Happy Acres (NSFW)

     WARNING: the piece you are going to read is NOT for the squeamish, those with trepidation or neophytes to the horror genre. This story is flat out fucked up and WILL TRIGGER YOU! This is fair warning, and isn’t to bolster my story as a horror writer, enter if you dare, but be forewarned.

1

     She had been dead for less than 24 when the knock came at the front door. It had been all over the news, with a week long search, ending in a cadaver. I had been awaiting arrival of the body but was too involved with the computer, listening to my head set, when the third knock, rung through the morgue like a gong.  I reached out for my cane and slowly rose, feeling every creak and pop that 40 years as a mortician had given me, by being hunched over dead bodies, performing autopsies, sitting down and making appropriate check-ins on the computer and prepping the dead for their final showcase.

     Hobbling to the door was becoming no easy task as well. I had one knee replaced and a hip about five years ago and this cane was all the support I had. In fact, the one thing this industry didn’t take from me was my boyish good looks, albeit, now framed in bright white hair and sideburns, giving me a striking resemblance to a certain cartoon rabbit. My optimistic disposition was still intact as well. One would figure all these dead bodies would of made me depressed, but just the opposite, it made me appreciate all that life had to offer even more.

     I reached the door at the fifth knock, unlocked it and their stood a twenty something, with a goatee and bald head, athletically toned and infuriated with how long it took to get to the door. “I’m sorry.” I feigned, because at my age, I don’t have to rush for anyone. “Five knocks, old man?” he barked at me and like most youth, that’s probably all it was. He shoved a sign sheet at me for the drop off and I signed on the X, in cursive, my hands shaking as I wrote, giving to a signature that looked more like the scribbling of a long dead language than my John Hancock. I stood back and opened the door wider, as I handed him back his clipboard and he wheeled the cliché gurney and black body bag we had all seen in movies, into the atrium. “Have a great evening.” I said as he turned and left, only reciprocating with a middle finger.

     I pushed the gurney through the showroom, which hadn’t been renovated in years, but still looked as good as it had when I first built it. The crush red drapes, parted by golden tassels, giving way to the stage that would be used for the wakes. Up on the wall, a velvet picture of Jesus Christ, were I stopped for a moment, feeling the hairs on my arms stand up from a draft, which, even in the coldest of winters, had never plagued this small funeral home.

     I brought the delivery into the lifeless room, of cold steel boxes, that would temporarily be the housing of the body, until the wake. A glint caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. My muscles tensed, not knowing what to expect behind me, having watched one too many horror movies in my youth. Slowly, I turned and noticed the door to one of the freezers was open. I loosened up and sighed a heavy relief that it wasn’t the delivery boy, looking to slit my throat. Why hadn’t I noticed that when I went to the door? Placing the gurney, vertically in front of the giant freezer, I inched over to the open door, cane, foot, cane, foot. I extended my arm, expecting to feel the cold pushing itself into my hand, instead I furrowed brows, slightly cocking my head to the side, perplexed as to why the steel was room temp. Inspecting the lock, it was still in good condition, not broken, working just as well as it did when this unit was brand new, if not better. I opened the next unit, right beside it, and touched side. The temp permeated my hand and it felt like touching the static on old tv sets, but instead of the fuzzy feeling, it was cold and heavy, as if it was a solid. The doors let out a loud pop as I swung them shut and recalled a lecture on Murphy’s Law from when I was in college.

     After putting into the computer a time for a repair man to come and see what was wrong with the freezer, I decided to turn my thoughts back to task at hand, dealing with the body of the deceased.

