That means giving my stories away for free.
Some of these tales are raw and unedited. Some have been refined and prepared to be published. Some of them were cuts I had considered while some of them are the core to the collection.
They will all be here, from the first short that inspired the idea to the ones I struggled through simply to add a word count. These stories are brutal, violent, perverted and at times simply for shock. They contain graphic depictions of mature content and I spare no detail.
Be advised that this blog is for mature readers only.
Starting now, the first story of my collection, titled "It Happens" begins the weekly updates. Following the launch, every Saturday after will be met with a new short story until each one have been posted. From there, any future additions will be done without schedule.
That's the sum of things, people. A free book, fed weekly one story at a time for your enjoyment. I hope you like it.
Comments and feedback is always welcome.
Yours truly,
Micheal Grin
And without further ado,
It Happens
It Happens was to be the first story following the introduction. This is one of the first twisted ideas I've ever had. It's dark, violent and pure shock. I hesitated writing it for some time.
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It was late in the evening, the neighbourhood silent. Street lamps glowed against the night. The stars above flickered into sight like tiny pearls and the moon began her ascent.
In the dimly lit hallway of the suburban single story home, pictures hung on the wall. Most prominent was the portrait of Mr. Carl Sagin's newborn grandson, Joseph. Beside that picture of the little baby was the mother, Penelope, wearing a mortar on her blond hair and posing before a blue background.
And beneath both of them, a picture of a much younger Carl Sagin and his wife, Betty, on their wedding day.
An older and greying Carl walked passed these photos with a thin smile, entering the living room. A sofa was arranged against the wall, beside it a bookshelf. Adjoined to the room was the front entrance to their home. And to his left was the dining and kitchen. A single standing lamp lit the area.
Moments before, he had checked on Joseph, the baby asleep in a bassinet in the guest bedroom. Before then, he had gone and checked on his daughter, the college single mom finally getting the slumber she needed in her old room.
On the couch, the middle-aged Betty sat in her house coat. She looked up at her husband with concern and he smiled reassuringly.
“They're fine.” He said, sitting down beside her. On the television before the curtained bay window, the 10 o'clock news played muted. “Penny is finally asleep and Joseph is out cold.”
Betty sighed and shuffled closer to Carl, placing a head on his shoulder. They were silent for only a moment before she spoke. “What are we going to do about him?”
“I guess we'll have to start like anyone else would.” Carl replied. “We'll call a lawyer tomorrow and see what we can do about it.”
“I just can't imagine someone not wanting to be around.” She mused sadly. “It's his own son.”
“I just can't imagine someone not wanting to be around.” She mused sadly. “It's his own son.”
“He's a loser, Betty.” Carl said firmly, the anger held. “I always knew he'd come around and screw our daughter over.”
Betty took his hand and held it. “What a world we live in now.” She said. “When we were younger, it definitely wasn't something people would do.”
Carl looked down at his wife in amusement and chuckled. “Are you kidding? People have been doing it forever. Remember Steve, who married Candice?”
She shook her head. “That was different. She wanted him out. He did that family a favour by leaving. She was a better person for it.”
“And maybe Penny will be, too.” He remarked. “It's not like she's dropping out of college. With our help, she'll be just fine.” A pause and he added. “I wouldn't want that stoner loser raising my grandson anyway.”
Betty laughed gently. “You can't say that so lightly. He's still the father.”
“We'll see after the test results.” Was all he said.
They were silent, staring at the television. Betty suddenly sat up and looked over at the front window. The curtains were closed.
“What?” Carl asked, alarmed.
She hesitated, caught in a thought, before sighing in mild annoyance. “We'll have to tell Orville. They still think he'll be there.”
He relaxed. “You had me worried.” He said. “I doubt that once they know what happened, they wouldn't want his cheating ass there anyway.”
“He'd been part of the family for two years, Carl.” Betty lowered her head back on his shoulder. “They might still invite him to-”
At that moment, there came a knock on the door. Steady and light. Both Carl and Betty sat up on their couch, staring at the entrance.
She spoke out their common thought. “You don't think it's him?”
“If it is,” Carl replied, lifting to his feet and walking towards the entryway, “I'll be sending him back with a sharp kick to the ass.”
“Carl,” Betty said, rising, “be nice.”
Standing before the entrance, he looked back at her with a smirk. “Aren't I always?”
Turning the bolt lock, he pulled the wooden door inward.
On the outside porch were three people. Neither of them Carl recognized. There were two men and one woman, each a stranger in the porch light.
The first of the men was a lanky gent by the name of Bacca, with a shaved head and piercings in his ears. His white shirt was stained with dark blotches and his green cargo pants were baggy. The second man, simply called Jar, towered imposingly, with long black hair and a beard. He wore a long black coat that hung down to his knees.
And the woman, a girl no older than Penelope, stood before them. Her raven hair was a mess, the dark makeup on her face smeared. She wore an ebony funeral dress, the white leggings showing underneath a wide skirt.
Her name was Killy. It was she that spoke first.
“Greetings from Mr. Grieves.” She said with a wicked grin seconds before a bat swung out, guided by Bacca square against the side of Carl's head.
As the owner of the house crumbled to the floor, holding a swelling welt, the three of them entered the house and shut the door behind them.
The bat was dropped and it bounced on the floor. Chaos followed.
Jumping in a panic and pulling her robe closed, Betty screamed. “Who are you? What do you want?”
A baby's wail filled the air.
