top of page
  • Writer's pictureJeff Arce/Jarce ArtThor

Bassy's Basilica (a short Horror Story)

Updated: Jun 15





***Content Warning:

The following short story is a work of fiction. The characters, and worldly locations are all figments of the author's imagination and are not intended to represent any place or person in the real world.

The following story is a horror/adult thriller written for an audience of the ages 17 and up. This story contains adult themes, vulgar language, extreme violence, drug and alcohol references, and descriptions of explicit content not suitable for younger readers.

Proceed at your own risk!


Length: 5900 words, a 45 minute read.


#horror #sciencefiction #worldbuilding #monsters #shapeshifter #vampire #halloween #scary #dark #fun

Enjoy! 😉



Bassy’s Basilica

Original Art and Story by Jeffrey Arce


(Story Pitch)

Chase Gorman just turned 21 and his friend Tyler has a special little treat planned out for him. They set out to enjoy a night full of dirty fantasies and forbidden fruits at a bad club that’s thirsty for bad blood.



(story)

First Street was a notorious place with a bad reputation. Yet, somehow, the sheep cannot resist the temptation to dance with the wolves. It ran along a neglected beach with garish lighting winking and blinking, poised to give even the healthiest of brains a crippling seizure. Withering city billboards posted along the aging roads of the city promised a wanton treasure trove of dark delicacies burgeoning within. There were electric signs ablaze in bar windows buzzing in bright big bold letters about their endless supply of BEER, LIQUER, AND CIGARS! Standing adjacent to those shops was a line of squat, boxy buildings posted with banners that offered XXX MAGZ AND MORE! Caught between a yawning crevice of the city alleys, like the indelible black spots of rotting gum that overpopulated the sidewalks, writhing junkies, drunkards, and hustlers pushing illegal contraband clustered here and there. They were the usual suspects in a place like this.

Crowning the site was an imposing edifice that shined like a great bright beckon of perversion. A great dizzying peak hung over them all by a colonnade of pillars made from ancient marble. The sections that had been scarred by time were patched up by younger, but still decades old concrete plaster. Here was a watering hole for the lowest breed of human civilization. Weathered palm trees swayed poignantly before it like two gnarled stone, stanchions awash in its flashing, red, and yellow lights, channeling the liquid energy of fire. The gothic era structure stood with a façade outwardly dressed like a cartoon sanctuary for degenerates. It appeared more as an abandoned municipal building, or a forsaken cathedral rather than the infamous establishment it has since blossomed into. Fuchsia infused display lights deepened the shadows of the nubile silhouettes that decorated this curious structure. Nimble sculptures capered over the arch of a greatly aged stone entryway, sardonically mirroring the gates of a despoiled church. Carved into its mahogany panels with spectacular craftsmanship were busy reliefs depicting graphic scenes of group orgies. It was like a fresco dreamed up by a bawdy Michelangelo, revved-up on corner-store brand energy drinks.

The buildings windows that once held beautiful stained-glass illustrations were now blotted out and covered over by large hanging posters featuring erotic portraits of the star dancers garbed in their revealing bikinis and lingerie. The not-so-subtle display did not leave much to beckon the imagination, but the bait of desire worked just as well. A group of reveling young men had come there to find out what forbidden fruits were waiting for them on the other side of those covered windows. They spilled clumsily onto the cracked concrete walkway from the drafty beach behind them, laughing and hooting. The ocean soughed in the distance under a dejected swollen moon, burning gloomily in the black banner of the night’s sky.


A saline taste from seawater saturated the air as they pulled it into their lungs, laughing and carrying-on. There was suddenly a haunting sigh clinging on to the ocean’s breeze, rolling sinisterly across the vacant beach. The splintered evergreen fronds hanging loosely from the forlorn palm trees played against it like fingers composing a gloomy riff across the keys of an invisible piano. The youngest in their group regarded those creaking branches with trepidation as a foreboding chill prickled down his back. He had just turned twenty-one with bright, bold, intelligent eyes, a clean, innocently shaven face, and combed back hair. He appeared beside his friends dressed in khakis, and a tucked-in black polo, with his nervous hands buried deep into his side pockets. He was like a model for a milquetoast clothing line company, staring wide-eyed at the ostentatious lightshow before them with a child’s terrible wonder. Like a rite of passage into manhood he followed his unruly peers toward the strange building.


