Shell
By DJ Tyrer
Serial killer
No-one said death was easy
Bleed them out slowly
Watch the light die in their eyes
Soul gone leaving body shell
Originally published in Sirens Call
A Meal
By Harris Coverley
How does it feel?
To be under the heel
Of a seriously surreal
Eel?
Now,
Keel
Over,
Die, congeal,
And I will peel
You up and
Seal
You up
In the trunk
Of an
Automobile.
A brief
Ordeal.
Not genteel.
No chance at
An appeal.
I don’t
Conceal.
That’s the
Deal.
You feel
My reveal?
You feel?
You feel?
Slasher show
By Mark Hudson
Hey girl do you want to go.
Come with me to the slasher show.
Come into the theater of fear.
You’ll be whispering sweet nothings in my ear
as the blood on the screen falls in a puddle
you reach for me and start to cuddle
the next scene I should give you warning
cause I saw the movie yesterday morning.
Your hands touch me in the popcorn
I wish you knew what I would mourn
we stroll home hand in hand
I might be thinking I have a new fan
but when we get home I pull out my knife
hack away every inch of your life
leave you in the basement below
like a scene from Mr Poe
I like movies reel to reel
I like making the ladies squeal
movies are my inspiration
for my well known reputation
and they say that violence in films is harmless
I will make them legless and armless
so honey what will be your fate
will you join me on a blind date?
Jacked
By Harris Coverley
Dennis crouched in the back of the Toyota people carrier, waiting for his victim. His ankles ached, having been like that for nearly half an hour, but the anticipation of the kill was all the painkiller he needed. He was hungry, but he would soon eat….
His left hand gripping the base of the handbrake, his right holding the knife, he remembered his previous conquests: an old-aged couple in a Mercedes, a younger couple in a Ford Focus, a single mother in a Renault Clio with her two small children…yes, it had been a good spree, a great spree, a divine one. As far as he was concerned, he was making his gods happy—in reality though, Dennis was a pure sociopath, unfit for civilisation. Deep down, he knew this and did not care. In his own world, the only true god was Dennis Lodge, hero of a blood-soaked apocalypse of his own making.
The driver’s side door suddenly opened and someone got in. They had apparently not noticed the wild-eyed passenger.
Dennis was giddy with excitement.
The driver started the engine, released the handbrake, and put the vehicle in reverse. They then shifted into first gear and drove out of the car park, onto the main road.
In spite of his eagerness, Dennis knew it was best to wait and prolong the pleasure, like savouring the last piece of a cheesecake slice, or the burst of an orgasm.
He tightened his hold on the knife, still unseen by the driver.
The car stopped at a light, and, stealthily, Dennis looked around: there was no one to be seen. The town was peaceful and empty.
He ran his bottom lip between his teeth, and rose up. He held the knife, ten inches long, at an angle which would allow the fastest possible way into the driver’s upper chest.
He breathed in, and was about to strike, when…
“I wouldn’t do that Dennis,” said the driver.
The killer was so shocked that he froze and nearly dropped his knife.
“Wha…?” he managed to utter.
“I wouldn’t do it Mr Lodge,” the driver said again, not bothering to turn. “I mean, you could, but it wouldn’t matter.”
“How do you know my name?” asked Dennis, pulling back.
“Oh, I know a lot of things about you Mr Lodge. You see, I’ve been waiting for you…waiting for someone like you for a long time…”
The driver’s hand stretched out to the dash and the car doors locked.
Instinctively, Dennis thrust his knife in its odd arc, straight into the driver’s heart.
The driver merely laughed: “I told you it wouldn’t matter Dennis…”
Abandoning the knife, Dennis fell onto the back seat, wrapping his arms around his knees. For the first time in his adult life he was scared, and deathly so.
“What the hell are you?” he asked, now weeping.
“You’ll get to know soon enough.”
“I want to go home…please…”
“Oh, come on Mr Soppy-Stabby-Wabby…we’re gonna have a party!”
The roar of the engine drowned out Dennis’s screams as they raced into the night.
Murder Scene
By DJ Tyrer
Horror show-a-like
A body-strewn killing ground
The cop shrugs blasé
Originally published in Sirens Call
View From Atlantis 