Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

Other glory hole demons remain close to their doorway from Hell and end up in Reno or Vegas. They wait in dim alleys with their cocks hanging out, rubbing against passersby, humming and cooing from the holes with lips. A few wander blindly into malls and other businesses causing fellatio and chaos wherever they go.

One shatters the front doors to the Greedy Cowboy Casino and spins through the lobby crushing bell boys and cashiers as it bounces from wall to wall until it bounds onto the main casino floor. It comes to rest at the end of a line of penny slots, each with two-tone lights spinning on top. People run screaming and panicking as zombies and demons stumble and fly through the broken windows. Across the crowded, bloodstained lobby, an elevator door opens with a bing. Out meanders a sweet old lady with a metal walker. She takes a few slow shuffling steps into the chaotic casino.

She steps her walker then shuffles after it over and over again as people run screaming into the arms of the dead. This keeps the zombies distracted as she makes her slow but painstakingly straight pathway to her favorite row of penny machines.

She loses a few minutes when she has to skirt two cocktail waitress zombies feasting on a lounge singer, but the detour leads her to a roll of pennies someone has dropped on the ground. When she bends down (slowly) to pick up the roll of pennies, a zombie wearing green and orange plaid lunges at her (also slowly) and misses, falling down the small flight of stairs behind her instead. She smiles and hurries her walker to the row of games. She is struggling to remember which one paid best last when she notices the taller, stranger machine at the end of the row.

A bell boy who was thrown into a wall when the glory hole demon entered screams at her to stop, but the plaid zombie clamps his jaws down on the bell boy’s neck, silencing his fevered warning. The old lady squints behind her glasses, looking for the video screen on the giant slot box, but she sees none.

“Must be a classic.” She shrugs and commences stuffing the entire roll of fifty pennies, one at a time, into a lip hole, her hands moving faster than her legs have in decades.

The glory hole demon gags and shudders at the copper dissolving its throat like acid. The old lady, fearing that the machine is threatening to break down and steal her fifty pennies, punches her tiny but mongoose-quick fist into the same hole. Something clamps down on her fist, and she groans in pain.

A massive deformed cock flops from the star hole above her and crashes down on her head hard enough to cave in her skull in with a squish. Blood and brain spurt from her ears, and she falls limply to the floor. Where she stood, there is now a great wide banner on the glory hole demon that proclaims, “The Daily Cunt proudly presents The End of the Fucking World!”

The demon went down, sure. The girls did their best to take care of him, but they paid a terrible price. There is blood everywhere. Everywhere! Edwina is not squeamish in the least. She has seen and spilled enough blood to fill a few tubs, but this is her kind.

Now she is pissed. Fucking pissed.

Darla was the worst. Seeing her tossed through the air, her sturdy body crumpling as it struck the ground, rolling over and over. If Edwina had a big enough gun she would destroy the entire area. She would nuke it into oblivion.

“FUCK!” she screams and punches the side of the truck.

The monkey goes nuts, jumping up and down and pounding on the opposite wall. Bottles of flavored syrups, nuts and a container of dried-up maraschino cherries make a squishy mess as they smash to the floor.

Goatboy perks up, walks to the mess and slurps at the floor. He hums a song as he moves around the truck, lapping at the spillage, little goat tongue popping in and out of his human face.

“It’s good. You should try it.” He glances around the tiny space.

Edwina is not all that tall, but she has to duck to keep from striking a low-hanging cabinet door that swings back and forth as the truck rocks like a ship in a stiff wind. She slams it shut and kicks one of the cabinets. A jar of crushed nuts flies off a shelf and crashes across Goatboy’s back.

To everyone’s surprise, he not only howls in pain but stands on two feet so he can rub his back with a very unnatural-looking hoof-hand. When he meets Edwina’s gaze, she has the urge to pull her nine and shoot him in the grinning fucking face.

“Don’t look at me!” she yells.

“Sorry, love. Hey look! I can stand. Brilliant. Besides, you ’ave a rather pleasant face. The parts that aren’t covered in blood. Then again, a few hours ago I didn’t even know what blood was, so I guess it’s not all bad. Maybe I can ’ave a lick, yeah?”

Phil farts and rolls over to stare at the wall. He sleeps on the side where his arm used to be.

“If you bring your freak body anywhere near me, I will take my gun and fill you so full of holes that the one-armed monkey won’t miss a place to fuck you.”

Goatboy closes his mouth after a moment and sulks to a corner of the ice cream truck. The man in the front seat hasn’t moved since he somehow made the truck levitate. Good trick, that. Maybe she can just jump out the ass end of the thing and say adios, mother fuckers. But she is a fighter, and she isn’t going to let this set her back. If her time with the ladies taught her anything, it is that she is stronger than whatever life can throw at her. She lives for challenge, not like the old days when she used to wait on Charlie hand and foot.

In fact, if she saw Charlie now, she would plant the side of her palm in his throat with enough force to crush his larynx. Then he would gurgle and die before her eyes. He would fall to his knees and plead with her for his life, his hand pressed to his throat and tears streaming down his face. She would laugh in his face, and then she would kick it in.

“Hi,” the man in the stained sweatshirt greets her. He stands and looks back and forth between Edwina and the toy microphone in his hand.

“Yo,” she replies.

“So, I saved you.”

“You didn’t save shit. You didn’t fucking save me from SHIT!” She pulls the pistol from the holster in the back of her pants and takes one big step forward. She points it at his head and seriously considers killing everyone in the truck.

“Okay okay! Fucking Christ!” He quivers.

“Don’t kill him!” a voice shrieks, and the weirdest thing in her weird day happens. The little plastic face that she’d thought was a hallucination pokes over his shoulder and stares at her. Its razor-sharp teeth are set in a permanent grin. She aims the gun and pulls the trigger before she can consider what she is doing. She is prepared for the recoil, but instead the trigger slaps home with a hollow click. Empty!

“Fuck!” She reaches for her pocket but doesn’t find a clip. She tries the other side, then starts patting down her body as she backs away.

“Stop!” the little nightmare face hisses. “If you kill me, you won’t have a guide. I was sent by one of the good guys!”

“What good guys?” She slides the clip out of her gun and checks it for another shell, but the damn thing is empty. The events of the last half hour are a blur, and she has committed one of the greatest sins, one of the things that Sue, the weapons expert, taught them never to do. She lost track of how many bullets she’d fired. She lost track of a lot of stuff.

“Darla,” she sighs and drops her hand to her side. The gun thumps against her thigh, and she nearly drops it. Darla is gone, and now nothing is right in the world. Sure, it was fucked before the shootout at the asshole corral, but now everything is a big ball of nothing.