The biggest one in their group lead the way with a chip on his wide shoulders that had been planted their back in his youth and refused to come down ever since. He was once a star high school football player, now he was an obdurate show-boat who struggled to recognize the sore reality that those better days of his were well done and expired. He walked with a hint of a strut, his paunchy belly popping out at the seams along the lining of his love-handles. But his ego seduced him with the memory of who he used to be, and that is all he could see when he looked at himself in the mirror. These days, he was only a realtor agent with no more notoriety in the world than the next arrogant fool with more pride than good sense. Boisterously, he led them up toward the artful gates, making critical note of the pointed nipples he had to heave against as he pushed his way through the doors decorated by the obscene sculptures. A conscientious observer might have wondered why all the male figures in the reliefs appeared to display expressions of absolute agony in their contorted faces rather than pleasure considering the carnal activity they were engaged in.

He was suddenly seized at the threshold. Two musclebound behemoths stood in his way. The suited security guards greeted him with a practiced calm, though, they patted his rather corpulent frame down with harder hands than they had done the others. Somehow, they could sense which one of them was the most likely candidate to stir up the trouble tonight. It was almost as if they could smell Tyler’s inherent recalcitrant nature. Nevertheless, they let him through along with his posse. All patrons of lust were welcome in this place. Yet still, the supercilious ringleader of the group scoffed at the bouncers as they moved onward.


Tyler still possessed the broad neck of a bull, but there was hardly a spine in the world strong enough to hold up the weight of the ego sloshing around recklessly up in that empty head of his. He was a heavy beer drinker, a rapacious eater, and suffered from an insatiable taste for sex, drugs, and self-indulgence. Nevertheless, the young one in his party somehow enjoyed his company. They were friends all throughout their school years—a crude and often frustrating relationship, but a friendship all the same.


Tyler liked big company and had big dreams. He brought his boys to gallivant with him everywhere he decided to go. He liked to fancy them fawning over his bullshit like he was some rockstar amongst a retinue of sycophants, but his twenty-one-year-old friend reined him in. Perhaps that is why he always kept him around. The kid anchored Tyler back to reality whenever he was starting to drift too close to the sun for comfort, and at times he really needed the back-push. The threat of prison was always close at hand for him without a mediator. His young friend Chase was in a sense the designated driver, the adult in the room, the babysitter. And Tyler was a tornado.


“Come on Chase,” Tyler clapped him heavily on the shoulder. “Let’s get you some tail!” He leered through a wall of dense smoke that was coalescing in the next chamber before them. Two bright bars of blue light cut through the fog and lashed wildly across their faces, causing Chase to wince.


Music inundated by a thumping base coursed through their bodies like the devil’s heartbeat, assaulting Chase’s ears and rattling his skeleton. There were words somewhere in the cacophony of sounds, he knew, but the relentless woofers that came punching out that wicked rhythm reduced them to an intangible burble of whimpers.


Then something materialized just beyond the fog stealing Chase’s curious attention away from the thousands of knifes that the speakers were pummeling into the depths of his brain. At first glance, the spectral shadow before them appeared as a black serpent thrashing this way and that. And then there was another, and another, enticing them to advance further into the fog. When the lights at last fell on to these tantalizing figures, filling in their delicious shapes, the fog lifted, and the boys gasped at what they saw. Lithe, supple, gorgeous creatures were gyrating on elevated platform heels. The girls were dancing wildly, tossing their long threads round and round, and twerking their goods in G-string thongs for a couple of lascivious men who were crowding in close to shower them with a seemingly endless supply of grimy dollar bills. Tyler looked passed them and pointed. Chase turned to follow his gaze. There he found women in skimpy attire dancing scandalously. Some of them were navigating with animated hips through a myriad of high-top tables that were swarming with excited guests. The place was massive. There were nubile girls coiled around dancer-poles that lined multiple stages. They were stripping off articles of clothing piece by piece as they sauntered and twirled. Others were decorated in what appeared to be bikinis crafted from shimmering black tape, cleverly placed about their perfectly sculpted bodies to form complex patterns as they ambled along their way serving drinks for their guests. Chase then looked up and saw more seductresses whirling inside huge, gilded birdcages as they swung side to side above their heads from a ceiling that was so high up that the shadows swallowed its details.


