

  Everyone rose, scurrying away. The girls screamed, the boys looked on in astonishment. Ms. Adams passed out cold.

  The terrible squeals surfaced, muffled within the grinding cavity. Blood spilled from his lips, streaming down his shirt. Bones snapped, the animal shook violently. The boy’s death grip soon took the animal’s life.

  Somebody vomited down my trousers.

  Soon the boy belched and the room cleared.

  * * *

  About a week later, The Boy With Razor-Sharp Teeth came back. Sitting in the back row, he was ignored. He became a loner, unspoken to and untouched by everyone. Soon his hideous face turned sad and lonely.

  I felt sorry for the boy. Being a loner myself, I knew the emptiness he must have felt. Ms. Adams must have felt the same way I did because soon she found ways to force him to interact with the rest of the class, though he never made an effort by himself.

  But, with his lack of effort, it never made a difference. In a game of dodge ball, the boys aimed directly at him, hoping to knock out a tooth in order to claim a souvenir. Billy Ripley came close, striking the boy on the side of the face. But the ball just stuck there, deflating on a tooth which was poking through the boy’s cheek.

  When he slept during nap time, kids would throw things into his mouth just to see if he would chew them up. It started out with pencils, crayons, and erasers and progressed to pencil sharpeners, gym shoes, and glue bottles.

  His one moment of glory was when everyone in the cafeteria gathered around him to watch an entire tray of corn dogs being devoured, sticks and all.

  He proved to me a number of things that day: the boy wanted to be liked, he needed to be accepted, and that cafeteria corn dogs were actually edible.

  His face started turning gray and weary, always looking downward. He always kept his mouth shut, never smiled or yawned. It was as if his difference kept him from opening up to the others. Months had passed and he made no effort to fit in.

  Show-and-tell rolled around week after week and he sat there, saying and showing us nothing about himself.

  Until one day.

  To our surprise, he answered Ms. Adams’s request with a jagged, horrible smile, looked around and spoke for the very first time.

  “I want to show everyone something.”

  “Go right ahead, Daniel.”

  He pulled out a small box with a collection of both plastic and glass bottles.

  “What do you have to share with us?”

  He faintly smiled, uncapped a liquid-filled bottle and began sprinkling it over everyone.

  Girls giggled and boys smeared the substance on one another.

  “Daniel, you’re making a mess. Please stop it!”

  The Boy With the Razor-Sharp Teeth continued relentlessly drowning his peers in liquids and powders and other substances.

  A glass bottled rolled against my leg. I hesitated to touch it, frightened that it might be some form of potion which would mutate everyone into People With Razor-Sharp Teeth. Finally I mustered the nerve to flip the bottle over and read the label.

  Suddenly Jenny and Susie screamed. Liquids and sandlike granules with an eye-watering fragrance pelted my arm. Crimson splashed against my shirt, running downward atop the bottle of meat tenderizer I held tightly. It took what seemed minutes to be brave enough to look up toward the screams.

  Susie’s legs were missing and Tony’s face was half-eaten. Bobby crawled toward the door, dragging behind him a mass leaking from his punctured stomach.

  The door slammed shut. Dark, beady eyes glared at me, but lunged in another direction, to where Ms. Adams stood, breaking a window with an umbrella. The Boy With Razor-Sharp Teeth came down on her, sinking his mouth into her neck, ripping out a segment of her spine. She flopped wildly against the heat register, her body trembling in shock.

  There was a disturbance at the door, a few more screams, distant sirens closing in.

  I crawled into a corner and sat there, wi
tnessing the boy returning to the wounded to devour what remained.

  Even when the police arrived, the horror of what they saw repelled them away from the door. No shots were fired, no dogs came barging in. Just Daniel, the boy with the razor-sharp teeth, and I glaring face to face, surrounded by fresh carnage and crimson-stained carpeting between blood-splattered walls.

  Slowly, his dark beady eyes gazed over to a bottle next to me. He picked up the bottle and serenaded me with tenderizer like a priest exorcising demons with holy water. He smiled and I saw flesh caked against his gums and an entire fingernail stuck in a gap between two pointed teeth.

