C. LaSart - Ad Nauseam - 13 Tales of Extreme Horror

Alice was in the garden, the warm August mist thick around her body, obscuring her from passersby on the street. She had no memory of getting out of bed to come here, or of removing her gown and sensible panties. But here she stood. Bare to the world.

She ran her hands over her breasts, delighting in the moist feel of condensation on her flesh. Suddenly, she was aroused by the act of being so brazen, so nude in a place where she could be easily discovered. Her palm slid down her slightly doughy belly to tease between her thighs.

The mist parted and a young man stood before her in the haze, his pale, naked body glistening in the glimmer of the moonlight. No more than twenty, he was beautiful.

Alice’s eyes followed the muscled indentation of his hip as it curved deliciously toward his cock, which stood in impressive arousal. Her eyes widened. Despite his fierce erection, his skin lacked the flush of sex. Instead, his flesh was an unhealthy shade of grey, his eyes milky and unblinking marbles, and his throat opened from ear to ear in a grisly and gashed grin. She could see knobby cartilage in the mostly bloodless wound on his neck as her eyes took him in from head to toe.

For all his youthful sexuality, the man before her was obviously dead.

The sight of him should have sent Alice screaming into the night. But she did not fear him. She felt unable to resist placing her palm upon the cold, hard muscles that formed the ridge of his abdomen. It surprised her when he unexpectedly fell over, landing on his back with a meaty thud, his glazed eyes moving slowly up to her.

Stunned by this turn of events, Alice knelt by his side, the warm night air caressing her body as her eyes moved from his, and rested on his erection. A jolt of sexual awareness sizzled between her thighs. She knew she should be horrified by the feeling, disgusted by the corpse that lay before her, but she couldn’t quell her arousal. Years of burying her sexuality beneath the mundane details of life, came crashing down on her, causing a hunger that needed fulfillment, despite the morbid circumstances.

Up this close, she could smell him, a rotten, yet slightly sweet aroma. She still felt an overwhelming need to feel that rigid, young flesh inside her. She had no idea how his penis could be erect with no blood flow, but didn’t care. Instead she marveled at the thick, sturdy veins that ran darkly beneath the bluish skin.

He was dead, but he was here, and he was hers! Leave it to the devil to deliver a dead man to her door. Even in her dream she had vague recollections of issuing that challenge, and she would take what she could get. Finally she could know the carnal bliss of coupling with a man. She could experience all the pleasure that the girls in the dorm had moaned about, taunting her mercilessly.

Alice moved to straddle the boy, her hand caressing the silky, hard skin of his cock. It was cold as she guided it slowly into her own hot flesh; the delicious feeling of stretching to accommodate him caused her to groan aloud with pleasure.

He didn’t move, but remained erect, allowing her to slide and grind against him, building her own pace, her hands clawing at chilly, hard pectoral muscles. She wished he would touch her breasts, but his arms remained stiff at his sides, so she grabbed them herself, fondling and pinching her own nipples with abandon as she felt her orgasm approaching. Alice continued to ride him, rocking hard as her climax crashed over her in exquisite waves that seemed endless. He made an odd garbled sound, like a choked moan, and then his cock moved, spasming inside her as it gushed forth, flooding her insides with cold semen.

Alice slept in the morning after the dream until well after ten, the mid-morning light streaming through the blinds, assaulting her eyes. She hadn’t slept this late in years, but it was Sunday, her day off, so it didn’t matter.

Her head hurt from all the wine, but she felt a pleasant throbbing in her groin, and debated on whether to get up at all. Her thighs felt sticky, and she vaguely remembered her erotic dream.

Must’ve been a real doozy.

Throwing back the covers, she felt stunned to realize she was naked, having shed her sleeping garments in the night. Her hand flew up to her mouth and she uttered a horrified shriek when her gaze fell to her thighs. Opaque in places, a thick, black slime coated her skin from crotch to knee.

It smelled like dead fish rotting in the sun.

Alice jumped from her bed and ran to the adjacent bathroom, turning the water as hot as she could handle before scrubbing her body. She continued to wash long after the filth was gone, grunting out harsh sobs and shaking with disgust. Her mind refused to accept that the episode had been anything more than a perverse dream, despite the evidence that swirled down the drain. She got out and threw the soiled washcloths (it had taken three to remove all traces of the foul slime on her thighs) into the trash.

Wearing an old t-shirt and jeans, she had just begun stripping the linen from her bed when there was a knock at her door. She froze, suddenly nervous. No one ever came to her house. She debated ignoring it, her hair was still wet and she hadn’t bothered to put on a bra, so intent was she on cleaning up the bed. The knock came again, more insistent this time, and she went to answer.

A young man in a suit stood on her porch, his badge gleaming in the afternoon sunlight when he held it out for her inspection. He smiled at her, but it didn’t touch his eyes. Alice stared, wondering why a police officer was at her door.

Must be official business.

He cleared his throat and spoke. “I’m sorry to bother you. Miss… ”

“Collins. Alice Collins.”

“Ms. Collins. I am Detective Dunlavy and I’m here in response to a call from a pedestrian that saw something in your garden this morning when he was walking his dog.”

The detective had a pleasant manner, but his eyes were sharp, scrutinizing her reaction. She hoped she didn’t appear nervous, and really had no reason to be since she didn’t know what he was talking about. Bits and pieces of her dream started creeping into her head and she felt a little ill.

“So what was in my garden, officer?” She tried to gain confidence by using her no-nonsense librarian voice, but inside trembled with fear. Alice felt detached from the situation, complex emotions warring within her, but surprisingly calm on the outside.

“Not was, Ms. Collins. There is a body in your garden.”

“What? You can’t be serious! How would a body wind up in my garden?” Alice felt as though she might faint.

The dream! Oh the damn dream! What have I done?

She stumbled and the young detective caught her arm, then led her into the living room and sat her on the couch as he disappeared into the kitchen for a glass of water. When he returned, his accusatory look was gone.

He must now believe that I had nothing to do with this. Alice knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet, because there would be an investigation, and she’d naturally be a suspect. The officer stood a few feet away, watching her sip her water.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this news, ma’am.”

“Was the person murdered?” Alice asked, her eyes wide with wonder, certain that she had somehow wound up on the other side of the looking glass.

“Well that’s the weird thing,” the young officer shifted his feet, obviously uncomfortable. “He was murdered. But we already know who did it. This boy was murdered two days ago by his roommate in a dorm at the college.”

“My Lord!” Alice exclaimed. “I know what you’re talking about! That poor boy whose roommate slit his throat while he was sleeping. I heard about that! Dreadful business. I work at the college in the library; and, well, you know how young people gossip. So how did he end up in my garden?”