God Damn, the bitch had gone and done it. She lived off me
for years, then came in while I was gone to work and cleaned out
the house. Right, she stole everything of value that wasn't nailed
down or was too much trouble to rip off. Some bitches are like
that, you know. I'm not the first guy that those thieves have ripped
off. Oh, they do it all the time. What's interesting was that all the
neighbors just stood around and let that bitch and their hippie-
looking friends do it. They all said that they didn't want to get
involved. Hell, the least they could have done was call the cops
and stop the loss. Is there some sort of conspiracy loose in the
world or what?
Well, was I plenty pissed. There was nothing much I could do
about it either as the cops just said it was too bad. They didn't
want to get involved either. Well, that made me want to cuss God,
man, the establishment, the cops, the neighbors and the whole
damned bunch of them. I'd heard of this kind of happy horse-shit
all of my life. You'd think that it was acceptible. There ought to
be a law. Well, there is. It comes under the venue of domestic
violence. All you gotta do is touch one of them bitches and they
stuff you in jail for assault. It's the law. Of course, the law closes
their eyes to bitch thievery.
Well, I admit I got pretty depressed over the situation. Then when
things looked blackest... Well, that's when I turned to Satan for
solace and revenge. The Xtian God wasn't worth a damn and
never was. Naw, the prick never did anything of value and neither
did his bastard son, Jesus. "Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord."
Well screw them in the ass, the no-good, dirty, son of a bitches!
They never avenged anybody. I needed something tougher than
that sorry rat pack to set things straight. You know, I'd been
thinking for a long time that Satan could do better. If He could,
then He'd be my Hero, for sure. Is He a God? Hell, I don't know,
but He's sure got a bigger dick than most! Anyway, one night
when I was really depressed, I came to that old Crossroads in life
as so many do.
I looked back over the whole damned experience and realized that
the bitches were taking over the world, and the chicken-shit
church and the government was backing them up to boot. Doesn't
anybody have any balls? What's it all coming too? Well, like I
said, I came to the Crossroads and turned left. It was damn ripe
timing too! Seeing as how calling on the bitches' Xtian God never
did any good, this time I called on Satan instead.
I said something like, "Satan? Satan! Listen up Satan. I've had it
with these surly bitches and their worthless gods! Do you hear me
Satan? Listen here, I'll sell you my soul for a dollar if you'll turn
my life around so that I can enjoy it and bring destruction on the
dirty bitch that ripped me off! I'll stand up for you, fight for you,
and not only here-- but when I die and crossover to the other side,
I'll serve you there too! You help me, and I'll help you! Bring me
REVENGE!"
Well, nothing happened. I was standing outside when all of this
occurred. It was dark, and all was silent. The full moon grinned
down and cast its silvery light on the neighborhood of sleeping
houses. Not even the dogs and cats stirred. It was like a graveyard
at midnight-- in fact, it was midnight. I said, "Satan? did you hear
me?" Oh well, I smoked a butt and went inside to get a drink.
Pouring a shot of Jack Daniels, I sat down on the couch and
flipped on the TV to see what was up on the late news. The
anchor-winch was yammering on about Clinton, while reading
from que cards and fouling up every fourth word, but I got the gist
that Clinton wanted revenge too!
Boy, oh, boy, there is another one who needed to be avenged! Had
he ever been raked over the coals! Hell, he never did anything
much different than the rest of those sanctimonious old farts did
on a regular basis. His enemies simply capitalized on those old
Xtian sex taboos. Hell, everybody likes sex, even if they won't
admit it. Like it? Hell, they eat it up! Too bad that they had to
drag the country through the mud with that old Xtian bullshit.
What's worse, those fool Republicans didn't listen to the people.
The people had made it pretty damn clear that they wanted those
clowns to back off and drop it. But no, they had to keep on
running off at the mouth about morals that they didn't have
themselves.