2

     Slowly, I unzipped the bag, like one might with a woman’s dress, exposing a pale face, with blueberry colored lips. She was quite exquisite, I could only imagine how much more beautiful she was when she was alive. Her blonde hair, parted into pig tails, slightly dampened, tangled and frayed at the ends. I rubbed her forehead, like a father might his own child. What type of monster could have hurt someone so young? Only twelve years old, with a whole life ahead of her.  I unveiled a little more, this time, giving way to her, shall we say, less than supple development. Barley an A cup, and her nipples, so tiny, whitish, like pruned hands from water. Slightly inverted, like the old development drawings in puberty books. The stir in my neither regions tingled and I to grow as blood slowly entered my penis. Even at 60, I needed no medicine, just a beautiful virgin maiden to be the light of my world and the fire in my loins. My heart fluttered and hand shook as a child at Christmas as the zipper inched closer to reveal the promise land. The damp cotton panties didn’t reveal much. I moved my hand to the metal tray to retrieve the autopsy scissors and cut away at the strips that hugged her thin, prepubescent hips. Pulling back, slowly, gently, exposing her pretty little hairless vagina, so smooth, with the only disturbance being the crack, separating her lips. I inched closer and closer, my mouth salivating like a dog awaiting his steak. I licked my lips and dove in, tasting that beauty that was her youth. Sweet and savory, with a slight grassy taste, similar to an Indian Pale Ale all the kids raved about. My arousal could no longer be contained, I undid my bright red coveralls and climbed on the gurney. I looked down on my dead lover, rubbing her cheek, I brought my head closer to hers, and sticking my tongue deep into her mouth, we kissed, tenderly and I felt like a teenager again. My unbridled lust got the best of me and I steadied myself with one hand, whilst reaching down between my legs, holding myself, readying for penetration. My head was swimming with euphoria, my chest, rhythmically heaved with every breath I took, but my breath felt short and heavy. The gurney squeaked and grew louder and louder, with every thrust inside this decadent, tight, velvet box of nirvana, where lust and taboo mixed into an unimaginable cocktail of pleasure. I imagine this is how Eve must have felt, when she took her first bite of the apple in the Garden of Eden. Bump, bump, bump, as the gurney smashed into the freezers, my neck vain budged and teeth gnashed together. “I hope you’re on the pill.” I jokingly said, trusting one last time, deep into the little girl’s snatch, when I  ground to a halt with my ass cheeks clenched and I shook with ecstasy, goosebumps going up and down my spine, with my left arm tingling, sending my head upwards, mouth wider than the Grand Canyon, releasing the most primitive of grunts, like a werewolf howling at the full moon! I collapsed, falling over as I pulled out and went limp.

3

     I came to, no pun intended, but not too sure when. I couldn’t see the clock on my desk. Grabbing the cane and holding it horizontally, picking myself up off the ground, nearly throwing myself off balance, but before I could fall over again, my leg stiffened. I was holding myself up without a cane and without pain. Had the fall, popped my hip into place? I didn’t want to be too cocky, but there may had been a little skip in my walk as I jaunted over to the desk, where the digital clock read 3:00 am. I was out for ten hours? Scratching my head, I thought the clock might have been wrong, so I flipped on the television, where a shot of old glory, waving in the air, whilst the national anthem spurned it on. The typical station sign off from across the nation, which had barley any variance meant that it was only shortly after midnight. I had been out for only about 5 hours, which wasn’t much better.

     My eyes squinted as the sun hit my face, arousing me from my slumber. The warmth felt good as I shot my arms up over head and arched my back, looking uncannily like a human cat. Rolling my neck, before throwing the covers up and jumping out of bed. I can’t remember the last time I could do that, perhaps I was forty five or fifty. I strutted across to the bathroom and threw open the shower curtain, turned the knob and let the hot water blast out from the head. It didn’t take long for the room to fill with steam. Stripping off my Pajamas, I stepped in and allowed for all that beautiful warmth to wash over my body, reliving the tension in each and every muscle, rubbing the water into each one and singing, off tune, “Happy acres is the place to be, funeral service is the life for me, helping families so far and wide, even though their child just died!”

4

     Noontime and all the expected guests for the wake of my little beauty queen had arrived. I placed her in a lovely little black dress, did her makeup. She really was a stunner when her face was flushed with life, or was a decent facsimile with the makeup. I approached the mother first, tears streaming down her face, looking like a three-way race, with the middle tear winning. Her make up smudged as she wiped her tears. I placed my hand out, but she didn’t seem to notice my gesture, which is understandable, given the circumstances. I moved off to the side, my hands folded in front of my self, nodding a hello as each mourner passed by and keeled at the little golden knee cushion to say a prayer, like a revolving door, 20 seconds tops, before the next one would do the same thing as the last. Since everyone was ignoring me, I used this moment to take another glance at last night’s lover, allowing me to fantasize about what we would do tonight, before I stored her away.  Do you think it is possible to do anal with a corpse or does rigor mortis set into the rectum too? In all my years of running this children’s funeral home, that is one thing I never thought to try. A twinge of sadness rolled over me as I looked at the corpse, laying there stiff as a board, her pretty little barley developed chest, moving up and down, breathing. Breathing? Panic set in, sending my entire body into a heated frenzy. Corpses don’t breath! I could feel the sweat start to bead on my head and slowly slip down my face. I pulled at my collar, the heat seemed to be rising exponentially, and my face must have been redder than Winston Churchill at a bar. Rounding the corner, I rushed into the bathroom, and turned on the faucet. Cool water filled my hands and I brought it right to my face, quickly cooling myself as it trickled all down my face. I grabbed a quick drink from the faucet by tilting my head and sucking it into my mouth and held on to the sides of the sink for dear life. Corpses don’t breathe, I thought as I tried to bring myself back to being rational. I could recall, when I was younger, being at my great aunts funeral and thinking she was breathing. At 21, I thought I had a screw loose, but my father had mentioned it wasn’t uncommon to think the deceased were breathing, since losing a loved one could be quite traumatic to a person. This was no loved one, though, she was a plaything and nothing more. Besides, bodies didn’t keep for long anyways, since decomposition would start to heavily increase, unless you kept them at extremely cold temps and then the rigor mortis setting in even harder would render the body pretty much worthless for sex play, even. The dizziness started to subside and I stood erect, tightened the knot on my tie, ready to return to the wake, before anyone noticed I was missing.
5