  In the back of my mind, the screams of my classmates echoed as well as their taunts and name-calling, their cold shoulders, and nasty glares.

  And I understood him. And he, in turn, saw this in my eyes and stopped.

  A lone tear streamed down his face in a pink line, separating two congruent segments of his own blood-caked cheek.

  “But they never were mean to you just because you were different and they were normal,” he whispered sadly, his eyebrows arched, searching to understand. “They accepted you.”

  I shook my head and looked away in frustration. “You never let them know you. You never gave them a chance to accept–”

  “No!” he shouted. “They would’ve always seen me as the different one.”

  “It is true you have something strange,” I mumbled, feeling the anger bubbling within my mouth, my cheeks expanding every passing minute. “You have something that they don’t, but if you would’ve let yourself get to know them better you would’ve learned that Susie has a third nipple and Billy has a glass eye. Megan has no genitals and Liz’s really a guy. Jake’s heart is on the outside of his chest and Jimmy thinks he’s a tree. Brandon talks to demons and Ms. Adams is part turkey. And I can’t forget Sarah, poor Sarah, possessed by the ghost of Hitler nor Jenny having sold her soul for cash. Jackie is a seven-year-old stripper and Bobby is living with a deadly rash. Tony collects chicken heads and Denny lives in a hole. Candy has sex with aliens and Marvin is really a troll.”

  “Ms. Adams…part turkey?”

  “Fears Thanksgiving and gobbles from time to time.”

  “But I didn’t know…I’m so sorry.”

  My heart spasmed wildly within my chest, sweat trickled down my forehead. My jaw cracked. “Didn’t your parents explain why they put you in this class? And that it was a special class…”

  “But what about you? You’re normal!”

  I gagged, feeling the anger escape me. My tongue lashed at him. His eyes fluttered in horror as he watched my tongue uncoil and branch into two flickering points which quickly wrapped around his neck and squeezed.

  Clitorissa and the Incredible Edible Leg

  She was the most fucked up woman I had ever seen before—an entire freak show within one person—all sprawled out across a bed of nails with an albino snake working its way out of her vagina, her bearded face straining like an old maid who had been constipated for weeks. Her tongue, which had been cut down the middle into two congruent fleshy strips, flickered wildly as she thrust her pelvic region to help detach the serpent. Then, suddenly, the serpent was sucked back up, its diamond-shaped head disappearing into the dark void between her legs.

  Joey threw up beside me as his retarded brother, Nicholas, knelt to inspect the pile of half-digested hot dog that had splattered across his boots.

  “Christ,” Joey muttered, “I thought you said there was going to be a naked woman here at this damn carnival.”

  “And there she is,” I said, pointing to the great Clitorissa. As I gazed, I noticed how hard it was to tell that she was, in fact, naked. Her body was covered in coarse black hair that wove paths up from her privates, past her belly button and between her heaving breasts. Her arm pit hair was braided as her three-foot beard was parted down the middle, each side anchored to a rubber band which bound the beard to her underarm hair.

  Joey frowned. “I spent my allowance for this?”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, “It gets better. And she’s probably a babe under all that makeup and fake hair.”

  “You mean she’s not real?”

  “None of these carnival freaks are ever real. It’s just made-up to sell tickets.”

  “So why are we here?”

  I shook my head in disgust. “Dude, we’re here alone in this tent with a naked woman while the rest of the crowd has to wait their turn. She’ll do whatever we want. She’s just a stupid Gypsy and you know Gypsies are easy. Did you have better plans for a Friday night?”

  Clitorissa just smiled, listening.

  Joey shut up as a smile crept forth. “But, man, that snake sure looked real.”

  “Just a prop.”

  The wind outside fluttered the sides of the tent and Clitorissa shifted on the bed of nails. “So what would you boys like for me to do?”

  I took a step closer and said, “The guy outside said that you could do some freaky shit. He said that your leg was edible and that you had the gateway to hell between your legs.”

  “That’s true,” she said, smiling. She slowly uncrossed her legs and the oval void expanded before our eyes. Nicholas’ gaze had been fixed upon her crotch since the snake had slithered out. He just stood beside me, wide-eyed, jaw slackened with a stream of drool running down his chin.