Well, Clinton seems to have done all right. He won out over those
self righteous fools. I gotta wonder if he didn't do a little business with
Satan down at the Crossroads too? I'll bet He did. You know, the
Devil has been running this old world for a long time, and anyone
who doesn't make a deal with the Boss is gonna do some hurting.
Well I made my deal with Satan, and figured that I'd have to wait
and see what He did about it.
Well, only the next day, I was walking downtown. I had just
turned left on Forth and Main, when there on the sidewalk before
me, I spied a brand new, crisp, dollar bill. It was odd too, as the
breeze was blowing, but the dollar bill didn't blow away or even
flutter. It just laid there before me, waiting. Without thinking, I
reached down and picked it up, stuffing it in my pocket. But
before I took another step, the light of knowing went on in my
head. I realized then, that the night before, I had sold my soul to
Satan for a dollar and here it was. Well, what do you know! Old
Ned had made good and answered me. He had left the money at
the Crossroads, bigger than shit! I framed that dollar and hung it
on the wall. It's my ticket to Hell!
Well, time passed and my luck turned. Now, I was making a ton
of money writing horror stories. The stuff just kept on rolling in.
I had a new house, a
new car, fancy clothes and more women than I knew what to do
with. I was feeling good. No, I was feeling great! I just got back
from Las Vegas after winning a few good hands of poker, and I
was wondering what to do next. For sure, I was in the driver's
seat. That's when it happened.
Sometimes, Satan works in strange ways. Recently, I had
purchased a farm in an out-of-the-way part of the state where for
the fun of it, I was raising some show dogs and other farm animals
like pigs and chickens for my own enjoyment. I didn't need to
work anymore, but I did need something to occupy my time
between gambling and drinking bouts. I thought that country air
and a little exercise would be good for me, so I bought the farm,
so-to-speak. Funny, but it wasn't a month later that some oil
company came beating on my door, announcing that oil had been
discovered on my land, and that they wanted to buy the land from
me. Well, I didn't want to sell just yet, so I put them off, telling
them that maybe in a year or two I'd be interested. What the Hell,
the oil wasn't going to dry up, now was it. My, my, Satan do
take care of His own!
Anyway, one spring evening, I was sitting on my porch, rocking
and watching my animals milling about, amusing themselves.
Yep, it was nice. There I was a rockin' and a thinkin' when all of a
sudden, a dark thought crossed my mind. I remembered that
thievin' bitch who ripped me off before I took that left turn at the
Crossroads and wondered if Satan had fulfilled the rest of my deal.
Had He trashed her yet? Hummm, I'd have to check up and see.
Old hatreds run deep, but that had been years previous. It wasn't
really bothering me then, but I still wanted to be avenged or have
vengeance or whatever. A man doesn't really forget a slap in the
face like that. She shouldn't be allowed to get away with it.
Well, it was about then that a car crapped out and rolled off to the
side of the main road out front. A woman got out, and even from a
distance, I could hear her cussing. I said, "What the Hell", and got
up, walked around the house and got the tractor out of the barn.
I'll be dammed if I was going to walk clear out to the road a
quarter mile away for some silly bitch. Anyway, I pulled out the
choke, pumped the gas and turned the key. The tractor coughed
and caught. I let it idle for a moment, then stepped on the clutch
and put it into gear.
To the sound of a sweet running motor, I rolled out into the
evening and turned left onto the access road that lead to the main
highway. Tractors aren't too fast, but it was but the work of a few
moments to reach the road and the stranded female. There was
steam rising from the open hood, so I knew that the car had run
out of water or some such thing. I'd have to tow it up to the barn
to get it cooled off enough to put some water in it.
It was then that I noticed the car's driver. Wouldn't you know, it
was that bitch that ripped me off so many years before. Satan be
praised! Well, there she was, just as mean as ever, but now, at a
disadvantage. She looked frightened at being in my presence, but
I reassured her that bygones were bygones, and that I wasn't mad
at her.