     What a hectic day it had been, the callouses on my feet swelled inside the dress shoes and I couldn’t wait to pull them off. Even more than that, since the burial would be the day after tomorrow, I wanted to enjoy myself with personal little slut. Corpses made fantastic wives, they didn’t talk, never got upset, didn’t ask you to take the trash out and were always up for sex. Too bad I couldn’t keep it in a state that made her the best sex toy money couldn’t buy.

     Later that night, alone in the morgue,  I reached into my pocket, pulling out a tiny little jar of Vaseline , which was to help lube her holes for easier penetration as everything started to stiffen up. I took some out and placed it on the metal try and immediately unzipped my fly, allowing my phallus free and putting on a good coat and proceeded to opening the slut’s mouth. What bit of lube was left on my hand was to coat the entire inside. The make-shift saliva would ensure that mouth fucking the cunt wouldn’t be like fucking sand paper or the Sahara desert. I shoved it in, going deep into the tonsil area, which no body her age could have deep throated without a lot of experience. A cadaver, on the other hand, had no gag reflex. The same ecstasy from the night before started to engulf my body in the high that only illicit drugs could deliver. The involuntary spams caused me to thrust, thrust, and thrust and looking like a chow screwing a Pitbull with how high the table was. I held the corner of the gurney again and put the other under its jaw to close the mouth slightly, making it as tight as her adolescent cunt had been the evening before. Up on my tiptoes, the orgasm grew deeper and deeper, about to erupt down her throat like hot roast beef, as the kid from that movie with the pedophile with the chocolate factory. Violet, which was apt, given how rich the blues in her skin were the other night, along with her currently protruding belly, which was probably just gas build up, cause by starving that often happened to African children. The buildup was driving me crazy, I needed to release it, and it’s a good thing gurneys have wheels! Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth and then pulled it so close, my ball sack could feel the lovely silk feeling of her hair, tickling them.

     The spasm in my leg trailed all the way up the right side of my body and my penis was still ready for more. I held onto her lower mandible to pull out and was met with resistance. My heart thudded, arrhythmical. I’m stuck inside a fuckin corpse! The dryness in my own mouth crept up from the back of my throat and started to spread like a virus across my tongue. I swallowed what little saliva was in my mouth to cut the spread of the dryness, still on tip toe, to avoid scraping my penis on its teeth. I considered cutting into the jaw, but no amount of corpse make up would hide the giant slashes on her face, giving her the look of a clown and I’m sure her parents would want to know how the corpse got those scars. I picked up the lube, rubbing it all over my shaft and slowly pushed into her mouth, then pulled back to slide it through the Chinese finger trap that was this slut’s mouth. The scrapes on my penis tugged against the teeth gave me sympathy to the plight of a carrot being shaved. It seemed to work, until I tried to pop out my bulbous, mushroom like head and too much force would rip it right off. Even turning my body wouldn’t help. I brought my hand to my face, knowing full well what I would have to do. Either I cut it off, which isn’t an option, especially when I’m not done playing yet or…

     I grabbed her head by the back of the skull, and lower jaw, positioning myself to her right side, slowly on tip toe and just like mommy ripping off a band aid, on three I twisted. My ears echoed with the sickening sound of the snap of her neck, but the force caused the jaw to open, just enough to release me from the fuck toy. I pulled my cock back into my pants, zipped back up, and wiped the sweat from my forehead, being spared the fate of being that guy, who would have to go to the hospital for help. No one would notice a broken neck on a stiff anyways, and any contusions would not be visible, thanks to  make-up. Now to tend to the gas that seemed to be causing the protrusion. A simple Y incision would release it and all I would have to do is keep the stitches covered.

