Tag Archive: Tacitus


Kindle Edition!

 
FIVE

The demon walked slowly up and down the Unit.
He touched each patient and peeked over the shoulders
of the nurses as they charted their thoughts
and findings. Each time the demon stopped near one
of the nurses, or any of the other staff, they would
feel even colder than usual. If he stayed long enough,
the staff member would actually exhale a cold plume
of frigid air. They would get an almost overwhelming
urge to either fuck or punch the first person
they saw. The demon was a very bad influence. 
 

Kindle Edition!

  1350, anno Domini

The smell was the worst.
It assaulted like a living, breathing thing. The smell hung on clothing and hair. If you stepped out of the hospital, down to the shores of Mighty Thames, the cloud would stay with you. Not even the cold and bitter wind washed it away.
The vampire didn’t care about the stench. The dying came to the London hospital in droves. He cared for them as best he could. He was a physician honor bound to treat the victims of this vicious plague. And then he would eat them.

The physician’s rotund. He was of normal girth before the scourge came. The floodgates opened. Black Plague brought an endless stream of blood-filled vessels. Very few survived. The Plague was deadly like that.
The vampire bled as many as he could. Sometimes twenty a day died in this manner, all but dried husks. They were cremated in great funeral pyres. Flames licked the sky and the heavens turned a blind eye to the suffering below.
The physician plump, flushed pink, growing more so by the day. The more blood he drank, the more he wanted. After a time, he could no longer fit into his clothes. He had to have another suit made. He grew out of that one too. And still they came.

He finished her off with one last gulp. The physician dropped her to the rags-covered pallet. Her cooling body settled with ankles crossed, arms slung out either side. He looked at her a moment. She reminded him of – something.
The vampire settled back on the stool, studied his hands. They’re burning now. They were bright pink, almost red. The fingers were as plump over-stuffed sausages, hard and rigid. The hands felt on fire, fingers coarse to move. Each subsequent attempt became more difficult. He sweated all the time. The bloody sweat stained his latest suit of clothes, already ripping at the seams.
He stood slowly up, legs cramping. His knees were sketchy from the improbable weight. Crimson sweat popped out on his forehead. It made him look like he just swatted away a swarm of biting insects.
His eyes began to tear. The tears slow at first, then fast. The great drops poured forth from bulging eyes. His swollen face cascaded salt-bloody tears. He slapped tears away and both his ears spurt. Ejaculates of blood shot out ruptured eardrums.
The vampire/physician lay still in the ever-spreading pool of his own blood. His patients’ blood. His victims’ blood.
A small crowd gathered to gawk and they were disgusted by the scene. But what they saw was not the worst.
It was the smell. That was the worst.

 

Kindle Edition!

 Chapter Five

Carpe Diem, nigga:

Tacitus had his Herod’s lovely neck in both his hands and he was squeezing the life out. He was a wheezy oil rig pumping away on Salome’s plump spread thighs. Her moans quick now turned to garbled chokes.
The two of them were copulating in Salome’s bedchamber. The new Herod shuddered and then she began to fight. She tried to twist away from the tight grip Tacitus had on her neck. Her attacker responded to this by pulling out of her. He placed all his weight on her. His hard knees were on her slender feminine arms. There was nowhere for her to go. She flattened out on the bed and he squeezed all the more. Salome managed to slip an arm free. She reached up and grabbed a handful of his hair. Tacitus grunted with the pain, but kept squeezing until she went limp beneath him.
He released her neck and rolled off her. Tacitus stood beside the bed of his Herod. He was naked, breathing hard and dizzy. He caught his breath and the dizziness dissipating with the slowing of his vital signs. He looked down to her, the one he had craved more than his mother’s milk. Salome was still alive, but she moved not.
Tacitus dried off his shit. He dropped the come towel on the throw rug covered cement floor. Giant foot-shaped indentations peeked out from under carpet. There was no one left to explain their origin. Salome had told Tacitus that the Devil did it, but he thought it was bullshit. It was probably just some drug-addled memory from when she was her Uncle Herod’s Plata-addicted play thing.

Kindle Edition!

