Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

The television was the first thing they checked. After fiddling with the rabbit ears, they got a weak signal from a local channel that was running up-to-the minute updates on the madness. They even had a banner underneath that read, “First on the scene for all your apocalyptic needs.”

Marcel is next to Sue on the sofa, and the sex doll sits between them. Someone found a box of Hello Kitty Band-Aids and taped them in an X across the hole in her forehead. Darla grabbed a marker and wrote, “OW — FUCK!” across it.

The news is pretty dire, but they watch it just the same. Speaking now is a man in a sharp suit with a gun pressed to his head from off screen. All they see is a hand covered in scales. After the day they’ve had, it is the least of the crazy shit they’ve seen.

“This is Chet Toaster bringing you the latest news from the Apocalypse. Remember, folks. When you want to hear about the end of the world, turn to KCUM for all your apocalyptic news. We have a weather report coming up in a few minutes, but first we go live to our WDIK affiliate in Las Vegas where an interesting new feature has appeared along the outskirts of the city.”

The screen cuts away to a bird’s eye view of the ground. The camera focuses on a giant red mountain that has sprung up in the middle of the desert. Edwina is no expert on such things, but she is pretty sure there are no giant fucking red mountains in the desert. Big cacti, maybe. Big stretches of sand, sure. A pair of hills thousands of feet wide that are bright red and covered in scales? Not fucking likely.

The sand shifts as the hill moves. Then its twin moves as well. A giant cloud of green gas rises between them and ascends into the sky. The camera focuses on a frazzled-looking woman in a business suit. She is covered in ash and trying to talk over the helicopter’s rotors. Her hair hangs over her face like a grey cloud. She has big circles under her eyes and not one smear of makeup on her face. She might be twenty-five, but she looks twice that.

“What the hell is that?” Edwina asks the room.

“I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a giant ass,” Marcel says and stands up. She paces up and down the room while watching the screen. She keeps walking in front of the TV, but Edwina doesn’t complain because Marcel has a marvelous sway to her walk.

Darla laughs and then looks again.

“Holy fucking shit!” she says out loud.

“This is Kelly Pusboing, and we are live over the desert of Nevada about twenty miles from Las Vegas. A few days ago, there was a clash between the military and some protestors, but the scene today couldn’t be any more different. What ended in blood has turned the desert a shade of red that the world will never forget.” The sound of the chopper cuts in and out, distorting the sound of the reporter.

“She may look like hell, but she knows how to put on that concerned face in a hurry,” Edwina observes.

“I’d do her.” Marcel chuckles.

“She’s kind of skinny. She might not survive,” Darla observes.

“Oh sweet innocence. I bet she’s a hellcat.”

“Speaking of hell.” Edwina points at the screen.

A stream of people is either running away from the piles in the desert or being herded toward it. It’s hard to make out with all the red dust flying. The earth shifts again, and a giant red cloud engulfs the Army far below. The helicopter tilts and sways back. Other choppers hover in place, but they will also have to move or they will be swimming in the crap.

A pair of fighters rockets past the helicopter. The little speakers in the television crackle as the sound in the onscreen helicopter goes up a few decibels. The reporter flinches back, and the camera tilts at a crazy angle to follow the jets.

“As you can see, it is chaos outside today. We’ve seen the military on the move. Scores of fighters and even a few Cobra helicopters popping up here and there. Whatever the thing in the desert is, it is considered a danger to the… wait we are getting word from…” She pauses and pressed her headset tight around her head. She squints her eyes, and then they go wide. She leans over, almost falling on the floor of the chopper as she yells something at the pilots.

A thunderous wave passes overhead, shaking the already vibrating craft. The camera falls over, and for a split second there is a perfect view up young reporter Kelly Pusboing’s skirt.

“Someone forgot her big girl panties today,” Darla giggles.

“She also forgot to tape her cock up.” Marcel stares on.

The girls shift uncomfortably in their seats. Sue picks up the blow-up doll and looks between the thing’s legs. “This has girl parts.”

Something smacks into the front windshield of the helicopter as it tries to come around in a circle. Then something else hits, but it is too fast to make out.

“Was that a bird?”

Then a giant red flying thing that looks like a dragon from Hell slams the helicopter from the side. The pilot tried to avoid it, but the creature moves too fast. The camera catches the pilot’s terrified hands scrabbling at the controls. The sky is suddenly straight ahead, and warning sounds buzz and click. The reporter tries to push herself back up into her seat, but the helicopter lurches again and she has the misfortune of being near the sliding side door. She catches the handlebar as she attempts to get her balance. The metal portal slides open, and she tumbles away with a scream.

“Kelly!” a voice screams over the sound of the wind ripping into the tiny space.

“Ah fuck meeeeeeeee!” her voice howls.

The helicopter swings over, and the screen is filled with something that should not be. A giant horned face that looks like the bastard child that resulted when a nightmare fucked a giant lizard. Screams as the helicopter falls into it. Cries for help as the screen goes blank, then a tremendous crunching sound fills the room as the speakers overload in the tiny television.

“Special effects get better and better every day,” Darla says, breaking the shocked silence.

Edwina turns to her lover but closes her mouth. Having it open reminds her of the thing she just saw on the screen. The thing that cannot exist. Just like the angel. A thing that cannot exist. Just like the little flying cocks that flooded the semi earlier in the day.

“This is truly the end,” she says into the silent room.

“Well shit. I need to hurry up and get laid then.”

“Now we’re talking!” Marcel grins.

After finally escaping the constant horrific soul-violating multi-partner fucking of the orgy in the desert, Sheriff Smoochole and his lone surviving deputy, Fenton Morks, stole General O’Coddle’s personal Hummer and fled back to Reno and the sheriff station. Only they were too exhausted to make the entire drive.

Instead, and due only to his cop-subconscious, Sheriff Smoochole pulled the Hummer into a roadside rest area. He turned off the ignition and passed out for approximately seventy-two hours straight. Deputy Morks was fast asleep and sucking on the back of his red-balled gag like a toddler sucks its thumb before Smoochole pulled the massive vehicle to a stop.

Now, as demons whoop and screech in the air above them, Sheriff Smoochole stirs in his sleep. Behind his eyelids, he sees Hell.

Once the first drop of blood soaked down into the earth, Satan shook off his great shackles and began pushing against the mass of copulating dying hippies. Smoochole saw the bastard Devil; he made eye contact with the Father of Lies. The Devil’s eyes sparkled with malice, and he shook an unbelievably thick red prick at the struggling Sheriff Smoochole while two more flaccid peckers watched from either side and laughed in a thousand voices. Smoochole fought through the pile of human flesh to escape the cock-stroking Master of Evil and still, days later, it haunts his dreams.