Lunging across the living room floor, the girl jumped at the woman. Betty turned to escape but Killy her to the floor. Sitting on Betty's stomach, the girl began administering blows to her face. The older woman raised her arms defensively against the vicious attack, crying out in panic.
Painfully, Carl battled to crawl before Bacca brought the blunt weapon down twice more on his skull. Following the blows, he stepped over the writhing man and charged across the room and into the hallway.
Dragging Carl by an arm, Jar pulled him out towards the centre of the living room. Killy stopped her onslaught and rose above the disoriented woman. She delivered a sharp kick to her ribs before shouting.
“On your knees, cunt!”
When Betty failed to respond, her eyes flickering in confusion across the ceiling patterns, the girl grabbed her by the hair and forced her to sit up.
In the bedroom at the far end of the hall, where a new mother lay peacefully asleep moments before, a female shriek pierced the walls.
Having heard the riot in the house, the groggy Penelope had opened the door to her room, peering out in confusion wearing nothing more than a long shirt over her soft and round stomach. Upon spotting the stranger charging towards her, she screeched and retreated inward.
He immediately shouted. “Come here, bitch!”
Bacca stormed into her room, the decor left unchanged from when she was in high school, and leaped on her as she ran towards her bed. Throwing the frightened and disoriented girl to the ground, he knelt down on her back. As she fought to push him off, he grabbed a handful of her hair and proceeded to smash her face against the hardwood floor repeatedly. Each blow choked out a scream from her increasingly damaged lips.
Killy held Betty by the hair, pulling a knife from somewhere on her dress. As Jar crouched over Carl's beaten body, Betty screeched.
“Carl! No! Carl! Leave him alone! Please!”
Killy cackled madly before striking her against the side of the head with a fist.
The large man drew his own weapon, a hooked knife the length of a hand. Crouching down, Jar turned the battered husband over on to his back. Carl coughed a splatter of blood as the knife stabbed into his stomach. Sawing swiftly through flesh and clothing, Jar opened up the midriff before digging in with his bare hands. Pulling, he tore out a handful of entrails and threw them against the white wall.
Betty's heart wailed painstakingly. “No!”
In the room, Bacca held the struggling girl pinned to the floor, her arms flailing in desperation. Sitting on her back, he fought against her weak attempts to resist him, slamming her head down a few more times to pacify her, and a couple more times for safe measure. Her head lay on a bruised and torn cheek, three of her teeth lying away in blood. Bacca swiftly pulled from a pocket a length of thin rope and, slipping it beneath her, twisted the cord until it tightened around her neck. Strangling the girl, he pulled hard enough to raise her chest off the floor.
Penelope raised her head weakly, gagging for air, her face flushing to a deep red. Her arms resumed a futile fight, a final defence as her face turned purple and her eyes went bloodshot. Gritting his teeth, Bacca grunted perversely, grinding his groin against the small of her back.
“Die. Die. Die.” He whispered hungrily. In moments she went limp.
Once Penny stopped struggling, he let her drop heavily back to the floor and pulled a jagged hunting knife from behind his back.
Betty continued to scream as Jar then tore into the man's chest, using his large hands to crack aside the ribs. The woman struggled helplessly, punched for each attempt to free herself by Killy and forced to watch as the larger man then dug in his bloody fingers. His fist came up with a sharp tug, holding Carl's heart. With a sharp throw, it smashed into the television and sparks flew out.
Carrying Penelope's head, Bacca stepped into the room from where the newborn cries came. He stood a moment before the tall crib, staring at the infant. The skull still in hand, he reached down to the squirming bundle. A small face, tearful eyes squeezed shut, screamed up at him. Dropping the waddled package to the floor, the man raised a foot and stomped it down hard.
The screaming stopped.
Betty was sobbing uncontrollably, her body weakened from the abuse. She was finally silenced with a gagging cough, eyes wide as Killy punched the blade into her chest, once and then again. She let her hair go and Betty fell to her side. The girl bent over and added three more stab wounds into the woman's neck. The woman's eyes stared lifelessly at her husband.
As Bacca walked into the room carrying Penelope's head by her hair, Killy was sawing Betty's neck open. Jar was stomping on Carl's head repeatedly until the bone mass had crushed inward, the unrecognizable face concave and disfigured.
Leaving Betty's head attached to the neck by barely a spinal cord and strings of bloodied meat, Killy rose and nodded to the men. Bacca kissed Penelope's plump cold lips before tossing the head unceremoniously on the sofa. Both Jar and Bacca used Carl's tattered shirt to wipe their blades before pocketing them and the thinner of the men picked up the baseball bat on their way out.
Outside, the three of them closed the door softly, leaving behind a nightmare of horror and carnage.
It was then that Kitty noticed the address numbers on the door frame.
“Bacca,” she said softly, “what was the address again?”
He pulled out a piece of paper and held it in the porch light.
“4114 56 avenue.” He replied.
Killy sighed and grinned in amusement. Jar frowned in disbelief.
The address was 4141 56 avenue.
When Bacca realized their mistake, he laughed. With a shrug, Killy stepped down off the porch, followed by the men. As they walked along the sidewalk towards the curb, she couldn't help but smirk.
“It happens.” Jar commented, suppressing his amusement.
Killy giggled. “They say the third time's a charm.”
And in the night, with the moon glowing above, three figures passed beneath the street lights. Crossing the street, a remark was heard rising from the largest of them.
“All these houses look the same. Anyone could have done the same mistake.”
Crossing down a few houses and a block, they approached what was hoped to be the correct house and knocked at the door.
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