Brothers (partial necro story in draft)

“Hey Eric, what are you going to do today?” his brother Johnny asked him optimistically when Eric finally emerged from his room for the day.

“I’m going to head on out to the cemetery for a while.  After that the day’s a mystery.” A strange smile crossed Eric’s face as he said the word ‘cemetery’.  Johnny didn’t think much of the odd grin.  Eric had always been a bit off.  He’d been through a lot over the years so Johnny never questioned his bizarre mannerisms.  It was best just to let Eric be Eric.

The two brothers shared a house and both had full time jobs.  Johnny worked for the parks department and Eric worked in the only local funeral home’s office.  Friday’s were Eric’s days off and he always slept late on those days, usually getting up around noon when his brother would come home for lunch. After the death of their mother the two became closer and had decided that they could easily rent a whole house if they became housemates.

Johnny had run away from home when he was sixteen years old, leaving Eric, then ten years old, to deal with their verbally abusive, overly religious mother.  After her death a year ago, Johnny came back to Concord, Michigan to do right by his brother.  He’d felt guilty about leaving him to live with that woman alone for nine years.  Now he was glad to be home and, for the most part, felt that he and his brother were healing and finally forgetting the past.

“So little bro, what do you have to do at the cemetery?”
“Just set some flowers around for a funeral tomorrow.  It should be easy work.”  There was that smile again, shining through as he said ‘easy work’.
“Don’t you have a florist that does that shit?” Johnny asked inquisitively, wondering why his brother, though a mere office peon, would have to do floral arranging.
“Deck’s Flowers closed down last week so we had to import the flowers from a place in Jackson.  They sent them by mail and since I’m the only one with time off on Friday they asked if I could arrange them at the plot.”  A tiny hint of untruthfulness could be heard in his words.  Eric couldn’t lie well but Johnny wondered what there was to lie about in the first place.

After considering the fact that his brother was a loner, had no friends, and didn’t appear to be doing drugs he let the matter be.  It was odd to lie about floral arrangements but Johnny thought that maybe, just maybe, his brother was lying to hide the fact he was going to see a girl or, though he didn’t care much for the idea, a guy. 
Well, him being gay would explain a few things I suppose but hopefully he’s found a nice woman to hang around.  Of course, if he had, why would he lie about it or cover it up?  Damn, maybe he is gay…oh well; whatever raises your dick I guess.

A few moments of silence passed while Johnny considered his brother’s motives then he decided he would get his brother to go out to dinner with him that night so they could discuss this “floral arrangement” lie.

“My boss said that if I had time before the end of shift that the cemetery could use a good mowing.  I might see you there.”
“I doubt it Johnny.  Flower arranging is pretty quick work from what I’ve seen.”  No smile, no lie, but a quiet fear had crept into Eric’s voice.  Eric wondered if his brother had caught on to something he had said.  Did his brother discover the lie?  He didn’t know, nor did he really want to.
“Well, maybe we could meet somewhere for dinner, my treat.  How about Macky’s?”
“Sure, what time?”
“How does five sound?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”  Eric felt relieved that his brother appeared satisfied with that answer.

Johnny gathered up some cheese and crackers for a work time snack then headed out to the car after cheerfully saying “goodbye”.

Eric watched him get in the car and then drive away down the street.  He was glad to be alone again.  He hated telling his brother lies but couldn’t avoid it.  After eating some Poptarts he headed up the stairs back into his room.  For a moment he stared at the blankness of the walls considering how his life had come to be so lonely and so strange.  His room was white walled without posters, decorations or adornments.  In the middle sat a cold looking white sheeted bed with black blankets.  The only window on the far right wall showed a dead tree from the yard.  There were no curtains.  The cold asylum feel of the room could always somehow calm his nerves but at the same time make him feel incredibly alone.  He proceeded into the white bar-less prison over to his clothes pile in the far left corner at the back of the room.  From the pile he gathered a black t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, giving each garment a good sniff before putting them on.  On the door was a body length mirror from which he got a glimpse of himself.  Thin, young, long sandy brown hair, blue eyes, everything a girl likes in a man.  That isn’t what he really saw though.  In his eyes all he ever sees in the mirror is a demon, deformed, vile, cursed, and above all, male.  From the time he was a toddler his mother screamed it into his head that men were evil, sinning creatures, their sex their damnation.  Every word of her hateful spews he believed was true simply because it was all he had ever heard.  Due to these abusive childhood teachings he came to fear women and also came to fear himself.  For these reasons he avoided women despite always having the natural urge to be with them intimately.  He finished zipping his pants and walked away from the mirror and out of his room.

Eric was no fool, he knew he was different and knew his thoughts weren’t going to be accepted as sane from any supposedly sane individual.  He had figured a way around the dilemma of sexual repression and knew that his solution was both taboo and sick but he just couldn’t keep himself from wanting someone to fuck.  Somewhere, somehow, he was going to get what he wanted and he knew now exactly where and how to take it.