6

     The funeral was about as much fun as the wake, but even longer when you have to listen to the preacher drone on about the afterlife and the kingdom of heaven. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no fucking atheist, but you would reckon this pardre’s would have perfected their sales pitch by now. Same old, same old, and with my advanced years, I could no longer remember if the sermon was from the bible or if he was quoting Kansas. Either way, God being into rock n roll seemed pretty fucking epic. I just glad it was over, so I could be alone with my corpse bride one more time, before they buried her for good.

7

     I pushed back on my desk chair, bringing the small glass of whiskey to my mouth. It was smooth with a slight woody note and very little of that typical whiskey burn, which was a shame, because I liked the kick. A good chill ran down my spine at the immense pleasure just a shot of booze could still give me. I turned the knob on my old, gray radio, going through static station, after static station, until I found some slow jazz music. Craning my head, a smile spread across my lips, turning into a wolfish grin. I looked at my pretty little play thing, laying there, wanting it and decided it was time to give her what she desired.

     Thankfully she wasn’t heavy, when I picked her up off the gurney and held her in my arms, intertwining our hands and shooting it out to the side, as her other limp arm lay over my shoulder and I spun her around, and around. A dance cliché for sure, but effective for mood. Her broken neck, kept her head back as if in a state of purse bliss, making her look as if she was in heaven from our impromptu ball. I placed her, with ease, on her stomach for tonight’s back door play. Can the dead do anal? We’re going to find the fuck out, won’t we? I unzipped, pulling out my dong, already rubbed from the pre-cum that such thoughts had caused. Rubbing my finger on my head, encircling it, I wiped my all over her asshole, positioned and with a loud pop, I slid it in with ease. What do you know, corpses can do anal, I said aloud, with a toothy grin forming as if to add emphasis on the statement. It took every little of her tiny tight orifice to bring me to orgasm, but the aftermath looked like a crime scene. Pulling out, I noticed the large fissure on my sex doll, pushing the baby batter out and sliding down her cunt crack. No worries, since the funeral was tomorrow and no one would ever see it again. I was already wondering what my new toy would look like. I’d like one a tad bit younger, but not too young. The last time I fucked an infant, I nearly tore the poor thing in half, quite literally. The stars aligned for me, because all I had to do was cremate it and no one ever found out. 8 to 11 or so is perfect age for me, when semen dripping down their thighs is new to them and they’re not washed up like they are by 8th grade, gang fucked by every boy in school. The only thing I had to worry about was daddy enjoying his little girl and thankfully, few fucks are that sick in the head. Still, giving this beauty up, stired a tiny pang of sadness.

8

     My hand wouldn’t stop trembling all day, resembling Hitler at the end of his life. Putting my hand in my coat pocket, hiding it the best I could. I couldn’t stand to sit down, listing to another preacher who knew shit about something he has never experienced running his cocksucker about heaven and God’s will. I may not be an atheist faggot, who are just as bad, but I know all too well that God, if he does exist, doesn’t fucking kill children, that’s for damn sure.

     The shade kept the bright autumn light out of my eyes, resting against the tree, observing the preacher stepping away from behind the casket, his speech was over. The family and friends of the loved one, disbanded, moving on to get together at houses to console and reminisce about the dearly departed. I was going back to the parlor to rest.

9

     Slouching in my chair, melancholy about the scene I had observed today. My eyes welled up, my chest heaved, and sighing with the empathy I felt for the parents. Saying goodbye was never easy. The double shot, on the rocks was good, especially with the mixture. The soda wasn’t overly sweet and it mingled with the cheaper booze I kept for when my mood changed.

     Wobbling as I stood up, reaching to the desk to grab my cane, I decided to give a once over to my plunder from doing an excellent job as a funeral director. Smashing the freezer door over, I pulled out the sliding metal bed and gave it a once over. Her stomach protruded, larger than the night before. I couldn’t understand why, but I could always cut a vent into the side later on. Excitedly, I leaned towards her head, my heart racing, goosebumps rising on my flesh with white hair at attention, slowly pushing the beautiful gold strands over her ear and whispered sweetly that now we’re going to be together forever and how I always love her. Kissing her cheek sealed the deal and we would never be lonely again.

10

     The sound of glass breaking drew my attention away from my dearly beloved and I set to check it out. In my inebriated state, I clearly didn’t put my whiskey glass down right and it probably shattered. I peered over the books and computer and there was the glass, unbroken. The dryness from the night before was creeping its way back up into my throat, only faster. I reached out, picking up the glass, to finish the boozed flavored, cola infused water. As I brought the quivering glass to my lips, the liquid refilled into another double. My hands forced itself open and as I watched the glass fall, time seemed to slow down and my heart raced. It made no sound as I saw it shatter into a million tiny pieces. I cocked my head back to the freezer, now emitting a glowing green light, sending oscillations into the ground, pushing me into my desk. Bracing and rising my hands to shield me from the blinding green light, I saw a shadow, pure black, walking towards me, creeping, inching over and over.