Chase froze in his step as his pulse quickened, his breath abandoning him. Just then his big obnoxious friend locked him up under a fat, fleshy arm and exclaimed, “Tonight, you become a man, my friend!”


Then, a vivacious, ravishing vision came floating up to them. She was fit like an athlete, swimming with long and lean, sinuous muscle. What could be seen of her naked, olive skin seemed to glow under the influence of the club lights surrounding them. She was almost like plastic, and almost too perfect to be real. Her outfit appeared as shimmering black liquid that clung close to the curves of her body. But at close inspection they would learn that it wasn’t an outfit at all. Intricate shapes wrapped around her lissome structure, covering only the right parts to tease her prey, and showing only enough flesh to feed their fantasies. She was clad in a black tape bikini, every piece expertly placed to create flawless patterns that curved here and tapered off there. Her nipples were hard as little pebbles challenging the dexterity of the glossy fabric that covered them. Chase could see the tiny lumps juxtaposed to them, indicating a studded piercing there beneath. One half of her head was stylishly cropped; the other half cascaded down her right shoulder in a curtain of coarse rainbow-dyed braids, that burned brightly in the black light. Her ropes of lurid hair were so long, full and matted over that Chase couldn’t help but to wonder how many years she might have been treating it. She wore a purple lipstick that glittered like stars about her full, voluptuous lips. Her thin and narrow bedroom eyes were accentuated by dark eyeliner. Her irises were a kind of smoldering viridescent green that could coax a man’s soul out from his body. Her tattoos covered mostly every inch of her exposed flesh like a temple of dense, tightly amalgamated, complex hieroglyphics that told a long exhausting story…a deadly story.


To the youngest one, she beguiled him with her most generous of smiles: pretty, charming, and pleasant. He answered her with a diffident one in return as flush suffused under his cheeks. That made her simper.


When she turned to greet his audacious friend—the one with the big neck and even bigger attitude—she gave him a rather coquettish grin. Hoisting up a tray of loaded vials cleverly shaped like syringes, she asked, “Would you gorgeous boys care for a drink?” She arched her left eyebrow endearingly. “Pick your poison.”


Chase’s head was already swimming with enough toxins to hold him over for one night, but before he could respectfully decline, his flippant friend jumped in and goaded, “I’ve got something for you to sip on right here!” Then he grabbed a handful of his junk and added, “come have a taste.”


A tall security guard with a massive chest and sturdy shoulders moved in quick to stalk down this impertinent newcomer. However, the spectacular woman wrapped in all her copious tattoos held up a patient finger to hold him. With rheumy eyes on her unruly guest, she grinned thirstily at him. She said, “Maybe I will.” With that, she left him with a wink and carried on about her business.


Brushing up past the puffed-up bouncer, she whispered into his ear, “Let him be. That one I like.” She looked back at him one last time to tease his hormones with an ingratiating sideways grin. That tickled Tyler’s ego a little too much.


“Tyler, must you be a dickhead everywhere we go,” Chase chided.


His big friend shrugged off his reproach. “I’ll be whatever she wants me to be.”


Chase was troubled by this. He looked again at the passing server, carefully appraising her seductive attributes. She is too perfect for nature, some internal instinct deep inside of him admonished. “I’m not so sure it was a good thing, what just happened.”


“Lighten up, Chase,” one of the other guys with them said. Chase believed his name was Moyer or Kreger, but he couldn’t quiet recall. “Modesty, or lack thereof will get you nowhere in this place. It’s all about what’s in the wallet. And Tyler is way too broke to get in too much trouble!”


“And fat,” the other nameless asshole Chase had only met a few hours ago put in.


Tyler flipped him off before leading them again, wherever he was going as if he knew the place. That was how he treated every new environment he found himself in, like he was too damned sure of himself to ever be lost. His confidence was his compass, and more often than not it always navigated them to the same end—danger.


Tyler said, “The mainstage is over here.”


There were four stages, not including the massive transparent box hanging high over their heads where nude women were dancing as though they were floating on air. The lights inside the box ignited it with an icy blue hue, giving the girls inside an alluring contrast that was hard not to admire.


