Before he could react, she knelt up, slid to the foot of the bed crouching, one foot on the corner of the bed, the other on the floor, one hand grasping the bed for balance as the other one was free. She spat the chunk of penis in her free hand and looked at it carefully. Eddie was lying on the bed, wide-eyed, white with pain and shock. His free hand reached down, disbelieving, staring wildly as he held his fingers in front of his eyes, dripping blood. His mouth started to form an ‘O’ to speak when she looked him in the eye.

“Eddie, you really piss me off,” she said flatly, “and you really pissed me off the way you killed Sandy like that. I had plans for her.” She raised the half penis to her mouth and licked it, blood on her lips, then took it in her mouth and swallowed hard as she gulped it down. “You made some big mistakes asshole…
One, you never take the bitch I have marked for my own kill.
Two, you never fuck me without permission.
Three, you destroyed the best part… you lost my support when you tore apart her pussy… that’s always what I eat first. The flavour is delicate, it only lasts while it’s nice and fresh.
Four, you never fry, you broil, bake or stew them for the best flavour.
Five, you raped my ass.
Six, you trusted me too soon.
Seven, you let me cuff you.”
She reached down and picked up his pants, retrieved his key ring and trying a couple, undid her leg shackle and clamped it on Eddie’s right ankle, so his legs were crossed and he couldn’t kick. “Eight, by the way Eddie, is when you’re not 100% plus in the driver’s seat, you lose control of the situation.
Last, when you grab a stranger, make sure you’re not taking a female mass-murdering cannibal more fucking dangerous than you are. The only thing you did right was shave my cunt. I always do that as part of the ritual…”
“Your little pecker was too salty to be a decent snack… here!” Christine tossed a towel on his crotch. “Press that down hard and you might stop bleeding enough to not die from shock and blood loss… Remember that blowjob Eddie, it’s the last one you’ll ever have… I hope you enjoyed that fuck ‘cause that’s the last piece you’ll ever get! Remember the feel of my virgin ass you bastard, because you’re never going to do that either.”
She laughed at his helplessness, as she sat on the far side of the bed, still nude, legs open, beyond his reach. “Now, I’m going to find you something for pain and help you sleep… If you have anything like that, tell me now and tell me where.” he shook his head. “Oh well, Tylenol it is… Anyway, I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you. I hope you have lots of oil in the furnace tank.” he nodded yes, fighting to keep from losing consciousness. “When I come back, I’ll bring something to get that stump to heal properly. I’ll also feed you then and let you go to the bathroom. It’ll hurt, but that’s the life of a dickless man. If I think of anything else, I’ll bring that too.”
She went and finding the place he’d stuffed her and Sandy’s clothes, put on the best of it, threw a blanket over Eddie as he lay on the bed, the couple of headache pills woefully inadequate for his throbbing crotch. “See you later Eddie. Don’t go anywhere.” Her laughter echoed in the hallway as she left the house.

