Torment Page 9

  The old bitch didn’t even seem to register Lancer’s presence. She was focused on a reality show. One hand, fingers plump as sausages, held a string of black rosary beads that ended in an inverted cross. She toyed with it as the people on TV climbed a wall adorned with Tiki masks.

  Disgust, hate, the need to destroy this phony, coursed together into a raging, boiling stew inside of Lancer. Cheap ass fucking fake. She took one step forward, driving a kick into the cult leader’s face. The woman squawked like a pigeon chased away from a scrap of hot dog. Blood seeped out of her squashed nose.

  Channeling up all the knowledge learned from staying up too late and watching karate movies on the local channel, Lancer wound up a second kick. Her shin connected with the esteemed honcho’s mouth, resulting in a shattered jawbone. A muffled cry of pain began to sound from the old bitch. She tumbled over onto the floor, flopping onto her stomach like a beached whale.

  Lancer shrieked laughter. She jumped onto the slag’s back. There was a loud woof as the air was knocked from her victim. It made her laugh even harder. It also made her curious about what other sounds the bitch might make if she was used like a trampoline.

  Let’s find out!

  Stomp one resulted in a pair of sharp cracks accompanied by a groan. Two gave Lancer further snaps, followed up with a wet gurgle that occurred at the same time as a liquid pop. She shifted her feet a little, feeling where her efforts had pushed bone into some organ or another.

  The old woman coughed, bringing up a wad of bloody mucus. Her breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. Lancer stepped off the hag’s back, deliberately mashing one spidery hand in the process. She witch didn’t have long left.

  Working her way up from the hand, Lancer proceeded to crush bones up from the forearm, to the upper arm, to the back, down the spine. With both feet she pulverized the filthy old crone’s pelvis. By this time, the witch was dead, but it was such fun grinding her old bones into dust! Lancer could feel Wilhelm’s satisfaction, like a warm blanket straight from the dryer. If he enjoyed this, he was going to absolutely love the coup de grace!

  Lancer grasped the corpse’s ankles. She turned them, twisted the legs from their joints. Blood sprayed, ligaments tore. Yellow fat poured from the wounds. Lancer threw them into the dead fireplace. Old, neglected brick shattered into red dust.

  The cerise cloud melded into Wilhelm’s teleporting mist. She found herself standing before her benefactor, back in the cozy little nook Lancer would spend eternity in. Her task was done. Now it was time to relax and live an afterlife in comfort.

  “Bravo!” Wilhelm applauded. “What an astounding job! Fantastic enthusiasm for your first job, my love! What a catch you are! What a team we’ll make!”

  “What are you talking about?” Lancer asked, taking a step back from the grinning, well-dressed man. “I was only supposed to perform the one job, right? It’s what was in the contract.”

  “Consider this an extension.”

  “No. You promised!” Lancer shook her head violently, raising both hands. “I want you to get out of here and leave me alone!”

  “You bitch!” Wilhelm roared. He lifted her bodily by gripping her shoulders, shaking her like a rag doll. “You tell me to leave!!?? You tell me what’s in the contract!!??”

  Throwing her aside to crumple against one wall, he yanked the fine parchment from inside his coat. “Read the fine print, whore.”

  Lancer’s horrified eyes picked out the line “In the event of excellent performance, the agent reserves the right to assign more tasks to the signee. The signee cannot refuse those tasks given to her because SIGNING THE DOTTED LINE MEANS YOUR ASS IS MINE, SLUT!

  “That’s right,” Wilhelm’s smile radiated vile good cheer. “I can do with you as I wish, so if Wilhelm says go kill, you go kill, got it, bitch?”

  Her mouth worked. No sound would come out, save for a low rapid croaking.

  “Refusal equals forfeiture of your lovely little flat. You go down in the pit with the rest of the sinners, dig?”

  Lancer began weeping, unable to think of anything else to do. Had she really felt that signing that stupid piece of paper and trusting another slick talking man would keep her from avoiding her final fate?

  “Now,” Wilhelm rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Let’s do something to turn that frown upside down.”

  He withdrew an elegant silver knife and sliced into his palm. Wilhelm placed his hand over Lancer’s mouth. He pinched her nose shut, forcing her to open her lips. Sour blood dripped down her throat.

  Fire ripped through her veins into her heart. Intense pain corkscrewed into Lancer’s bones, feeling them elongate and grow. Skin split, replaced with scaly plates covered in thick, brown hair. Her teeth dropped out. Large twisted horns burst from her skull. Lancer’s lower jaw widened. Sharp yellowed fangs sprouted from her bloodied gums.

  After an eternity, the pain subsided. So did her terror at being this obvious demon’s personal murderer. Lancer stood on feet that had morphed into cloven hooves. She towered a full head and shoulders over Wilhelm, who was holding up a mirror to show her what she’d become.

  Reflected in the glass was a powerfully built goat headed beast. Corse fur covered her entire body. Bright green eyes, their irises so luminescent they glowed.

  “Well, my love,” Wilhelm asked. “What do you think of the new you?”

  “I’m beautiful.” Lancer growled, stroking her new face with a three fingered, talon-tipped hand. “I’m so beautiful.”

  About the Author

  Jeremy Seals was born, raised, and still lives in Ohio with his wife and three furry children. Previously he has self-published a collection of short stories available through Amazon titled Trauma and has been published in issue 41 of Sanitarium magazine.