They moved past affluent men clad in high-end designer suits, poor men in discount-superstore-novelty T-shirts, and young men brandishing their drinks, being as recklessly obstreperous as the youthful spirit could possibly permit. Then he caught view of an opulent platform, far off to the right, climbing high, adjacent from the impressive Sky Cube and main stage. A curtain of glittering beads fell around them like a waterfall of lapis pearls. The ones occupying the space up there were nothing like the sex-depraved patrons surrounding Chase. They were seated in a place of honor, more lavishly dressed than any man in the club. He saw a stretch of tribal-like tattoos populating the neck of one of the guests seated beyond the wall f beads. He was a rugged man with hard features, and a dangerous aura. As if he sensed Chase’s curiosity on him, he turned to cast a flinty scowl on to the young man through the oscillating cords of transparent beads. When Chase retreated his eyes, he found a bold woman striding their way with a mesmerizing gait that was both assertive yet enticing. She walked with a party of suited men, parading as an entourage, though they looked more like trained killers. Lean, and hard muscled, they shadowed her every twist and turn as she marching by them, cutting through the crowd like a knife.

A perfume wafted from her, it was redolent, and exotic, but there was also a taste of professional authority clinging to it.


Tyler caught the scent. He swooned, as he turned to see the beautiful woman making her way. He shouted out at her, “Goddamn, how much do you cost!”


She paused, rotating her head slowly to offer him only disdain. Her very ambiance was incongruous with everything that surrounded her. The woman was not dressed like a harlot. She was not of a patience to endure such brazen wit. She wore a dark purple vest that was all business, cut to show but a hint of the cleft in her ample bosom, and she was clad in a formal black skirt that fell humbly to her knees. Her high-heals, though, appeared almost to have been sculpted out of black ice, and was just cold as her as her demeanor. Her hair was spun in flaxen gold, stacked high upon her crown. It was a style that could just as much promise the most wicked of pleasures as it could say that she was a busy woman with no tolerance for drunken jeers. Chase’s ignoble friend was far too stupid to see that her men were all marking him with baleful glowers. Though confounded, the woman went on about her business. However, before she ascended the spiral stairs to meet with her guests, she stopped short and impressed upon her stalwart knights, “Watch him.” She then hastened up the steps and slipped through the curtain wall of beads leaving ripples surging in her wake. Her men turned right there and set their cruel eyes firmly upon Tyler.

Apprehension nagged at Chase’s heart just then, even as they started for the main stage to rain money onto a redheaded beauty that was dancing around a pole with adroit capability. She shimmied up the thing as if she were born to the art and then hung upside down from it, letting her long curls swing. Then she spun from it round and round, fully nude, and breathtaking. Still, she was not enough to mitigate Chase’s anxiety. Something very bad was happening in that place of the world through those beads, and every instinct bred in his very core was screaming for him to get out while they still had a chance. Some primal, dormant sense inside was waking up. And it said unto him, they have your scent! Run, and don’t look back!


The infamous city of ParaVice has always been something of a mystery to Chase. He and his friends grew up on the safer side of town. They only heard stories about First Street, and Vulpine Beach. They were at long last seeing it and all of her fabled glory. But only Chase could smell the ugly lingering behind it’s pretty disguise. The ugly had sharp teeth, it was ancient, and its jaws were beginning to snap shut around them.


***

“Gentlemen,” the mysterious businesswoman with the golden hair greeted her guests. Her red eyes were keenly set on the one with the tattoos on his neck. “It is a pleasure to finally have you.”


“The pleasure is ours,” the grimacing stranger answered coldly. “You know why we have come?” The mafia known only as The Company were a collection of rough men who did not like to waste time. His words were accented, but only mildly. He was highly educated in the common tongue.


She nodded. “I do.”


“So then, Bassy,” he said her name like it was an insult.


Bassy seated herself, her right-hand man standing close. He regarded the tattooed stranger with a defiant stare. He was a tall gentleman with short, bristly, oil-slick black hair, a grizzled goatee, and of deep Eastern descent chiseled into his fearsome scowl.


Their host frowned. Bassy cleared her throat and said, “Mr. Zenith Guer—Gerrrria…help me please.”


“Guerrio,” he seethed.


“Ahh yes,” she smiled. “Canian?” This of course was her way of toying with him. Everyone in the room knew the men of The Company were men of Cane, so he did not provide an answer. She shrugged and said pensively, “It is a poor name, I believe. It means quarrelsome person, or rather, problem child…are you a problem child, Mr. Guerrio?”