Down the stairs he rushed and out the back door he went.  He got in his car and drove out to the cemetery.  It was a pretty drive, the pine trees and deciduous maples and elms a colorful sight to see.  Autumn was a lovely time, brisk but beautiful.  Eric enjoyed the dying season’s idea of decay.  The plants went out with such perfection.  He wished that humans could leave in such a nice way as well.  It’s a pity we can’t all look good and smell great on the way out.  Oh well, what can we do about it?  Nothing I suppose.
As he drove he thought about all the processes involved in life and death, how silly the traditions over the years had become and how much it all didn’t matter in the end.  His thoughts also went to the plan ahead and the tools in the trunk of the black Buick he was driving.  A few days before he had thrown a shovel, a pick-ax, and a crowbar in the back of the vehicle for the upcoming “flower arranging”.   Will this go well?  Will I need something more or will these things be enough?  He had never done it before and wasn’t sure if he could it well with what he had.

He entered the cemetery gates and sought a place to park along one of the many intertwining labyrinthine lanes.  It didn’t take too long to find a secluded area for his car not too far from the grave he was going to visit.  Eric parked the car and asked himself just what it was he had gotten himself into.  What if I’m found out?  There’s no going back now, I’ve made up my mind, but still…

His mind made up, he got out of the car and retrieved the tools from the back of the Buick.  With the spade shovel in his right hand and the pick-ax and crowbar in his left, he walked briskly to a grave close to the woods at the back of the graveyard.  There was a mound of dirt piled behind the stone marker he had walked to.

“Well, this is it.” Eric whispered to himself.  He was sweating from nervousness and the fear of being seen.  Nobody ever entered the cemetery on Friday’s because they were considered grounds maintenance days.  There was always room for error though and Eric knew this quite well.

After a few deep breaths he regained his confidence a little and started digging.  He remembered setting up the funeral and burial arrangements for the girl he was digging up.  She’d only been 18 at the time of her death.  She had overdosed on her first injection of heroin.  Eric remembered the picture he’d seen of her in the funeral home records.  The photo showed her to be pretty, not beautiful, but definitely far from ugly.  He didn’t think much about her death or her picture until the week before this venture.  He concocted a somewhat speedy plan to dig her up, do what he could, rebury her and leave.

He started digging.  After getting halfway down closer to the casket he realized the previous week’s plan was rather foolish and far too hasty.  Everything was going to take much longer than he had anticipated.  But there’s no going back now; not when I’ve come this far.

The digging took almost two hours and Eric knew time was growing very short.  Sweat was dripping from his face and his clothes were sticking to his skin from the dampness he was producing.  It was about 60 degrees but it felt a lot hotter to him.  He removed his black shirt.  His thin, somewhat muscled frame was a sight that any woman would have loved to see.  His jeans hung from his ass enticingly revealing the top of his butt crack just a little.  Beads of sweat rolled down his back into his pants.  If only he’d known his intense degree of masculine beauty perhaps he would not have to be at the cemetery on a Friday afternoon.   Firmly grasping the crowbar he’d brought with him he pried open the mahogany casket all his digging had revealed.  Before him, in a burst of stench as the casket creaked open, was a woman’s body.  Her mouth showed signs of brown decay, her skin glowed a sickly white and light blue.  There was no glory in what he was about to do but there was a hint of control and a sad version of sexual desire.  The thought of the sex alone was enough to harden him.  He hoped it would be enough to finish the act quickly, he didn’t think he could stand the smell for very long without puking.  Her death was not beautiful to him.  What he did find attractive was the fact that the body was female and was readily available without a voice, judgments, or a commitment.  These facts aroused him, turned him on and kept him hard.  He unzipped his jeans to show his bare, fully erect cock.  Time was slowing down for him now, he could feel it.

Eric pushed the dead girl’s funeral dress up around her waist.  She was as naked down there as he was; no underwear and, oddly enough, no bush.  There were more hints of brown decay around her twat and a newer, damper smell of death and rotting fish.  He resisted the urge to vomit and decided to put his cock in her mouth first.  His prior knowledge of the embalming procedures reminded him that her mouth was stitched shut.  In his left pocket he had a switch blade.  He flicked it up and carefully slid the blade between the corpse’s lips.  They opened easily and her jaw went slack.  

AUTHOR'S NOTE:::  This is draft 2 of this story and it is an incomplete draft.  Seems i get to writing and find things i can add to make it more descriptive, so it may be a little while before i finish it.  There's a good 7 pages of it written in a notebook, so i figure it's going to be a little longer than 5 when all typed out.  Stick around though, his story is a different one.  He and his brother may even encounter more than one dead body, who knows.  Extra Note:: Italicized words indicate a character's thoughts.


