The Whorehouse That Jack Built Page 2

  Move you fool, run fer it!

  Wild hope, but the thought wasn’t even full formed in his mind before Clem Tumblety had flung himself from the copper tub and was skittering on his hands and knees away, stumbling to his feet with his eyes on the bedroom door.

  He might have been old, but you didn’t survive out on the prairies and mountains without reflexes slick as a coyote’s. Clem kicked through his own discarded clothes, keeping low and focussed only on the door, never glancing back.

  In moments his hand was on the cut glass door knob.

  He twisted.

  Locked.

  Seeing as though the animal part of his brain was in charge he tried again, and again, rattled and shook the door all he could. He kicked at it, punched it, hurt his foot and his hand.

  Then he just sort of stopped. The fight went out of him, all at once.

  He stared at the varnished wood of the door.

  The last thought he had that made any sense, as something curled around his ankle, something warm and rough and smooth all at once, like hemp rope, was an apology; I’m sorry ol’ gel. You was the best mutt I ever had. An’ I traded you for a pig in a poke.

  The ponytail coiled once, twice, tightened with a snap and then yanked his leg out from under him like a lasso. Clem cried out as he was unbalanced and toppled to the ground, smacking his face on the door panel as he went, then shutting up when his jaw hit the floor and his teeth clacked together, biting off the tip of his tongue.

  Clem felt floorboards under him, then the edge of the rug. He was being pulled along like a roped steer. He grabbed out at anything, snatching at the tasselled edge of the rug, snatched a handful, but all that did was pull the rug up, pulled it with him as he was reeled in.

  He kicked and thrashed and that got him nowhere. He ended up on his back and finally ended up looking at what was happening to him.

  Fuk Yu was moving soft and smooth on her tiny warped feet, her hands pressed together in front of her like she was praying, as if she were completely oblivious to what her hair was doing. She was walking towards the bed.

  Her hair... the ponytail that grew from the back of her skull defied all sense, sliding along the ground behind her like a sidewinder, then winding around the bath tub, leading into it and then straight out again, taut to Clem’s ankle where it was twisted so tight the skin was bleeding.

  Clem crashed into the tub and cried out fit to wake the dead, then found himself back in the water briefly, his eyes and mouth full of soapy water before the hair yanked him out and dragged him around and around the tub and then towards the bed. He’d pulled half the heavy rug away from the floor, and got a glimpse of weird symbols carved into the boards before suddenly him found himself hanging upside down like a side of beef in a meat locker. Then he was flung face down on the bed with a jerk. He felt his right leg pop out of his hip joint and for a moment pain was his whole world. He roared into the sheets.

  “Please, honoured guest,” said Fuk Yu behind him, “Keep your voice. We have all night for screaming.”

  Clem groaned and flopped over on the bed.

  “Jus’ you c’mere,” he spat, “Y’jus’ come over here and I’ll show you how t’fuckin’ scream y’lil’ cunt.”

  Fuk Yu stood at the foot of the bed, her ponytail defying gravity as it turned in slow corkscrew loops above her head, a nightmare tornado, and some insane halo.

  Then it struck, darting down like a snake.

  Clem yelped and shut his eyes.

  He felt the hair wrapping around both his wrists, and then both his ankles in figure eight loops. In another moment his arms were yanked up, his legs whipped up, his right leg screeching with pain, and he felt more loops coiling around and around binding his hands and feet together.

  I’ve been hog tied, he thought, the idea so simple and so strange it couldn’t be, and yet he knew that it was, I’ve been trussed up like a hog ‘bout to get its throat slit.

  He struggled a little, but then just relaxed. All of a sudden all the fight went out of him, as if his gut knew it was pointless to try and told his muscles to just give up. Something about being naked and tied up like an animal knocked the wind out of him and so he just stared up, looking at the ponytail hanging in the air.

  “And now, we can begin,” said Fuk Yu, and that was when Clem felt her toenails scrape at the stained pucker of his anus.

  Clem thought, what in the Hell is... and then one cold, warped toe popped inside him and he stopped thinking anything at all.