His men shifted uncomfortably in their seats beside him as he spat, “Enough with the games, Girl. Our employer—”


“Your employer is threatened,” she interjected, “and I understand that. He wants to know how I was able to procure this property without his knowledge. I understand that too. It is a curious thing, isn’t it?” her vulpine gaze tested him, they were as steely as any thug or boss her tattooed guest had even known, and he met them all. They were eyes wrought with cruelty and experience. Her spirit was impressive, but her temerity was a problem. She went on. “A woman, with power, and what’s more…a woman with said power in one of the vilest places on the planet. Oh, how could it be? I assure you, good sirs. There is no mystery hear. It is all so very simple. The devil is in the details, however, and that is something need not concern you.”


“On the contrary,” Zenith Gurrio said, “this is the very source of our employer’s dismay. Who are you working for?”


“I am working for me. Every girl’s dream.”


“Who is funding you, then,” he rasped, annoyed.


“Mr. Gurrio, you have played this game long enough to know that my answer to your insufferable questions will remain the same no matter how many times you ask. Can we save the humility now, and get to the point? You want a tithe, yes?”


He exchanged a curious look with his partners. Then back to her. He demanded, “Fifty million…”


She did not like it. Before she could reply one of her guards came in through the glittering curtain. He stepped around her man, who never even flinched, still as granite, looking direct at Mr. Zenith Guerrio like a brooding gargoyle. The newcomer whispered into his Madam’s ear. Her frown deepened. “Excuse me, sirs. Business matters.”


Irritated, she stood up stiff as a board, her grimace drawing age lines that suddenly made her appear ancient, yet still so gorgeous as ever. She went to part through the veil of beads with a quick hand, stealing a peek outside. The big prurient idiot that had made his bawdy pass at her was just then being ripped from her stage. The security dumped him on his back. He was kicking and cursing, violently aggrieved. Her dancer had withdrawn herself from them. She was frightened, and covering her most valuable of parts, spoiling the others of her organic beauty. As if sensing her boss’s dismay, Lady Tanya looked angrily up at her from the stage. Humans of such natural glamor were a rarity, and an asset. They were fickle, hard to come by, and expensive to keep. Bassy would need to recompense her generously for this abhorrent disruption.


Her guests were hectoring the beast, and rightfully so. It seemed his own posse had turned on him, belittling and cursing at him. Then the young, comely gentleman that came in with the big oaf was suddenly taken with distress. He chanced a blanched look back toward her.


She dropped the beads. She said in private hearing with the guard, “Give him to D.”


The man went suddenly taught. Incredible fear paralyzed him, but his sangfroid matriarch offered him a reassuring grin. She touched him with affectionate hands, tentatively caressing the dribbled scars that wracked one whole side of his face—an old bite mark it would seem. It was a big one, mutilating most of his bottom lip, neck, and jaw.

“Don’t you worry,” she soothed, “she will not harm you tonight, my dear. Now go.”


Though terrified, he bowed and went dutifully to carry out her command.

Before he was gone, she stopped him once more and said, “Oh, and do be a doll, my love. Tell the DJ to play her song. She likes to set a mood.” She nodded at him, and then it was done.


Returning to her guests, she went immediately back to business and said, “Forty.”


The tattooed one considered this for a long moment. Then he said, “Forty? This will do. Our employer will be pleased.”


“Anything to keep the peace.” There was no love on her words; she spoke it with venom. “I wouldn’t want to raddle the cage of a Snake. I do so very much adore serpents.”


***

Tyler punched one of the bouncers across the jaw, sending him reeling. It was an impressive swing for a drunk guy.


“Get off me!” He was on his feet again, wild with rage and besot on adrenaline, but three security officers flanked him, and they were far bigger than he was.


“Bro, you have got to calm down,” Chase advised, checking his surroundings anxiously.


The fawners weren’t fawning anymore. Bader, or Chet, or whatever-his-name-was quaffed down his drink and spat, “Let’em throw his ass out! It’s the least he deserves.”


Tyler snarled, “Hey, fuck off!”


One of the guards seized him up again and began moving him for the door. “That’s it, you are done!”


“Oh come on…” he shot a curious glance with his groggy eyes at the woman on stage. She was covering herself up with both arms, recoiling from the edge of the stage. Her bright red hair was spilling all around her in heavy, sodden ropes and chaotic strands. She was more than aggrieved. There was a look in her glower that suggested that she knew him.