     The freezer doors shuddered, causing a strobe light effect, the shadow now seemed to be making haste. I dropped to my knees, tears streaming down my face, crying out, NO as loud as I could, when the tremors stopped and the light withdrew. My whole body shook and I curled into a fetal position, rocking to steady myself. Static filled the silence, the radio was being played with, when it stopped, filling the room with the sounds of the classic children’s lullaby came through, the garbled satanic sound words of hush little baby, made the front of my pants wet, body trembling, like a convulsion now, I struggled for air, gasping, gasping, trying to scream for help, but no words came out as my body went stiff all over, with only my head trembling. Nothing was visible, my body felt the force of the throw against the steel refrigerator doors, as if held up by magnets. Head shaking as my eye lids struggled to stay clenched and the sound of the rip as they tore off, making my eyes stay open, now forced to watch as an oval window appeared behind the desk, a window that didn’t exist. Feeling the pressure holding my head straight, being forced to look into this window as my body floated across the room until I mushed into the thing with the force on my entire body against me, hearing every bone snap and pop, the burning as the bones tore out of the skin as I was screaming in unbearable pain, unable to wither or grimace, feeling it all, being violated with no remorse. The glass started to become translucent and I could see the top of the parlor, the same room I was currently in. Faint voices started to become clearer and clearer. “Sick old fuck.” Said the disembodied voice. Slowly, the image sharpened, it was a giant, dressed as a cop. My head tried to fight the force, making me watch this, I was confused.

     “There must truly be a God” the giant said, “to make an old fuck like this have a heart attack in the middle of fucking a child’s corpse.”

     The top of my head went numb as realization set in. The window slowly evaporated as if it had never existed. I felt the a force on my head and the twist, as my neck had been snapped and head spun back in the direction of the freezer, standing there was the little fuck toy that had given me so much pleasure, now so much pain. Her stomach even more bulbous than before with her hands rubbing it, as if a mother with child. White light emanated from the Y shaped stitches and her torso slowly spread apart and crawling out of her, still attached to an umbilical cord, was some type of monstrosity, not a human baby, but some other worldly beast of which I was unable to describe. Slowly, behind her, other children slowly let their ghostly forms show and I recognized each one, as I had done the funeral for all, and maybe even enjoyed a couple, but I didn’t deserve this, not all. The creature from the abdomen, darted after me, attacking me until I blacked out.

11

     I touched my face as I bolted upright in my bed. My breathing heavy as I touched my head to ensure it was on right, dragging down the trembling hands to touch my eye lids, which were still there. I didn’t even bother to fling off the covers as I got out of bed, to inspect the rest of the house. It seemed to have been a nightmare, but it all seemed so real. I flicked the light on and rested against the wall, my body tensing up even more, when a light sound drifted out of the adjacent room. I moved towards it and it grew louder and louder, the same lullaby, of hush little baby. I closed my eyes and pushed opened the door, where a child’s casket with a carousel of horses and elephants of different colors spun above it, like a baby’s crib. At the foot of it, my corpse lover, rocking it back and forth. I approached the casket and there, asleep, was the abomination of man, a hellish creature, born of a union between a pedophile and dead child. Its features so obscured, it was impossible to describe. I spun around, just in time to see the door slam shut, now locked in this room, I looked back at the casket, where the most unholy of sounds echoed throughout the room, the creature said “Daddy.” Involuntarily, I dropped to my knees and sobbed into my hands uncontrollably. My demonic bride reached out, touching my shoulder as if to console me, before the same force that broke my entire body in the morgue, smashed me into the wall, my arms stretched out and legs pulled apart. All the children returned but this time, with scalpel and a bone saw. The child one by one took turns, stabbing me with a knife, in the groin area, when all the children parted like the red sea and my bride,  my love, my corpse approached me with the bone saw, revving it up, she spun me around, so my head was facing south. I screamed, which soon disappeared, as she dug the saw into my throat, my eyes turning red from all the blood seeping into them. She pulled my hair, ripping my head clean off and held it in her hands, like Hamlet during his soliloquy. She brought her head, close to my ear and whispered, in her low, resonant voice, which sounded like a satanic auto tune, “You were right, we’re going to be together, for eternity.”

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