 

 III

Mr. Big Winner:

I’m the lucky one.
My knees popped and cracked as I stood victorious. I stood too quickly, too excited. I forgot to hold my breath. I took in a big one to let loose my WHOOP. The sedative in the foggy mist made me swoon as soon as it touched my wet lungs. I could barely rebel out my victory yell. Hands grabbed hold of me from all directions. They belonged to the Halflings that made up most of Chess Master’s goon squad. Hands are a bit too generalized. Nevertheless, I witness a cacophony of swirling flurry of flesh, feathers, fur, claws and scales. In a furious rush a protective shield is forced roughly over my face. One of the more expensive dental implants in my mouth has been loosened in the exchange. I tried my level best not to choke on it as they try to hustle my old ass out of the gaming hall.
The goon squad surrounded me on all sides. The swarm of players de-crying their fate got shakily up from their places before the BINGO screens. Dozens of them began hurling themselves at us. The goons hit the oldies with neural disruptors, making them vomit and shit themselves. The biggest goons used their thick and strong iguana tails to snap at and toss bodily the other geezers out of our way. The weakened geriatric bones of these hapless players shattered on contact. It was soggy and gruesome to hear. Their screams were deafening. If I’d still had a heart, it would have been wrenched right out of me.

Kindle Edition!

 

 III

“DR. JONATHAN PENDER”

Three-point-Zero

Pender stood in line at the SaveCo pharmacy near his home and waited his turn. It was near noon and there were still several people ahead of him. He was beginning to feel trapped and his ragged nerves were protesting. It was well past his time. Pender was afraid the shakes that were ramping up would become severe enough to be noticed. He was embarrassed by his circumstances and was constantly trying to hide it from people.
I‟ve got to get a handle on this, Pender thought. The line really isn‟t that long.
Pender glanced over the top of the ten people in front of him to the customer service counter beyond. It might as well be one hundred miles away. He could feel a big pussy-fat panic building. Pender still had his emergency Quaalude left. It rested down at the bottom of his right front trouser pocket. He thought that right this very minute would be a darn good time to use it. Pender thrust his hand down deep into his pocket, retrieving both a candy mint and the pill. The both of them he popped in his mouth. He chewed them together rather loudly and with great relish. Just the thought of how the pill will soon relax him made Pender visibly content.
Pender glanced around at the customers milling about. He wondered how many of the respectable-looking people had a drug habit as nasty as his.
I hope a lot of them, he thought. The line for prescription refills had shortened by one person. I‟d hate to be the only one. A decade of higher education and advance training costing nearly one hundred thousand Notes and worth infinitely more, Pender mused wryly. All so I can become a god damned junkie. I have become the butt of my own stupid joke.

 

A beastly happy Herod is presented with the severed heads of Pontius
Pilate and Immanuel Christ. But he doesn.t see Michael as he stalks toward him
with a purposeful grimace and a terrible sound. He grips the hilt of his fiery
sword and pulls it free, still moving. Herod looks up and sees a pissed off
archangel bulling through his china shop. Herod.s smile fades into confusion as
Michael raises his sword. The archangel slices a downward arc at him. Herod is
still trying to gauge the level of danger as his torso is split from right neck to left
waist. He separates top from bottom, slides apart and drops dead to the floor with
two separate thuds.

The blood and filth-stained cops stand dumbfounded. Pleading silent, they
stare fearfully at Michael. He sheaths his Retribution, the flame dying as he does
so. Michael notices the men. They are quaking now as children that are being
taunted by bullies. The angel lets loose the hilt of his sword and points to both
pieces of Herod, bleeding all over the Compound floor.

“Repeat Offender,” he tells them.

And then Michael winks out, just as She instructed. Leaving the cops
unmolested, forgiven and unharmed.

For God still loves this world.

Inexplicably, She does.

When One is weary of Lame Shit …

The "sigil of Lucifer", used by mode...

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the sequal to "PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale". Available in PRINT and KINDLE ...