“I was just trying to have some fun,” Tyler groused. “And besides…” he was still staring at her dreamily as the guard pushed him along. “I thought I recognized her.”


“The stage is for dancers only!”


Tyler’s intoxicated ego was implacable. “I can dance better than that scrawny-ass ginger.”


Suddenly, everything stopped.

A majestic sound came undulating over the speakers, melodic, yet haunting. Jaws fell open as she sauntered toward them, swaying those hourglass hips like poetry. Her black tape bikini glistened under the light, igniting the intricate shapes. There was a cry like bending sirens to theme her walk, and then there was a robust drumline. Peering through her ropes of yellow and blue and red and pink braids like a feral beast, she looked at him. A ravenous hunger possessed her green gaze. She placed a slender hand against the bouncer’s brawny chest. He paused, swallowing a dreadful lump in his throat. His face turned sickly pale. No more words were needed. The bouncer let go of Tyler and simply removed himself from the scene, his head hanging as low as his spirit. She grinned at him ardently when the blare of energy-fueled electric guitars bellowed from the speakers.


The woman closed in. Chase saw a storm of confused emotion wash over his friend’s face but for only a moment. It wasn’t long before his hubris took over again.


“What is this?” Chase asked, incredulous. His heart was pounding.

Then the man with the cruelly scarred face was suddenly there. “A gift from our Madam Bassy,” he said meekly, drawing his eyes down like a beaten dog forced to entertain a savage ritual. “She saw your displeasure with Lady Tanya. Dissatisfaction will not stand here at our Madam’s Basilica.”


“Damn straight,” Tyler boasted. “I saw you at the door, I knew you were thirsty.”


The stunning lady drew back her purple painted lips to bare those brilliant teeth of hers. “That I am.”


Chase did not trust it. “This is a trick.”


“Chase, look at her.” He was. There was something awful about her—he could smell it. “She wants me.” Tyler was never so certain about anything.


That I do,” she purred.


“A private room has been selected for you, free of charge.” The man with the broken face informed them before he left.


She slipped her arm through his, and they were at once ambulating together as if floating away on air. Chase stepped in front of them.


“Bro, step off,” Tyler lashed.


Chase gave the woman a careful glance. Her brow cut over her eyes in a way that scared him. He blinked at his friend and said soberly, “Are you sure about this?”


“I’m sure if you don’t soon get the fuck out of my way, you’re gonna get a broken arm for your birthday.”


One of his friends then touched Chase on the back. “Leave him to dig his own grave, come on.”


They let him go.


***

Before long, Tyler was alone in a dark chamber with his wild mistress. A black light filtered in, brightening her white teeth, and setting her rainbow hair on fire. Her green eyes were like a cat’s in that glow. The top-heavy man sat awkwardly balanced in the chair, hard as a rock. She crawled to him, dusted him with her artful threads, and then mounted him. He made his repugnant remarks, but she couldn’t hear him; nobody could over those all-consuming speakers. The singer’s voice was bleeding through. It was a woman, and she possessed a sonorous cadence. With a seductive chorus that engendered an intoxicating sense of desire, passion, rage and hurt. With it she roared, “…I’m Sick, You Sick, I Infected You! Still, You Think I’m So Beautiful, Even When I Rip In-to You!” That was what Tyler had missed in his blind arrogance—what the song playing in the background should have been warning him.

Her long, tattooed legs were wrapped around him and his chair, locking him in for the ride. Her generous breasts were pressing against his jaw. He could feel the gloss of the tape, like little pieces of plastic scratching at his stubbles. A laughing skull was branded on her throat, peering at him from beyond the black borders like a menacing demon. A self-eating snake under her breasts, and a ferocious mouth lined with jagged teeth enshrined her navel and fell into the cleft between her legs. He did what deviants do, and he buried his nose deep into her bosom and blew bubbles of air into her flesh.


She giggled. She sighed. Then she brought herself to his level—eye to eye, mouth to mouth. She was letting him feel her—all of her. He made once more some obtuse, vulgar statement as she rocked her hips against his engorged manhood. She let the music drown him out. She did like the feel of him, though. His prick was nice enough.

Shame, D thought, rueful.


