Okay, if this scene doesn’t make you wonder about me, nothing will. 😊 I first presented this post in 2016.

At the beginning of last week’s post I mentioned that I was a real weenie. People who know me often ask, “How can you write that stuff!” Like I said, the best (worst?) of it often comes out when I’m angry or frustrated about something. The cathartic effect of writing can be significant.

HOW ABOUT “REALLY ANGRY”?

The Modoc WellTo end this, here is a scene from my horror novel, The Modoc Well, one that has drawn many WTF! comments—and worse—from those who know me. Warning: it is seriously graphic.

The set-up: a legendary demon deep below a well has been awakened and is “using” people on the surface to do some nasty things. The incidents have escalated in advance of the demon emerging, and this one comes later in the book. A prim, attractive young woman named Karen Hennesey works for her aunt in a gift shop. Joe Franks, sleazy manager of an electronics store in the same mall, has hit on her, and she finds him detestable. The sensibly dressed Karen suddenly feels a biting chill, a prelude to the demon doing its thing. I pick up the scene in the back room of Franks’s store:

While pondering his future, Franks heard the door open. Thinking it was Dana, his new clerk, he said angrily, “I told you I didn’t—!” He caught himself, and the overdone smile lit the room when he saw Karen Hennesey standing in the doorway.

“Hello, Joe,” she said.

He stood. “Karen, baby! What can I do for you? Hey, come on in. Take your coat off.”

She closed the door, and Franks watched her turn the lock. Her coat fell to the floor. She kicked it aside with the toe of one of her shoes—all that she wore. Bewildered, Franks tried to maintain his cool as she sauntered toward him, the nipples of her breasts firm with desire.

“Make love to me, Joe,” she whispered, her tongue running across her lips.

“Hey, uh, Karen,” he stammered, “I’m glad, you know? But couldn’t we wait till lunchtime? We could drive down to—”

She pulled him to her, silencing him with her lips. Her tongue probed hungrily. One hand dropped to his zipper and released his manhood. Her reddish-brown hair, earlier tied in a ponytail, swept across her white shoulders and breasts as she writhed against him.

“Fuck me, Joe,” she said insistently. “Fuck me!

She leaned back across his desk, her feet off the carpet, long legs spread wide. Franks, after undoing his belt and lowering his pants, entered her eagerly, her tightly contracting vulva nearly causing him to explode prematurely. Over his initial surprise, he assumed his usual dominant role and began thrusting forcefully. Karen took all of it and moaned loudly for more as she straddled the brink of her own pending orgasm.

Alternating between either breast, Franks massaged them with his teeth while his tongue laved her nipples. Karen, who had been raking his back with her fingernails, knew that she was near and instinctively placed both hands behind her for leverage. Her knuckles brushed against a hard object on the desk. Despite her urgency, she raised the heavy thing to see what it was. Franks, gnawing harder, seemed oblivious to what she did.

An ornate sculpture, made from cast iron by a skilled artist. The metal twisted into thin Picasso-like shapes, familiar and legendary: Don Quixote, holding a lance; the smaller Sancho Panza; two animal shapes, a horse and a jackass.

Ooooh—God!” Karen cried as the white-hot magma poured from the crater of her passion. She made whimpering animal sounds as she twisted beneath Joe Franks, and in the midst of her climax she drove Don Quixote’s lance through the back of his neck and into his brain. His eyes bulged; his body went rigid. But she clung to him like a carnal parasite, and his death throes, his spewing gore, heightened her lusting frenzy. He was silent, but she screamed and screamed until it was over and, still holding the sculpture, she let him fall to the carpet.

Someone rattled the doorknob, cried out, then pounded on the door. Keys jingled, and the door flew open. Franks’s clerk saw Karen, naked and covered with blood, then spotted Franks. She screamed and ran from the office.

Karen caught the girl in the middle of the store and knocked her to the floor. A horrified customer, an elderly woman, watched as she hit her again and again with the sculpture.

Again and again…

Three minutes later, when Winn Staley and Les Curry arrived at the Stereo Shack, Karen still battered the pulpy corpse, and she would have attacked them also had they not shot her down.

The old year passed unnoticed from Fire Valley.

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