Though blest with wealth beyond need, Langdon Carlsberg lacks the basic measure to feel manly. One day at a public lavatory, he chances upon a well-endowed man urinating next to him. Langdon befriends him.
Nine months later, Langdon is seen jogging down a nude beach, sporting his well-healed, long schlong.
Since working at the morgue, Elmer has learned to appreciate the dead. He looks at the clock and sighs. A few more hours until he can call it dawn.
“Okay, your move,” he says to the poker-faced corpse propped on a seat across from him, with a chessboard between them.
[NOTE: This short story was expanded by Matthew Tonks and posted in SlasherMonster Magazine.]
[A prequel to A Head on a Stick]
Jared is always scheming. But, tables are turned. He’s the receiver of a grift gone wrong. This trek to an obscure country for legendary ruins turns out to be a fool’s errand. Dizzy from trudging, he comes across a rectangular stone block with a hole in the middle. Fatigue overwhelms him as he lays flat on the length of it. His eyelids flutter shut at the same time his body is pulled into the hole. The quick forcible tug, which came from below the opening wide enough only for his lean body, popped his head off. Pop goes the weasel. Once always ahead, now he’s just a head.
[Monster Masquerade entry hosted by Fly TrapMan and Poet Rummager]
©2015 Karina Pinella
Fat from feasting on corpuscles and pus, the maggots exit from various orifices of the decaying head. A group crawls out from the ear canal, gummy from their travel through the waxy tunnel. They worm themselves through the tangled strands atop of what formerly held the gray mass that spills out of a gash. Drying blood completes the colorful little world of the legless larvae. Continue reading