The Animal…Omens of the Apocalypse?

You have to love the concept. I’m continuing highlighting my fellow co-authors of The Animal.  I love reviewing what others think about their internal evil. As authors, we all derive various aspects of certain characters from bits within us .For me, the rather vile creations allow my demons not only a voice, but some inner peace. Christian Jensen I know better than most. He’s not only my co-author of several terrifying stories. He’s also my good friend and we’ve shared a few interesting times together.

What I can also tell you without question is that there is a completely rabid streak in him. He’s evil in a manner that you’ll find absolutely delicious. Don’t quite trust me yet? Well, let’s look at the title of his story for the collection. Then taste the juicy morsels inside. I think you’ll see why…

ROACH SEMEN AND OTHER OMENS OF THE APOCALYPSE

The first time I ate human meat it was out of necessity. The fact that I was being egged on by a giant cockroach and a mongrel dog, that may or may not have been the antichrist, is unimportant. Doctor Hayden, the kindly, white-haired psychiatrist assigned to me by the state has asked me to write this all down. He says that putting my thoughts on paper may help me clarify things. I’ve already explained that my mind is clear, but he still thinks I The Animal FInal Concept Coverneed to write this all down. He wants to know why I killed my first victim so I guess this is the story of Charlie, the first person I ever ate.

When I was fifteen, I was living in a special kind of hell. I lived in a suburban prison surrounded by the plush bars of middle class entitlement. My parents both worked. Dad managed a trucking company and mom worked as a nurse at the local hospital. Their marriage was average and boring, centering on the family and home they had built for over twenty years. I was the youngest of three children and the only boy. I had more freedom than my sisters, which was something they resented, but overall, we treated each other with respect and kindness.

I had a secret that seemed too obscene to share with any of them. I was gay. I thought it was pretty obvious, but somehow, my parents kept asking me about the girls in my class and if I was going to ask anyone to spring formal. I had never showed any inclination that girls interested me, but neither had I showed any interested in boys. Perhaps they thought I was just a late bloomer, someone content to just move through my school life without any kind of sexual expression. In truth, I had been experimenting with boys since I was ten years old or so, kissing, touching, and sometimes more in the hidden back rooms of other suburban houses and sometimes the woods that surrounded our development.

My family was Catholic, and we went to church every Sunday. We celebrated Easter and Christmas like it was the most important thing in the world, always keeping the religious aspects of the holiday front and center for the entire world to see. I can still picture the plastic manger and faded baby Jesus that adorned our front lawn every December.

I struggled with my sexuality like any good Christian. How could I be gay when it was a sin? The Bible said that two men shouldn’t lay down together. The weekly sermons spoke about the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman and the unholy movement by the government to bastardize the union of two holy souls and turn it into something evil. Our Pastor asked us to pray for all the confused souls touched by the devil, to ask God to heal them and remove the scales from their eyes. No man or woman was truly gay. They were confused or possessed by the devil. Love was meant to be between a man and woman, and a parent and child. Nothing more.

Fuck the church. I cried myself to sleep for months when I lost my virginity. I was terrified of going to hell. I asked God to forgive me for the horrible sin and begged him to keep the haunted abstractdevil away from me. Yet every single day the temptation struck again and again. It wasn’t long before I was back in another boy’s arms, kissing, sucking, and fucking myself into hell.

That’s when the dog showed up.

He was an utter black mutt with intelligent eyes. One day, he appeared in our back yard. My father saw him first and made the mistake of bringing the dog’s presence to our attention. I was fifteen, my sisters seventeen and twenty. We had never been allowed a pet before, so when the dog showed up in our yard it seemed like a sign. Perhaps God had brought him to us.

“Now, how did that thing get in the yard?” My father asked. He stood in front of the sliding patio door, hands on his hips, bottom lip pulled into his mouth while those perfect white teeth gnawed on it. He always did this when he was thinking hard.

