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

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll figure that out if it works. Now get your skinny ass up there and pass me the rope.”

Liza scrambled up the side of the embankment, her feet skidding more than once on the loose dirt and gravel. When she reached the top, she lost her footing and slid back down on her ass, shredding the dish gloves she wore and cutting her palms in the process. When she reached the top again, she grabbed the metal beam. She hoped there was enough glove left to keep her from leaving a palm print, but the metal gave off a shower of rust flakes and she doubted it was smooth enough, anyway. Feeding the rope over the beam, she held on for dear life, not wanting to slide back down before the noose was around the bum’s neck.

Chantal grabbed the dangling rope and pulled gently, freeing up enough slack to crawl over to where the guy slept in the dirt. She could smell him before she even got close, and pulled her shirt up over her nose. As she made to slip it over his head, he grumbled and rolled over, muttering gibberish in his sleep before resuming his loud and uneven snoring.

Gently easing the noose over his neck, she started when he farted in his sleep and an involuntary giggle erupted from her mouth. The wino flinched and sat up abruptly, then grabbed her sleeve in his dirty hand.

“What the fuck you doin? You robbin me, bitch?” Chantal pulled back hard, trying to break free of his grip.

“Liza, now!” She scrambled backwards, struggling with the man, who was much stronger than his slender, malnourished body made him appear. He lay on the ground, his filthy hand refusing to relinquish its grip on her shirt.

Liza wrapped the rope around her hand and jumped down, sliding on her ass again and nearly jerking her arm out of its socket when the slack on the rope ended. The noose tightened, and the wino let go of Chantal, his hands flying up to his throat. Wasting no time, Chantal scrambled to her feet and ran to where Liza struggled, gripping the rope in both hands and heaving with all of her might. Both women tugged with all of their weight, lifting the bum until his feet dangled several inches above the ground, kicking and spasming as he made the choking sound over and again.

Chantal lost her grip and fell on her ass, causing Liza to also let go. The man dropped to the ground, still kicking and trying to loosen the rope around his neck.

“Aw shit, grab it!” Chantal jumped to her feet and hauled on the rope again. Liza joined her, and they had him in the air once more. Why’s it taking so long for this heavy bastard to die? Chantal looked around, desperate to find something that would help gain leverage. She spotted a heavy chunk of broken concrete, an iron reinforcement bar protruding from it.

“Liza. Help me pull this rope over there.” She nodded towards the cement chunk. “Maybe we can tie it off.”

Liza said nothing, only grunted and nodded, eyes wide with fear and exertion. The two pulled as hard as they could, leaning back on the rope so their combined weight would drag the bum higher into the air.

Like a fish on a line, he swung and arched, fighting for breath and making those horrible gagging noises. They almost dropped him again before finally making it to the hunk of concrete. Chantal wound the rope around the rebar, anchoring her weight to allow Liza to do the tying. Neither spoke, their faces red and sweaty as they strained to finish the chore. When it was tied, they stepped back with uncertainty, ready for the block to shift, but it held.

“Sweet Jesus Jumping Christ!” Chantal wiped her arm across her brow, still huffing for breath.

“I know, right?” Liza staggered over to the block and plopped down on it. With elbows resting on knees, she put her face in her hands and moaned.

Chantal gave her an awkward pat on the back, then walked over to where the wino still hung. He was no longer putting up a fight; his hands had fallen to his sides where he swung gently from the beam. She walked around to face him, taking a quick step back and covering her mouth with her hands when she saw his face. His eyes bulged from mottled, purple flesh, the rope barely visible where it cut into his swollen neck. A stiff tongue protruded obscenely from his mouth. He smelled like shit, but she wasn’t sure whether he had crapped himself before or after the hanging. He hung about two feet off the ground, his crotch just below eye level. Chantal shuddered.

“Um, Liza?”

“Yeah?”

“I think he’s dead.”

“God, I hope so.” Liza stood and walked over to Chantal, grimacing in distaste when she saw him.

“So when’s this angel lust supposed to happen?” She reached out to touch him, pulling her hand back at the last second.

“I don’t know. I guess probably right away.” Chantal said.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You gonna check or what?” Liza clasped her hands behind her back, clearly not intending to.

“Fuck. Whatever!” Chantal reached out, roughly grabbed the front of his pants, and pulled the zipper down, struggling with the button on the jeans for a moment before it gave. She pulled them down to his knees, taking his boxers with them.

“No hard-on, but it looks like he had a nasty case of something.” Chantal wiped her hands on her pants in disgust.

“Do you think it’s cuz we dropped him?”

“Christ, I don’t know.”

“So now what do we do? All that and it doesn’t even fucking work. Nice!”

“We try again tomorrow night, I guess. I’ll look and see what other deaths cause it. I know it has to be violent.”

“Are you shitting me? You want to do this again? ”

Chantal looked at the dead man swinging from the beam, his blistered penis limp against his furry thigh. If they were lucky, the cops might think it was a suicide, but she wasn’t too confident in their luck. She looked Liza in the eye, her own gaze cold and determined.

“Might as well go for it. We’re already murderers.”

Liza knelt before the man in the dirt, trying hard to ignore his body odor. It was hard to do when he kept shoving her head down and mashing her nose into his matted pubic hair. She gagged as her mouth was assaulted by the taste of his bitter sweat, and he laughed.

“Come on now, girlie. I thought you was a pro?” He laughed again, swigging from a bottle of gin, then grabbed her head and gave her face a big, upward thrust. She tried to pull away, but he still held her by the hair. “Not so fast now. You and your little girlfriend made me some promises.”

“Yes, we did.” Chantal said from behind him, pressing a throw pillow to the back of his head with an ugly- looking revolver jammed against it. The shot was muffled, but it still seemed too loud in the quiet night. The wooded area wasn’t too far from the park where they had found him and lured him in with promises of booze and sex.

I hope no one heard that and called the cops, Chantal thought.

Liza shrieked and crab-walked backwards, having been unable to avoid being splattered with blood and brains. The vomit she had tried to hold back erupted out of her mouth and down her blouse in a surprising torrent. She began to sob, tearing handfuls of grass out and scrubbing her face with it. Spying the bottle of gin still clutched in his hand, she pried it out and wiped the neck of the bottle with a clean spot on her shirt, before turning it up and draining it in one gulp. When she was done, she tossed it into the bushes, earning a glare from Chantal.

“Way to leave behind evidence, you idiot. Go get the damned bottle.”

Liza scowled back, but did as she was told. She grabbed a flashlight and shuffled off to the bushes. Returning with the empty bottle, she shoved it in her knapsack.