Adsense and "Gone Viral" Dipshittery!

First i would like to tell the twat that reported my website to Adsense that they are a fucking asshole, next i would like to ask this asshole how the hell Adsense ended up getting onto this website seeing as how it cannot be used with adult content warning sites? Yeah, i'm fucking pissed off about this. I never enabled Adsense for this site and Blogger wouldn't let me anyway which means some fuck-tard hacked in and added it. Then some random prude or some random dipshit or possibly the same fuck-tard that hacked it reported the site to Adsense. Then i get an email from Adsense stating i had a policy violation and that this could put my other sites at risk of losing Adsense if they find something inappropriate on them as well. Well fuck Adsense and fuck the asshole who made Adsense my newest enemy. Next i would like to discuss this piece of shit website that is giving my site fake hits, it is listed as http://98f3687e.goneviral.com/ (DON'T CLICK THAT!!!!) but is actually some stupid fake hit generator that companies pay for to increase advertising. Fake hit generators are pieces of shit sites that rich and/or stupid people pay to subscribe to as a petty attempt to get real hits to their site. It's a complete waste of money and is highly unethical amongst bloggers to use these. It will come up as linkbucks advertising and displays some stupid ad/survey and then may or may not input something unpleasant onto your computer to track what you do and what you search on the internet. The stupid shit advertisers will do to get money and the stupid shit bloggers/companies will do to get money, they never cease to amaze me. So the necro-erotica stories will remain here as will the other transgressive fiction and i'm just going to ignore the dipshittery from Adsense as it didn't even generate revenue for this site anyway (because it was never enabled by me!!!!). Technically, adsense doesn't generate anything for me (or for most people for that matter) from any of my sites because no one likes to click ads.


Dead Girls Don't Say "No"

"Oh baby I'm cumming!" his orgasmic cries filled the shrill night air. He couldn't believe he was finally having sex with the girl he had craved for years. He was 19 and she had just turned 18 two weeks before this night. Youth in love; Such a beautiful night to lose one's virginity. The crescent moon was high, the air chilled slightly, Halloween not too far off.

She was a pretty girl with skin of white lace and eyes of a deathly grey blue. Her cheek bones were accented by tinges of light blue, her lips a faded shade of purple. Crow black hair adorned her face making her complexion stand out in the dark. He loved her greatly and wished he could have had her in the past.

His long hair had smothered her face as he gently found his way into her. Her pussy was tight but he had no trouble inserting his rock hard cock. She was cold inside but that didn't bother him. He rammed her hard and brutal fast. He put her arms around him as he got his orgasm. When he came her pussy became warm and gooey. He pulled his dick out and sat beside her for a moment. He wished he could take her home with him but that didn't seem logical.

He had known the girl in high school and craved her ever since. Often times he would ask her out but she had always refused. He thought they were the same in many ways. She liked the dark, he liked the dark and she was into tattoos and piercings and dark clothing just like he was, but she didn't want him then.

It's not like he was ugly or anything. He had long dark brown hair, deep green eyes and a great body structure. He stood at 6'1 and, in a way, resembled a mortal vampire. Despite his striking looks she had always thought him to be too weird for her tastes. Years passed though and now he was with her.

He had seen her picture in the paper 3 days before and had planned on meeting her. The paper said she'd be at Hillcrest on Saturday. He went late Saturday evening and before he dug in he said to her tombstone "Dead girls don't say no".

Author's Note: This story is going on 10 years old soon. It's not what i'd call "quality", but it started the list of necrophilic writings i've produced over the years. Seeing as how my story "Necro Erotica" seems to be getting lots of attention from various European readers (at least according to the statistics page), i decided to add this old one to the blog. It's not well written nor is it an epic adventure into the mindset of a little understood perversion, but it does get the point across i suppose.


Working on the Lowman's Second Story

The Lowman is a good friend to this writer and he will be in a few more stories. I reckon two or three more should do it. In this next one he finds a friend in a young woman, he doesn't yet know that she's his friend though. I'm still at the beginning of it but i do know how i want the rest of the story to go. Maybe my brain will be rid of its current hindrance (these damn pills for panic/anxiety attacks) sometime here in the next few weeks. Pills=creative block.


About Commenting...

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A Burtal Bout of Writer's Block

As of late the brain is angry and defeated. Words are a mystery and plots just a far away memory. Indeed, it's true, writer's block has attacked me. There's not a bloody thing i can do about it. After endless searches for inspiration i'm stuck with the same maddening obsessions, a movie called Dellamorte Dellamore and a group of sad Pearl Jam songs. There is inspiration hidden in these things, i know there is, the ideas do present themselves however they wish not to go forth to type or paper. Organizing the thoughts is impossible these days. True, it probably won't last, but a horror of an idea occurs that perhaps it could.