  She crossed her legs again and that’s when I noticed the series of scars that covered almost every inch of her shaved right leg.

  “Care to take a bite?” She held out her leg as an offering. Joey nudged me to go forward, so I obliged.

  Once near her, I checked out the area for props, but couldn’t locate any as of yet. The snake looked real, but I knew there had to be a trick. Candles lit the tent and there were plenty of shadows to confuse a person. There could also have been several contraptions beneath her since she refused to move from the bed of nails.

  She rested her foot on my shoulder as I knelt. I smelled strawberry lotion and baby powder. I poked my tongue out and quickly licked her shin. It tasted salty and oily at the same time. Sweet, not bitter.

  So I ran my tongue up her inner thigh and felt myself suddenly growing hard. Candles flickered madly as the wind gusted briefly. I gawked toward her belly, then lowered into the open orifice. Darkness loomed there and as I stared, I felt myself wanting to go there.

  I curled my tongue closer and she stopped me. She pinched her inner thigh and said, “Taste.”

  And I bit down, ground my teeth and pulled off a hunk of her flesh. I cringed, gagged, but chewed despite my reservations. And to my surprise, it tasted a lot like chicken.

  As I glanced down at the wound, the skin had already began to regenerate before my eyes. Clitorissa just smiled as we both watched the chunk in her leg scab over then suddenly disappear.

  “Holy shit!” Joey yelled, “That was fucking cool!”

  Nicholas just stood there, still staring at her crotch, as if he had missed the whole event.

  “Would you like a taste?” she asked Joey.

  He pulled out a pocketknife and said, “I’ll save some for later.” He then ran the blade down her shin, flesh stripped and curling around the edge until it resembled a pale beef jerky strip.

  Clitorissa didn’t even flinch.

  Joey smiled, popped the hunk in a plastic Ziploc bag and stuffed it in his back pocket.

  “So why did the guy outside say that you had hell inside your crotch?”

  Clitorissa motioned for me to come closer and I did. I carefully climbed onto the bed of nails, where there was a two-by-four lying across, and nestled my head into her lap.

  “Shhh. Listen,” she said.

  Despite her freakish nature, I couldn’t help but to grow fully erect in seconds. For a 12-year-old boy, being this close to pussy was a turn-on no matter what the occasion. Even if this particular vagina smelled a little bit like a boy’s gym locker and a lot like a Long John Silver’s hushpuppy at the same time.

  As I listened, I
could hear a distant echo of voices inside her.

  “What the f—”

  I cupped my hand over my ear that was now nestled flush against her vaginal lips.

  And to my surprise, someone was singing a Beach Boys song. “Let’s go surfin’ now…”

  I lifted my head and peeked around to where her ass was pressed against a series of nails. I know this might sound stupid, but I actually thought she might have stuffed a small tape player up her vagina and that the cord was hanging out of her ass to some hidden electrical outlet beneath the bed.

  But there was nothing dangling from her ass.

  And as I listened again, it wasn’t the original Beach Boys singer, but a gravelly-voiced lead man that sounded a lot like Tom Waits. I knew damn well that Tom Waits wouldn’t be caught dead singing a Beach Boys song.

  But I wasn’t convinced that it was hell just yet.

  I listened again, hearing some screams, some dangling chain sounds, and a whole lot of animal squeals. And I could’ve sworn that something had nibbled on my ear just as I heard Hitler’s voice booming in a forceful German speech.

  The final thing I heard shocked me. It was my father saying, “Hey you little shit, tell your no-good whore of a mother that I’m waiting for her. And if you’re going to waste your money on pussy, you might as well eat it, bang it or fuck it, because you’ll never get off just by sticking your ear in it!”

  My father had been dead for over two years, having drank himself to death during my tenth birthday party. He had lived as a worthless drunken bastard who prided himself as a wife and child abuser, holding my mother and I hostage within our own house for well over a decade.

  Okay, I thought, so maybe it was hell in there.

  “What did you hear?” Joey asked.