"I'll have to tow your car up to the barn to fix it. You get in and
steer it while I pull it with the tractor. Just make sure that it's in
neutral and that the emergency brake is off." She climbed into the
driver's seat as I finished hooking a tow cable to the front sub-
frame of her car. I took up the slack and made a wide turn back
onto my access road, making sure not to pull her car into the bar-
ditch by accident. Then clearing the corner, I let the tractor slowly
pull the vehicle up into my drive-through barn.
Setting an electric fan on the fender, I directed it to blow on the
engine compartment so as to cool off the motor. Adding water to a
hot engine could crack the block, you know. "We'll have to wait a
spell for her to cool off before adding water, so we might as well
go into the house and wait there where it's more comfortable. It
looks like you could use a drink too." "Yes I could," she said, as
she got out of her car and dusted off the seat of her pants. "Are
you sure that you're still not mad at me?" "Naw," I said. "It was
no big deal." I lead her into the house.
In the kitchen, I poured her a drink, a Margarita. She always liked
those, and I kept the makings on hand, as It was pretty much a
common women's drink. I made it by the book too, except for the
few drops of Chloral Hydrate that I snuck into it. That changed to
character of her drink to that of a "Mickey-Fynn." Oh, one of the
uses for Chloral Hydrate is for knock-out drops, in case you didn't
know... Magic is great, but chemicals never fail. I handed her the
drink and picked up my Jack, raising my glass in a toast to Satan.
She must have been thirsty as she gulped hers right down. I
thought, great! She didn't have a clue as to my intentions. The
stupid bitch still thought that I wouldn't have the guts to pay her
back for her slap in the face against me. She was dead wrong.
Yep, Satan works in devious ways. Sure, He could have trashed
her anytime, just like He made me rich, but that wouldn't have
given me any real satisfaction. Instead, he saved her up for me,
letting time pass and a few other lovers float under her bridge
before finally delivering her unto mine hand. Now, no one would
connect her with me-- ever.
She fell off her chair onto the floor in a pool of her own piss.
Maybe, in my exuberance, I gave her a bit too much? Well, in any
case, the Chloral Hydrate had done its job nicely, and she was
down for the count. I mopped up her piss, and drug her sleeping
body into the back room. There, I tied her up good, gagged her,
and left her on the floor to sleep off my potion. Then, locking the
door, I stepped out into the kitchen, checking for any tale-tale
signs of her ever having been there. I washed her glass and wiped
it well. Her purse, I had already stashed our of sight.
Then quickly, I went out and closed the barn doors so as to prevent
any passersby from noticing her car parked in there. The keys
were in it. Well, it would be hours before she came to back to
consciousness, so I decided to tinker with her Chevy a bit to see
what was the matter with it. Steam had ceased to escape from the
engine, so I hung a trouble light from a handy brace and looked for
the problem. Ah, there it was. The lower radiator hose had
ruptured. Seeing as how those hoses are more or less out of sight,
they are often neglected, and this one flat-out popped.
It was of standard size, so I rummaged around on the work bench
and found a suitable replacement. The water was already mostly
drained, so I undid the clamps and inserted the new hose. After
tightening down the clamps, I refilled the engine with water and
replaced the cap. The engine started up after a few turns of the
starter and seemed to run all right. I let it run for a half hour to see
if it would overheat, but it didn't. The car was now fine. It's driver
was not.
The bitch came to as the morning sun rose over the low hills, and
she started to grunt. The gag kept her from screaming. You see,
after fixing her car, I stuffed her into one of those long, old canvas
cotton sacks that the pickers once used. The bag came almost up
to her chin. Of course, I left her tied up and the gag in place. The
interesting part was that I hung her from a rafter and let her dangle
there like a side of meat, which was exactly what she was.
Now, stupid is one thing that I'm not. I figured that she was just
passing through, and from the direction she had came, there wasn't
a town for about 32 miles. There really wasn't any reason why
anyone should connect me with her, especially as long ago as I
knew her, so I wasn't too worried. However, I figured that I'd let
her stew in her own juices for a while to see what happened. I
waited until after dark and moved her to an old, unused shed out
back and locked her in with the rats.