“Oh Ancient and Glorious One I call to thee. From the age before the heaven and the earth were lifted to their places. In the time before time you have reigned,” spoke the human male. The room was dark candle-lit and smoky with thick waves of incense. Whispers and sudden muted shrieks were heard from the invisible forces. The gate opened wide. “Before there was light when darkness stained existence,” he called out. He unsheathed the dagger and presented it skyward. “You have reigned. Before the Sun and the Moon,” he said, “before the holy mother dried and gave forth life, you have reigned.” The noises through the spiritual door grew stronger and louder. The dark magic brought forth cold and palpable presence. A stab of raw fear clutched the human’s yammering heart. His breath fogged thick in front of him. “I call out to thee, oh Ancient One who threatens from Without. The Lord of Darkness, the Master of Chaos, the Unborn and Most Beloved. Come to me,” he called still, “The Dog God, the Dragon God, the Sea Monster, the Master of Magicians. I implore thee. Hear my plea. I pledge to you my life. I give to you my will, oh Mighty One, if only you make your presence known,” the father said. He sliced open his muscled chest. Blood dripped onto the male child splayed helpless before him. “I offer up my only son’s precious soul. To be your slave, work your will. To do as you please. I give him to you, oh Morning Star, oh Lucifer. Be there blessings to me. I beseech thee, Lord. In return I pledge eternal obedience to you. All the power and all the glory shall be unto thee and so it must be. Until the most holy day when you ascend the Ladder of Lights and ride in triumph through the gates of the Sacred City,” he proclaimed loudly. He paused a moment to catch his breath. “I await your command,” he continued, “I seek only to serve your whim.” He pointed the dagger tip downward and held the sharp blade aloft. He looked down at the babe before him. The room was chilly and full. He could feel unseen creatures slithering around him. They were touching his naked skin and tickling his middle, “A servant or sacrifice!” the bloody, wriggling infant’s father called out. He raised the sharpened dagger as high as he could above his son. He held it tight with clenched hands. He waited to plunge it deep in his baby’s breast.
“Spare him,” a voice behind the human commanded. He lowered the blade, but he dared not turn around. He knew the devil was there right behind him. And although he worshipped the Fallen Angel with all his heart and mind he did not want to face him. The Diabolous stood eight feet tall. He rose up through the portal of the chalked pentagram on the floor and stood before his quaking servant. “He shall be mine.”

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After some time had passed, Salome finally got used to the shrieks. The cavernous room was as dark as pitch, invisible at the ceiling. Salome, when she thought about it, reckoned the ghosts and demons and whatnot came from near the inky top. They swooshed around her a bit, but most of the cold and creaky groans floated up top.
The pale blue vampire baby latched onto Salome’s milk-leaking breast. The baby simultaneously suckled blood and breast milk. Salome cooed a sweet lullaby, drooling out of her toothless mouth. Daily Plata was provided for her, always.
She sat a plush divan, the lights in the nursery were purposely turned down low for baby Saul’s sensitive undead eyes. The pain from the baby’s boring fangs piercing her breast, numbed from her daily cocktail treats.
She sang to her young charge, beautiful melodic nonsense. The vampire clutched at her and purred.
Salome had no clue as to how long she’d been trapped in the nursery. She never saw Tacitus, the man who de-throned her and took her teeth and crown. Salome only saw short glimpses of nurses and handlers. Salome was expertly shot up before she even needed it. She was sky high all the time. The Plata high and this little vampire baby had narrowed her life down to a very thin focus. It surprised her with its comfort, almost from the beginning it did.
Salome had simply come to with the vampire baby latched onto her, looking up in trust at her with his yellow eyes.
Salome called him Saul and wanted to give him her last name of Sinister. She chuckled. Saul Sinister was a great name for a vampire and she hoped she would live long enough to see the baby grow.
She knew it was Tacitus’ child, but she didn’t care that the baby came from the back-stabbing fuck. She didn’t care. She was too smart to think she could swim beyond the shores of her Plata cove. Salome was trapped and damn well knew it. She was being monitored two four seven.
Salome had thought briefly about strangling the son of Tacitus. After all, it wasn’t hers. You know, pay shit head back in spades, but she never did. She found that she couldn’t. Salome fell too hard. She thought she’d been in love before, but she was wrong. Not until now.
Salome resumed her lullaby as the baby fed on her milk and blood. His tiny talons were scratching at her, making her bleed, silent and unfeeling. As Salome smiled and fell head over heels. She knew she would now fight to the death anyone whomsoever would try and take baby Saul away from her. Just let them try.
The demons swooped and danced with the ghostly damned as she found out how much in love one can truly be. But where the hell was her shot?
It was the almost complete lack of sound that reached Salome’s consciousness. Saul was feeding, like usual, at her breast. The Plata and whatever else she was being given was beginning to wear off. Salome got up off her duff and did a good Ozzy pain-killer shuffle over across the room. She tried the door, not surprised that it was thoroughly locked and secured. Salome realized with a growing sense of alarm that it was definitely past time for her dose. What the fuck, she thought. This is not good. Ever since the former Herod was locked up in this demon-shrieking bitch of a gloomy nursery, Salome always got her shot before needing it, really while she was still wonderfully stoned. This was unusual. This was worrisome. She tried not to panic, but she could feel it building.
“Come on,” she said, staring at the locked door and biting her bottom lip.

 

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