“Someone must have left the gate open,” my mother suggested. “But why would a dog just go walking into our yard? It’s not as if there’s food back there for him. Chris, you did put the lid on the garbage last night, didn’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” I responded. “I’m sure the gate was closed as well.” I knew the gate was closed. I was pressed up against it around eleven thirty last night while Billy Higgins rammed his tongue down my throat and gave me an awkward hand job. Billy was my neighbor and five years older than me. He had graduated high school with my oldest sister and dated one of her best friends. Billy was also a closeted homosexual who really liked to push the boundaries with me. He almost wanted to get caught, or at least he acted like it.

“That is peculiar,” my father mumbled. “Sarah, call animal control and have them pick the thing up before someone complains.”

“Dad,” my oldest sister, Cassandra, whined. “He’s probably scared to death. Can’t we just give him some water and see if he has any tags on him? I’m sure someone is looking for him.”

“The people from animal control will check for tags,” my father said. “We don’t know if this thing is dangerous. He could be rabid.”

While my oldest sister argued with my parents, I watched my middle sister, Bethany, slip out the sliding door and approach the dog. By the time my parents were aware of her actions, she was happily petting the dog and inviting him towards the house.

He was a large dog, some powerful breed that protected something or herded something else. I don’t really know much about dogs, but I did notice that this dog wasn’t ordinary. His eyes were far too intelligent to belong to an animal. He considered each of us with those dark eyes and walked up to my father, sat down near his feet, and offered him a paw.

My father looked strangely at the animal, his eyes glazed over and mouth hanging ajar. This lasted only a second, and then he laughed. He shook the dog’s paw, which may have been the first time my father had actually touched a dog, and even patted the beast on the top of his head. Immediately, my parents and sister were enamored with this animal. I couldn’t believe how quickly my dad flipped his script and decided the dog was not just safe, but welcome. He brought the black beast into the house and offered him water.

“Cassandra,” my father said while placing a bowl on the floor filled with water. “Go to the store and pick up some food.”

Just like that, we had a dog. It was unbelievable to me that my uber-conservative father would allow an animal, any animal, into his home. He wouldn’t allow so much as a hamster or parakeet before and yet, here he was, not just tolerant of a dog, but excited to have it. There was obviously something off about the beast, something different.

There were no tags on his collar and we never attempted to reach an owner. I know now the dog didn’t have one, unless it was Satan himself. A couple minutes later, the dog started talking to me.

I know how crazy it sounds. Wasn’t there a serial killer that said his neighbor dog told him to kill people? It wasn’t like that. The dog didn’t start to bark orders or tell me to eat people. He just kind of walked past me and whispered “faggot” before heading over to my father and rubbing his black coat against his legs. I stared after him, mouth agape and eyes unclear.

“Something wrong, Jason?” My father asked.

“No,” I lied. “I just can’t believe you let a dog into the house.”

Dear old dad just shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal.

 

Charlie was waiting for me when I left the house for school that morning. He was just sitting on the front steps of his house smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee. He called me over when I left the house with Bethany.

“I swear that guy has a crush on you,” my sister joked. She had no idea I was gay, even though all of her friends did. I had made out with a couple of them and almost got caught sucking one of their cocks when Bethany came home early. She caught me on my knees in front of him, and I made up some bullshit about begging him for a ride somewhere. She believed me despite the guilty look on both our faces and the obvious erection in her friend’s pants.

“Can you blame him?” I chuckled before walking over to meet Charlie.

“My parents are out of town for the night,” he said. He looked over my shoulder and waved to my sister. “Sneak out of the house and come in the back door. We can play around all night.”

Did I tell you the man is pure evil?

Kisses and bloody thoughts…

Cassandre

The Animal FB Banner

About Cassandre Dayne

Cassandre Dayne is the pseudo for the best selling author of romantic suspense and thrillers
This entry was posted in Booktrope, EDGE, horror, serial killer, thriller and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s