Two days later Christine returned, came into the room with the second pair of handcuffs Eddie used to secure Sandy, fastening his left and right hands together before she unfastened the one attached to the bed, pulled him sitting and undid the leg shackle that was fastened to the bed and cuffed it to his free leg. She carefully pulled the towel off his crotch, glanced at the dried-blood black of his swollen penis stump, yanked him to his feet, spinning him to face away from her as she pushed him to the bathroom.
He started to turn back, found himself looking into a snub-nosed 38 caliber handgun. “Don’t piss me off Eddie,” she muttered, “I don’t leave loose ends like you did amateur… I don’t take chances on leaving trails or storytellers either.” Eddie used the toilet sitting down, wincing as he pissed, wiped his ass awkwardly when Christine made no move to help, stood up as she ordered him to the stairs. When he tried to turn and reach toward her, she kicked him in the face, knocking him down half the stairs to land with his head striking the post at the bottom.
“Still full of yourself, huh?” she said, “lucky I grew up on a farm out west. We learned to do the damndest things that come in useful. She threw a loop of strong nylon cord around his neck and pulled him up from behind, shoved him through to the kitchen and sat him down. The food was on his plate. “Here’s some of Sandy’s ass on a bun,” she identified his meal, the coffee in a plastic mug lukewarm. As soon as he’d eaten, she grabbed the loop, led him out onto the back step. It was raining, a cold, bone-chilling drizzle.
“We’re going to the stable,” she announced; “yeah, I replaced the fuses, it works now…”
Inside the door, she released the cord a moment and when he twisted around, the barrel of the 38 was an inch from his nose. “Going in the front, it tears the bottom off your grey shit and goes on out the back from this distance,” she said, “these are hollow-point magnums with the tips cross-cut to spread open when they hit… Illegal as hell, like dum-dums, but fuck the mess they make! A cop in a little town in Ohio got his head blown to fuck with one of these when he came in on a ‘crucial evidence’ scene that would have sent me away for a lethal injection, so I had to make it look like he was just one more victim. Stand there back on,” she waved the gun, motioning to the side of a stall that was cut down by a couple of planks.
Eddie remembered it when his uncle leaned him on it to beat him as a kid. He remembered that same uncle was buried behind this building under the shit pile. Christine had his hands secured with a rope hooked to the cuffs, tied to a post, pulling him into position to whip him. He gave a sigh of relief, expecting a beating, ‘til she undid his foot and pulled it far to one side and clicked the shackle to a small post on the side of the stall, looping a rope around his other foot, dragging it the other way and tied it to a hinge.
“Feeling a little vulnerable Eddie? How’s your ass Eddie?” she asked mockingly, “Ready for this?” she asked as she rammed the end of the shovel handle into his butt, greased with the thick goo they used to clean harnesses and saddles when there were horses here. The pain was unbearable and he screamed as she gave him a foot of wooden handle, fucking his ass roughly. “Feels so nice doesn’t it Eddie? I enjoyed it like this too, you piece of shit. I think you need more of a lesson though.” He caught a glimpse of her tossing the shovel aside, then shoving a garden hose in his torn asshole, heard the squeak as she turned the tap and cold rusty water began to fill his insides rapidly. He could feel pressure build and then she shut off the water, pulled the hose out, plugging his ass with a thick stick.
“Now, since you’re never going to fuck again anyway, it’s time to lower that testosterone level of yours and turn you into a gelding…” He felt her grab his testicle and pull it down. He heard, rather than felt the sudden ‘snick’ as the razor sharp gelding blade cut off his left ball, and a second later she pulled down his right one and quickly, sliced off his other testicle. “Now nutless asshole, we had to do another thing to the bulls after this part,” she said, “I’m improvising here… besides, we never had a bull or horse with such little balls anyhow…”
He felt and smelled the searing red hot steel as she pressed it to his bleeding crotch, cauterizing it sealed where his nuts used to hang. He screamed again as she touched another place that was still bleeding.
“There! All gone. Now you’re a dickless, nutless shit-head, as well as being spineless.” She unlocked the shackle on his leg, released the rope tying the other side, and fastened his feet together again. As she released the rope holding the handcuffs, he straightened up, felt the chunk of rake handle still stuck up his ass, and the pressure of several gallons of water pressing down inside, trying to get out. “Walk outside the door,” she commanded, “slow. Turn to the right and go behind the barn, then stop.”
Eddie did as she ordered, shuffling to not hurt his crotch more, “now squat and shit you useless dog!” she barked. He tried to bend and his freshly emasculated body rebelled. She grasped the loop around his neck and forced him to squat. The bending made it hurt and he let out a loud gasp of pain as he pushed against the stick. It flew free, tearing his sphincter muscle as it left, followed by the torrent of water and dissolved shit. The stench was overwhelming and he felt his guts being ripped out.
“Good!” she exclaimed, “that empties you for a few days which works for me because I have to be gone for three or four days before I can come back and check on you… I don’t care if you piss yourself, there’s no infection where your dick used to be, it’ll just stink like you usually do. I’ll feed you again if you want or leave you something packaged you can tear open in a day or so when you’re hungry.”
He nodded, his mouth dry.
“I’ll leave you a couple of bottles of water too, so you don’t die from thirst. Move around by the door…” she pulled out the hose and sprayed the shit spatter off him. “Back to the house,” she said as she switched on a flashlight as she hit the switch for the stable, plunging the place into darkness except for the beam of the light. Holding the loop on his neck, twisting it ‘til it cut his flesh, she took him back across the mud to the house. In the door, upstairs, she pushed the cold steel nose of the pistol into his spine as he walked to his room.
Lying on his bed, she shackled both legs, by using the second set of shackles he’d used on Sandy so he lay, spread-eagled, with his right hand cuffed to the bed. Christine went downstairs a few minutes, returned with three bottles of water, some chips and wrapped sausages, another bottle of water she’d apparently been drinking from. “Here, drink, even if you’re not hungry now.”
He gulped thirstily ‘til the bottle was dry.
“Well, see you in a few,” she said, as she threw a blanket on him, switched off the light.