She opened her mouth. Her tongue was wrapped in saliva. She edged closer. He was ready for her. Smiling eagerly, he leaned in to taste her. Little did he know, she was already tasting him and all of his secret sins. She wondered if his charming friends out there had any inclination about them. It was doubtful. These sins were so ripe and juicy even keeping the knowledge of them would have put his boys in the room right next to him. D could hear his victims whimpering, screaming, praying for him to stop. Praying for him to let them live when he was done. Sometimes he did, but not without remonstrating what would happen to them if they ever talked. To D’s carnivorous senses, they were like echoes ricocheting down a deep and dark, vacant tunnel. But he was so very full of them. D could tell that they had come from a long ago past. Maybe he had stopped his egregious ways for some time. But it made no difference. When the buffet had been open to him, he feasted. He never took no for an answer. And when he was proud of that belief, he divulged it to his closest of peers at the time. Now he told nobody. He wasn’t ashamed of it, to be sure. He just didn’t want to get caught. But now he was caught in the spider’s web.


D savored the intense flavor of him. All of those pernicious deeds, and all the wicked things he might yet do—were he allowed to keep his life. His evil was like an irresistible spice to her. Only a second away from pressing his lips into hers something happened. Just then, her jaw split down the middle, a gruesome red line snaked to her throat. Tyler winced and drew back.


“What the Fu—”


An ambitious drumline and snare rang together, mingled with the wild wailing of an electric guitar.


The point of her wanting tongue parted into a slimy fork, and suddenly it darted out from her throat. It was impossibly long, coiling around his neck and strangling the air from him. The chasm in her jaw unzipped her sternum and ripped across her navel. The black tape that covered her body stretched and snapped apart. Then the two halves of her body peeled away, opening wide to unveil her insides, like a grueling Venus Flytrap. It sounded like the crunch of an old tree branch crumbling to earth. Slaver rained down from her upper jaw to the viscera cradled within. Her eyes were smoking like smoldering embers. Sweat pooled on Tyler’s brow, as he tried to scream, tried to fight. Green and purple spotted tentacles stretched out of her and lassoed up his limbs. His face was turning dark blue from asphyxiation as he watched with wide, bloodshot eyes. Her ribcage transformed into spears that slammed into him, piercing his arms and shoulders, and back. Like rapacious fingers they dug into him, tearing pieces off, and shoveling chunks of flesh and bone into her yawning chest cavity. Something in her saliva liquefied his ragged tissue and twisted striation. Once the meat was inside of her the budding cells that lined her organs puckered up like parched lips eager to drink the sizzling, viscosity thirstily. D’s strong tentacles then sinched around his frame and broke him in half. His yawning mouth stopped trying to pull air as he died. Blood painted the walls black in that instant, splashing on the floor in sheets that circled round a hidden drain built in the tiled floor beneath them. When there was nothing left of his upper body but a pile of mangled guts she went back together again. The rift that had sliced through her sealed. She and her exquisite, tattooed flesh were one. Straddling him there, she grabbed ahold of the gnawed spinal cord protruding up through the gore that resided between her legs. D curled her fingers around it and licked the nails on her other hand clean of blood. Streams of dark crimson ran down the center of her body in thick runnels like melted wax.


Outside the room, the security officer with the grotesque bite mark on his neck was standing watch, coated under nervous perspiration. He was trying not to retch from the repulsive sounds that only he had heard moments ago.


***

At Bassy’s VIP lounge hanging over the mainstage and Sky Cube.


“Shall we conclude this council,” Madam Bassy stood at her high table, hoisting a long, smoldering cigarette holder to her lips, “on a generous note. A token of our gratitude to the daring men of The Company….”


She snapped her fingers, and her provocative nymphs came sashaying in, taking each one of her guests by the hand and walking them from the high table, and down the spiral steps. They would then part the crowd to lead their rugged guests toward the private chambers far in the back. Zenith Guerrio pursed his lips with carnal interest as he savored the way his girl swayed her lusty hips before him as she took him away. The dancers enraptured them, and as if hypnotized they went with them willingly.


Bassy pulled from the cigarette and breathed a stream of liquid smoke slowly. “Let no one leave here with doubt on their tongue,” she said. “Let no appetite go unnourished. Not here. No—Never at Bassy’s Basilica.”


*END.


More from this world

in my upcoming novel,

ParaVice...

Coming very Soon!


#bassysbasilica

#paravice



51 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

SPURN

Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page