  “Ahh, so dry!” said Fuk Yu, “You need to relax, honoured guest, or this will be more pain than pleasure.”

  The toe popped out.

  At the same time Clem farted.

  A squeaker, but it was ripe.

  The celestial sniffed the air. She smelled filth, delicious filth. The warm water on his guts had done its work.

  Still balancing on one leg as gracefully as a crane, she pushed her foot up against Clem’s anus again. His belly was already being squeezed by how he was being held up and this time when she pushed her toe into him she got the reaction she needed. Like a dam breaching, Clem’s bowels opened up and hot, wet shit spurted out of him.

  Fuk Yu let it flow over her foot, twirling her ankle to get her fist sized appendage evenly coated, rotten yellow faeces splattering onto the bedsheets.

  Clem groaned into the bedsheets in the pure pleasure of release... but it was when Fuk Yu slid her foot up his ass right past the ankle that he came for the first time, the suddenly blood-solid tusk of his cock blasting gobs of salty fuck hard up over his own chest.

  He had never felt anything like it. First there was the relief of shitting his guts out, and then suddenly his rectum was being stuffed full again, fuller, being filled past capacity; he felt his anus split and the ripping pain was another form of relief, all mixed together with the orgasm of having his prostate bumped with a toe.

  Then he spoke. He didn’t know he was about to speak, because he wasn’t really thinking with any civilized part of his brain anymore. It was only one word, but it was the only word that Clem Tumblety would need until the very end of his Earthly existence;

  “More.”

  Fuk Yu was a sculpture, perfectly balanced on one tiny, almost hoof like foot, with her other stuck up Clem’s ass, her possessed ponytail curved over her back like a scorpion’s tail, keeping the hog tied pelt trader suspended on what would have been the stinger.

  “More?” she said, “Whatever honoured guest requests.”

  She eased her foot in further, pushing her toes deeper into him, greasy shit lubricating her slim shin as it entered.

  Clem gasped and shuddered.

  Oh gawd he wanted it all, he wanted to be filled up, filled up, stuffed...

  “More...” he moaned.

  Fuk Yu nodded in compliance, and withdrew her foot a little. But before Clem could protest she used the extra leverage to force forward even further, her shin disappearing up to the calf, and then beyond, up to her knee, cramming Clem’s rectum to its fullest, her toes almost in his lower bowels.

  Clem couldn’t speak anymore. Instead he came again, shooting the last of his fuck in salty strings up and over his belly. He gasped raggedly.

  Fuk Yu flexed her toes.

  Clem’s testicles twitched again, a last cough of cock snot jumping from the tip of his penis.

  “...more...” he whispered.

  Fuk Yu was stuck too deep to pull out for another thrust. Instead, she wound in her ponytail, pulling Clem onto her leg, skewering him.

  She felt tough membranes and walls of muscle strain against her toes. The ponytail pulled back even harder... and those internal divisions burst.

  Her foot speared up through the tangle of Clem’s intestines in a hideous reverse hernia. His pelvis cracked as her thigh disappeared up his ass, his already ripped anus splitting all the way to his scrotum.

  Fuk Yu felt the broad, smooth flank of his liver pass under the ball of her foot, and then his stomach squashed a
gainst the top.

  Clem vomited, a fountain of bile and hard tack spraying from his lips.

  Then her buckled toes pressed up against his heart... and her hair kept pulling him onto her leg... and his heart was pushed away from its mooring, further up into his chest... An aorta under strain tore, and that was how Clem Tumblety gained his citizenship in the Undiscovered Country.

  Fuk Yu left him impaled and twitching on the length of her leg for a few minutes, letting the life flee, and then her ponytail pulled him off with a wet sucking noise, ending with a meat-pop as her foot finally emerged, followed by a flood of bloody and ripped tissue that splattered and puddled on the bed.

  The ponytail laid the body on the ground almost delicately.

  Then Hell began to feed not delicately.

  CHAPTER I

  His disciples came to him, saying, "Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field." He answered them, "He who sows the good seed is the Son of Man, the field is the world; and the good seed, these are the children of the Kingdom; and the weeds are the children of the evil one. The enemy who sowed them is the devil.”