I surmised that if anybody came snooping around, I could play
dumb until the heat was off. As it was, there wasn't any heat at all
as one day when I fed her, she told me that she was fleeing another
lover that she had jilted. She had stolen all of his ready cash and
that it was in the trunk of her car. She said that if I'd let her go, I
could have it. I thanked her and informed her that I already had it
and had also destroyed all of her personal effects and driven her
car clear to Las Vegas. There, I had parked it on a back street, so
that anyone asking questions about her would find a cold trail,
ending in sin city, way out there on the desert. Like I said, I'm not
stupid, and I didn't fly out of Vegas either. I simply walked into a
roadside diner and offered to pay for gas to Los Angels if
somebody would take me there as a passenger. Lots of folks do
that after losing all or most of their money at the tables. I had a
nice ride to L. A. with a family in a conversion van, reading a
book in one of their plush captain's chairs. Of course, from L. A. I
hooked a couple of rides back this way. I'd be hard to back track.
The whole trip only took a day and a half, including detours. I had
put my bitch to sleep just before I left, and she was out most of the
time I was gone. She never knew.
Three weeks had passed, and she was looking pretty bad by now. I
only fed and watered her once a day, just like all of the other farm
animals. Having amused myself with her until I grew bored, I
finally decided to put her to an end. The party had been a gas.
She was hung by her ropes, so I could pull off the cotton picker's
bag whenever I wanted. I did keep her clean, hosing her off every
day until lately when I just didn't give a shit. Now, enough was
enough. I had screwed her, front and back until I grew bored. I
had beat and whipped her until she passed out, and vented any and
all emotion I ever had ever known upon her sorry carcass. "Fuck
you and die, bitch," I had yelled until my throat hurt, and there was
no interest left. I didn't hate her anymore, having worked all of that
out on her bruised hide. You know, after a while, the whole
damned excursion becomes rather tedious and a moot point. I
didn't give a shit and she didn't either. The only thing you can do
then is end it. Well, it was a leaning experience.
Finally, I got a wash tub, placed it under her and cut the big artery
that runs up the inside of her thigh. Yes, I simply bled her out like
I would an elk or a deer that I had bagged during hunting season.
She kept complaining as to how cold she felt toward the end.
However, her eyes fluttered closed in the long sleep before the
wine of her life ebbed away, and finally, she dripped dry. It was
done. Vengeance was mine!
Then, of course, came the grizzly task of disposing of her remains.
Well, that wasn't too hard as like I said, I'm a farmer these days. I
I mixed that tub of her blood with the dog's food and fed it to them.
Her meat and organs, I ran through the electric meat grinder. The
dogs and pigs ate some of it, before I had my great idea! Ho, ho,
the rest, I made into smoked sausages. Then later, after they had
sufficiently dried, I donated the whole lot to the homeless center.
What? Oh yes, her bones, I ground into bone meal and fed it to the
chickens. They loved it. It's so good to be environmentally
conscious-- and such strong egg shells, too!
Well, here I am, setting here on the porch again, rocking and
thinking. He, he, he, Satan sure is something else. When I look
back on that midnight at the crossroads, I'm glad that I did make
that left-hand turn. I should have done it years before. Yup, Satan
is one Hell of a good choice. Since then, I've learned a lot, and
Hell ain't a bad place for those who choose to go there. Smokin'
Brimstone! There is lots of good eating, drinking, gambling and
screwing going on all hours, and nobody to look down their nose
at you. Satan wants His people to be happy. He's a good sport
too. The other day, in the form of a man, He dropped by for a
visit. He said that He'd be expecting me soon as near 40 years had
passed since our little business deal. I said that I'd be looking
foreword to it. He said that I had served him well, and for a brief
time he showed me a vision of where I would be going once I
crossed over. It was nice, real nice. Oh, Satan had a job for me
too. It seams that everybody in Hell sure liked my smoked
sausage!
