Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

He steps to the edge and looks over it. The ground falls away into a vast valley of broken earth. It must be a five-hundred-foot drop. Not that he has any plans to go over the edge. A hand is in view, and he follows it to a pale white arm clad in a dirty white sleeve.

“Someone alive?”

“Barely.”

Death should drop the scythe and send this poor soul on to whatever awaits, but that familiar something needles him again. Like an old song he hasn’t head in years is suddenly pounding away in his head. For the first time in his long life, he reaches down and helps someone live.

The guy coughs and pushes himself up on all fours. He sneezes a few times, wipes his nose on his robe and then blows his nose by blocking each nostril and exhaling until long strands of snot form a thick mucus on the remains of the floor. Death looks away.

The man gets to his feet. He has a thick black beard and reminds Death of someone he’s seen on TV or maybe in a movie.

“Thanks,” the man says and sits down. He brushes off his clothes even though the dust and debris are caked so thick the robe itself looks gray. He coughs again and looks up at Death. Death drops his scythe and falls to his knees.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbles.

“Hiya.”

“Lord, I…”

“No more of that Lord shit. I am sick and tired of being nice. I have had it up to here!” He lifts his hand as far over his head as he can reach, then breaks into a coughing fit. “Do this, do that. Die for people and all for what? Do you know how bad it sucks to die?”

“Can’t say that I do. I see enough of it, though.”

“Well it ain’t no cakewalk, junior. Ever had nails driven into your flesh? Trust me, you don’t want that. No one wants that shit. Hurts like hell. Like fucking hell!”

“What happened to your eye?” A big blue bruise stretches up the side of his head. His left eye is swollen partially shut. It gives him a mean squint.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Chunks of the building crumble and fall into the valley. They slide down the side, dislodging other rocks as they go. The remaining lights flicker as power wanes in the building. Death looks up at the tilted ceiling, wondering if it is about to collapse on them. Now that everything is different, he is pretty sure he can be killed. Maybe that is the answer. Maybe he can seek solace in oblivion. With the dead walking, no one to collect their souls and the only man capable of putting things right standing in front of him looking like the world pissed on him… again… well, he is pretty much convinced that everything is fucked.

“So what now?”

“Now? We get out of this forsaken place and do something I have wanted to do for a couple of thousand years.”

“Have a drink?” Death chuckles.

“For starters. Then I want to kick some ass.”

“Road trip!” Death smiles for the first time in several thousand years.

They slip silently from the pit more quickly than human eyes can see. They scatter once they feel the warm dry air through the holes in their shells and realize they have stumbled into freedom. They speed through back alleys and seedy bars, then slow down and rest. Their square shells lower to cover their large callous feet. Their shells are square and seven to eight feet tall. Most humans foolishly regard them as extra-large refrigerator boxes.

Large circular holes dot the shells, some high and some low and, of course, some right around the middle. Some holes have variously colored worn stars painted around them. Other holes are set in the center of big faded lips. Within minutes, all of the glory hole demons of Hell 78 are free from Hades and scattered across the world to prey on a very, very sinful mankind.

One twirls at breakneck speed into the middle of a large herd of elephants in India. The group of Mahouts responsible for keeping the beasts clutter around the large box-shaped demon, completely unaware of its hellish origin and intent. They rub the smooth surface of the demon’s shell, and it vibrates softly under their touch. The lonely Mahouts need no words to explain the holes. The lips painted around them and the soft, sensual cooing sounds from within say enough. Three of them fish their limp pricks out of their robes. Others protest, but the men stick their dicks into the darkness of the holes.

All three men moan and groan, lost in the throes of incredible pleasure. Their howls of euphoria startle the elephants, and they trumpet and stomp in place, some even rearing back on their hind legs. The men who chose not to partake argue about the star-painted holes. One gets on his knees and peers into the darkness. Without warning, a giant maroon cock thrusts from the box and through the kneeling man’s head with an explosion of brains and bone. The demon cock pierces the man’s skull, and his lifeless body hangs limply from the throbbing demon dong.

The other two abstainers back up screaming, exciting the elephant herd into a stampede. The three men with their dicks in the glory holes try to pull them free, but sharp teeth sink into the flesh of their hard-ons. The mouths tear and bite at the men’s privates and tug them into the holes. The men scream and fight, but eventually all three are snapped in half as the mouths inside the shell eat them, dicks first.

The remaining two Mahouts run in circles, trying to calm the massive animals. One steps in the wrong direction and is crushed to pulp by a big bull elephant, and the other Mahout is trampled under the herd as they rumble toward their home. The rampaging beasts stampede through the village, stomping every person and building flat in a matter of seconds. Left alone in the dusty field, the glory hole demon shudders and spins off somewhere else in a blur.

Another glory hole demon spins across the ocean at fantastic speed. It crashes through large glass windows and lands in the middle of a busy Japanese office building.

The businessmen abandon all restraint when big colorful dicks spring from the holes with stars painted around them. Before giving in to the full-on depravity usually reserved for bath houses (and bath houses only), the businessmen use their extreme problem solving skills to determine that if dicks flop out of some holes then, obviously, dicks should go into the other holes.

Soon hundreds of men in business suits are climbing all over the glory hole demons. They hum and suck and flop in response to all the tiny hands, mouths, and cocks. Modestly dressed businesswomen are shoved aside or trampled as offices from other floors empty and men from all over the building converge on the glory hole demons.

Soon, neighboring buildings are emptied of their male population, and the floor beneath the glory hole demon squeals from the weight of hundreds of randy Japanese businessmen. The air is thick with man musk and sweat. Then the building supports crack under the fleshy weight. The office building full of depraved men, crushed females, and one extremely satisfied glory hole demon goes as silent as a grave so each tiny splinter in the foundation can be heard. The building creaks and pops, then shifts so hard and fast that every window shatters.

The men scream, and the glory hole demon feasts on the small peckers thrust down its gullet. The demon chews and spins, flinging naked men across the crowded office or out the broken windows even as the building collapses in a screaming heap of stone, metal, and depraved businessmen. The force of the destruction shakes the ground and triggers a massive earthquake that destroys Tokyo in a few hectic, apocalyptic minutes.