  Matthew 13:36-43

  The albino rode into town on a donkey.

  The creature was descended from the ass that had carried the Virgin to Bethlehem, and was the only creature that could approach such a damned place as it now plodded wearily into.

  The albino was neither dying nor insane, and had no place in that town without a name. He had business but no place. He recognized the town for what it was, for why it had no name; names belonged to things which had known life, and this town had never been alive.

  The town of Nowhere.

  As he had journeyed in he had noted the things left behind. First were the bodies, horses for the main part, though sometimes mules, who had died and been left to rot only a day or twos ride from the town. Mostly they seemed to have died through exhaustion, or failed hearts, though with one or two there were signs of violence, their owners making the insane decision to kill the valuable beasts and continue towards Nowhere on foot.

  Closer to the town, as he followed the tracks of men who now walked and those tracks only lead in one direction, he had spied bundles of possessions, the kinds of things folks needed for long journeys, sleeping rolls and sacks of provisions, just left; some were spilled out upon the dirt of the trail, as if they had been dropped as their owners walked, discarded carelessly. Others had been carefully hidden behind rocks and stunted brush, as if the owners planned to return for them but never had.

  The albino knew what these things meant. The divestment of earthly goods. As if this were a spiritual pilgrimage.

  The town was a U-shape, like a jawbone with the buildings as teeth. A saloon, a bank, a barbers, a general mercantile, a few houses in between them, ponderosa pine boards gleaming in the moonlight. They certainly looked like places of business and places where folks lived, but if you were to enter any of them you would step over the lintels of doorways onto dust, into rooms bare of even a stick of furniture. Motion pictures were years in the future, so one could not call it a set, could not use that as a reference point but that was all it was, a set, a reason for there being the one true place in town, a real tooth in a jaw set with hollow wooden ones.

  The whorehouse. The Half-World.

  The trail that lead to this town became the single street of the town that lead straight to the door of a three story parlour. It was a building as unremarkable as any of the others, with the sole difference that this one had life.

  Sickly red light leaked from between pulled drapes.

  In the dooryard was a fortune in coins and bills, scattered hither and yon, along with watches and rings and crucifixes and other discarded valuables. Not only the obvious items of value were found there, however, but objects that the albino recognized as closer to the hearts of men than even gold or silver; letters from loved ones long gone, mementos of childhood, spoils of war, souvenirs and scars picked up through a lifetime. Whatever was most valued was discarded at the threshold. That was the price of admission, but whatever was most valuable was the price taken inside.

  The albino dismounted and hitched up the donkey.

  He stood before the whorehouse, preparing himself spiritually for what was to come; he unzipped his pants and pulled out his immense snow-white penis, clasped his hands together in prayer around his cock, and muttered a rosary as he slowly masturbated.

  “Hail Mary, full of grace...” was picturing the Blessed Virgin, belly swollen with childe…

  The albino had pure white hair cut into a monk’s tonsure and pink eyes that he shielded behind smoked spectacles. He was dressed like a gunfighter, an ankle length duster cloaking him. A dog’s collar of black and white at his throat said he was a man of the cloth no matter what the holsters at his hips might suggest... though a closer inspection would show those holsters were not filled with guns.

  He got through a dozen Hail Mary’s before he came, blowing a cup of thick semen in fat gobs onto the coin scattered dirt of the dooryard.

  He knelt and dipped two finger into the sticky fluid, then crossed himself.

  Covered in spider-webs of his own spunk, the albino approached the door of the whorehouse... which opened to greet him spilling blood-light and screams of ecstasy.

  *

  The inside of the whorehouse was the size of a city.

  In my father’s house there are many mansions...

  The door he entered was flanked by eunuchorns, creatures like minotaurs who had the heads of unicorns instead of bulls. As their name suggested, each of the massive beast-men had their horns snapped off and their genitals gouged out. Guards of the harem of Hell. It was they who had opened the door, and watched with hate-filled eyes as the albino strode without fear into…

  The albino had once ridden through Monument Valley and the Half-World reminded him of that place of standing rock towers hundreds of feet tall only these towers were Babels given over to speaking the universal language of fucking and they stood not in a desert but a room the size of all the Earth.