A few minutes later he heard her car start and move away. He lay back, trying not to think about his missing balls, his stump-severed dick, the burning in his ass. As he lay in the dark, the shadows of night began to move; he started to feel like he was floating, drifting through the air above the bed.
He couldn’t tell if he was dreaming a particularly dark shadow passed in front of his face that screamed at him, a woman’s long, drawn-out shrill scream. He felt cold and saw fog envelope his lower body and a burning feeling on his damaged crotch. The next thing he felt his nipples go cold, burning painfully, bitter cold, then searing, burning pain over his stomach, chest, legs, neck and face. All the while the fog rolled over his body, the shadows danced and at once Sandy’s face, no, her severed head appeared in front of his face, lit brilliantly, then disappeared. There were prickling sharp sensations along his arms and he gasped for air, a sudden wonderful cold trickle ran down his throat, but minutes later, he couldn’t feel his tongue, or throat as he tried to swallow, knew it was something cold coming from the shadow but he couldn’t stop it… He was drooling and wet and hot and cold all at the same time.
After an hour he felt like he had on drugs at the hospital before, drifting from hallucination to vision to dark dream. He came to; it was daytime and sunny. He reached in his stupor for the water, and the severed head belonging to Sandy was looking at him. He gasped and as he took the water it dropped from sight with a thump. He opened the water, gulping the contents, fell back on the bed, and tried to clear his head. Soon though he was feeling disembodied and shaking, like a bad acid trip.
The next thing he was aware of was darkness and shadows moving. The fog, pricking sensation on his feet and arms, the loss of control and his heart racing. He thought he smelled paint in the house and tar, but all was silent and he screamed in the empty house. He passed out and when he woke up, it was dawn. Sandy’s detached head was resting on his chest, her dead eyes staring accusingly. He heaved his body to try and dislodge it, but it moved with him, attached to him. He reached for another bottle of water and downed some, ate a sausage, thinking the head was a spectre of his hunger. After two sausages and some chips, he was thirsty and gulped the last of the water.
Even though he closed his eyes, every time he opened them, the head was on his chest. As he looked, he saw it was sunset and all around him on the bed were fragments of Sandy’s body, blood all over his body and the sheets. As darkness fell, a low moaning noise started somewhere in the house… It took him a minute or two before he realized it was his chainsaw down in the basement. He was shaking and screaming now; The fog rolled in and the shadows returned as the prickling sensation came again to his legs, he began to shake and toss about as a sweet taste like water flowed down his throat and then darkness fell.
He couldn’t see, only hear, feel and smell. He felt heat, cold, smelled burning flesh and hair and heard hissing sounds all around him. He began to feel the rising sensation again, then a warm rush poured through his body and he felt pure bliss as he passed out again.
When he woke again, it was daylight, but he wasn’t in his bed, his hands and feet were still shackled but he was in a box, a pillow under his head, and he was looking into the dead face of Sandy. He was in a coffin, naked, with her head grafted to his chest… He could see from the ceiling and upper wall that was visible, he was in the front parlor of the house; the curtains were closed and only a finger of light filtered through.
He could hear crying and because he was in the coffin, he couldn’t see anywhere but in front and above him. He rolled to his side, felt a stabbing sensation and as he pulled away, felt the rush through his veins like really good dope. He lost his sense of reality after that; when he came to, it was dark, but candles burned by the head of the coffin and he was aware that Sandy’s head wasn’t on his chest anymore, it lay on the pillow beside his, except now her eyes were closed. He turned away and felt a stab again and this time, within a minute, he was feeling his throat closing, gasping for air through lungs that were blocked.
There was skin and muscle gone from his chest and as he looked down, he could see between his ribs as his heart pounded and his lungs heaved, seeking air, felt his hands and feet were free. He was about to try and sit up as the shadows came again and the lid of the coffin closed, latches snapped shut and from near his feet, the sound of a crank turning. Deep in his memory he remembered a guy who worked for an undertaker telling him about steel coffins having a lock that was cranked shut and kept the coffin airtight for twenty years. He screamed, trying to claw the lid, but there wasn’t room to move.