  The room he had stepped into was vast enough to contain buildings and yet was clearly still a parlour. The door he had stepped through was little more than a mouse hole, and he little more than a mouse, in a parlour whose floor was crowded with dozens of dolls houses... except they had no walls, were only the exposed insides of dolls houses, rooms open to view and in all of those rooms were being committed atrocities of love. In beds, on floors, against walls, straddling insane fuck-furniture, hung by hooks or chains or silk nooses, limbs entwining –legs, arms, tails, membranes, wings- teeth gnashing, biting, chewing, faces and cunts and anuses sucking and gushing and farting out weird fluids, gasps and moans and screams and croaking and laughter coloured through and through with madness.

  The air was thick with unholy incense and the stench of sweat and semen, heavy enough to leave a sticky glaze of moisture on the albino’s face.

  “Welcome, pilgrim.”

  Over stimulated, the albino came to his senses to realize he was standing in one of those rooms without walls, a reception room filled with chaise lounges and love seats, all occupied by voluptuous demons of both genders, incubi and succubae, lascivious lamiae and perverse imps, rouged demon eyes

  (the eyes of goats the goats go to the LEFT)

  gazing at him as forked tongues played about lips and teeth. Hungry.

  Scattered about the floor of the not-room were dolls houses, all of which were stripped of their walls. They seethed with movement, tiny doll movement. Microcosm and macrocosm. This room was a miniature of the greater room, and at the same time they were both the same room.

  “As above, so below,” said the voice that had welcomed him, a Scottish accent, “Aye, and around and around forever, forever, forever.”

  The voice was at his elbow. The albino looked down into a face he had memorised from the only known photograph taken of the subject. Marshall McGregor.

  The architect of flesh.

>   The man was a dwarf and ugly as sin itself. Not only this, but obese and naked, his cock an enormous red horn that stood hard and proud from under rolls of hairy fat. The man was nearly as grotesque as some of the demon whore’s who were his concubines.

  Born to a wealthy laird in the highlands of Scotland, McGregor’s soul was born as freakish as his body. A life of horrific excess funded by an early inheritance had laid the darkest of trails, a glistening slug trail that lead over a mountain of corpses, until finally he had made a deal with the devil-lord Arcimboldo.

  “Many men of the church have stepped through mah door before now, pilgrim,” said the dwarf, grinning, “So, I suppose it’s a few bairns ye’ll be wanting tae fuck? We’ve got a cherubim kept to one side for preachers and priests, though the poor wee thing is a bit ragged around the arse these days.”

  McGregor waddled to the middle of the parlour, holding his arms out as if to embrace his clutch of demonic whores.

  “Or perhaps ye’d like to see a few more of me possibles first? Eh? Anything catch your eye? What’s your poison, pilgrim? Cunt? Cock? Something a little more... exotic?”

  The albino said nothing.

  The demon whores began to lazily rise from where they lounged, each approaching the albino one by one. They slid and leered and danced around him, displaying what they had to offer; enormous breasts studded with dozens of bleeding nipples, forked cocks, cunts lined with eyeballs. Beast headed whores, whores with translucent jellyflesh, whores of rusted metal and rotten wood. A demon with a face like a smeared painting whispered filth in his left ear, another who’s every head-hole was lined with white slug-bellies spoke sweetly in the other

  The albino said nothing. The demons washed around him, an unmoving rock in a river of filth, foul waves washing over him.

  McGregor was massaging the glans of his engorged penis, as big as a fist, sore and angry from overuse. An eyebrow crept up as the albino kept his peace.

  “Now what’s this? Cat got your tongue there pilgrim? Having second thoughts? Because if ye are, well, too fucking bad; the moment you stepped through the door the pact was sealed. One night of pleasure such as ye won’t find this side of Paradise in exchange for every drop of blood, marrow, and semen in your body.”