Outside, Christine switched on the lights, walked over and knocked on the lid of the coffin. It went quiet inside. “Eddie?” she called.
A muffled response.
“Have a nice death, you sick son-of-a-bitch!” she yelled. Outside, the big rental truck stood by the door; all the antiques or things of value from the house on board. The coffin stood in the middle of a pentagram painted on the living room floor in tar, with red death marks, pieces of Sandy’s body scattered around on the floor. As she was about to leave, Christine went to the basement. Returning, her gloved hand set the big chainsaw on top of the coffin lid.
She’d drop back in a few days to make sure all was well and thought how the heroin in the capsule she’d dropped down his throat just as he was coming to would be kicking in soon, in a race to see whether he’d suffocate from lack of air or overdose on smack first. She went out, locking the door behind her and drove away in the truck. The stuff in the rear was sold the same day and the truck went back a day early.
Heading to her apartment, she bought a paper, which had a sidebar story about the theft of a coffin from a local funeral home two nights before. One below it mentioned the shooting of a drug dealer in the hall of an old apartment building – someone blew out his heart with a 38 firing dum-dum slugs and had taken whatever he’d been carrying. His car was missing too. Police felt confident when they found the car, they’d find his killer.
Christine smiled as she thought of her wagon with it’s new mag wheels, cool tires, big stereo, rebuilt engine, and the kid from a city a day’s drive away, who was motoring about in a purple metal-flake Ford Crown Victoria on stock wheels, an engine that burned a bit of oil, but shit, he got it for five hundred bucks! When he went to register the plate from the wreck at the junkyard she’d bought for fifty and a blowjob, the dealer’s car would disappear forever.
Three days later, she stopped by the house. The coffin was on the pentagram and the saw was in place. The pieces of Sandy were drying on the floor as she went to make sure the cuffs and keys were pushed through the hole where they dropped the fragments of Sandy’s body. She left the door unlocked but closed, the windows covered. The truck out in the barn was left as were the lamps that burned inside.

It was a month later when a tax assessor drove up the long lane before anyone paid any attention to the place. He knocked on the door and getting no answer, left a notice. Six months after, when the monthly notices had stacked on the doormat, a different assessor tried the door and stepped in. With a crash he fell through the cut-out floor section in the front hall, ending up impaled on a set of poison-tipped punjii stakes in the basement. He was dead in under a minute. Next day, looking for him, the first assessor came to the farm. Then the place was swarming with police. First they were thinking they were looking at a booby-trapped house ‘til they saw the coffin in the living room. Opening the lid, they found Eddie’s body and Sandy’s head.
As they moved about the house they met with several ‘accidents’ A sharp spear driven through the chest of one officer as he opened the bedroom door, another shot by a string of shotgun shells wired to the latch of the basement door. As they reached the basement, and stepped on the mat at the foot of the stairs, they smelled furnace fuel as they triggered a propane tank that exploded like a bomb, igniting the fuel oil, sending the whole place up in a towering hellish inferno that consumed the bodies of three cops, two county assessors, Eddie and Sandy’s remains and all evidence that would ever convict the young woman who was looking out the window of the cottage down the road a half-mile distant who called 9-1-1 and reported the explosion and fire at the old farm.
She was truly shocked when investigators discovered the uncle’s body under the pile of horse shit and determined foul play that would have sent Eddie to jail for life. After the inquest, she bought the land in a county auction for a couple of thou she’d gotten from Sandy’s bank account. The next summer, the area was skinned clean by a grass fire one night.

After her insurance company settled for her cottage, car and the value of the old farm, Christine sold the whole flattened area to a farmer who was delighted to get his hands on that much clear acreage. Chris bought new clothes, stuffed them in the little car she’d parked in the self-storage place a month before. The next week, she moved into a furnished trailer in the next county.
Based on a will that bore Sandy’s signature, she collected the dead girl’s life insurance and the key to a safety deposit box in Eddie’s name. It contained about fifty thousand dollars of newly matured government bonds, now worth a hundred and twenty. With nearly a million, she packed up and headed for Mexico. The Federales had long since stopped looking for a girl her height with red hair, driving an old Ford wagon stolen from a drug dealer. Time for planning another girl and cash score.

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