The Lowman's Watching (horror/fantasy)

A lowman stands in the shadows atop what used to be an apartment building. He takes the crisp half burnt air of autumn into his lungs. The world is still and time seems to be a cruel illusion.

A dark and foreboding figure, he holds the secrets of existence and death within his mind. Far does he see and far has he been; once he was called a mystic, now he holds another title, one far more sinister and deadly. His world is coloured with the horrors of witnessing and committing. But now his attention is focused on a window across the street. Behind it he sees beauty, sanity; he sees the rarity of true love. A sad crying of envy floats into his mind but he cannot hate them for their love.

Inside the ugly and nearly abandoned apartment house two young lovers are unboxing the contents of their lives. Amidst conversations of future plans, the young man and woman arrange framed pictures into a bookcase. Every now and then they exchange a kiss or a groping. Ever oblivious in their thinking, in their love, they never take notice of the lowman's watching. Perhaps for a brief second they thought they sensed his eyes but waved away the intuition.

A crow perches itself outside the lovers' window. For a moment it stares off into the dimly lit room. Its thoughts are hidden to all. Seemingly bored with staring, it makes a quick tap on the glass with its ebony beak. Such a startling surprise, the woman makes a tiny shriek while the man turns his head abruptly toward the noise. After realization sets in they look at eachother and smile. The tasks and talking resume.

The lowman takes this scene in and contemplates its meaning. Always a crow that comes knocking is to be taken as an omen of ill-will. He knows that neither the man nor the woman have this knowledge. He persists with his watching to see what may come.

As he waits for the omen to prove itself real, he reminisces about a time when he wasn't much different from the young man he's currently watching.


He had been in love, yes, so very very in love. She had been his godess and he worshipped her faithfully. They were so happy, so dynamic together, so very perfect. They had just become engaged when tragedy came visiting. Fate always enjoyed ripping lovers apart; Death for her but there would never be death for him.


That was eons ago, his focus is needed on the present. He's been drawn to these two but he does not yet know exactly why.

His attention is brought back from the land of souring memories by a faint and distant sound. A knocking at a door inside a building across the road. The door belongs to the apartment he's been observing. Perhaps now he will find out the ill that is to befall the lovers.

The woman attempts to get up to open the door but the man speaks and she sits back down. He, instead, goes to the door. A question is asked to whoever is behind it. There must have been a friendly answer to the question, there's a smile on the face of the young man, who, with no further hesitation, opens the door.

The lowman is the first to notice the gun. He carefully examines the expression on the face of the stranger holding it. Too many times has he seen that look and always wishes to never see it again. He contemplates what his action should be: Stay and watch like he's done so often before? Or try to change the upcoming events (something he's never done before)?

As the lowman debates his actions, the young man is trying to talk sense to the gunman, who at one point, must have seemed a friend. Sense is lost to the holder of the gun. He's an angry defeated man, tainted somehow as well, perhaps by drugs. The lowman can see his thoughts clearly. Death was at the lovers' door and they hadn't known it.

A sad horror unfolds before the lowman's eyes. The gunman yells, the youngman is pleading, both vocally and mentally. Begging is always a mistake. In an instant, chaos reigns. The young man receives a bullet. The woman screams, charges the gunman, he pushes her down.

He's seen enough, too much. The lowman leaps from the building to the ground below, landing perfectly on his feet. Off into the other building he goes, flying through it, up staircases until he reaches the woman's floor. He bolts in through the still open door. A horrible sight pierces his eyes. She's been shot.

He hurries to her. Her pretty green aura fading quickly, but he can still see it, that's something. A quick glance over at her lover tells the lowman that death has won the battle against the youngman. His aura is completely extinguished.

The gunman is in a different room and has yet to learn of the lowman's presense. He will learn of it though, that's a sure thing. The woman whispers to the lowman a name: "Eddie". He can see her thoughts, it's the name of her deceased lover. In a whisper he gives her the truth, there's not a point in lieing now. "He's gone dear, I'm sorry." And in one sense he is sorry but in another, more selfish sense, he sees an opportunity.

Tears stream from her eyes. She's fading even faster now. The lowman whispers to her again, "I can save you my dear. We can go on together until the world is destroyed. You will be immortal. Will you say yes to me?".

Her first reply is a questioning thought that barely makes it past her lips, "Eddie?". Once again he sees her thoughts and again has to disappoint her. "He cannot be saved, he's too far gone." A fresh river of tears runs down her face. "No" is her last word and the lowman watches her aura bip out of existence.

He rises from the body. He hates himself, he hates the world, and most of all, right now, he hates the gunman. Perparing for a killing, he darkles himself. Barely there in body, he isn't noticed until his bite is felt in the neck of the gunman. As he drinks away the ugly existence of the gunman, he slowly gains back his solid state. The last thing the gunman sees is a man walking away and the jewelry he was attempting to steal all over the floor.

Wanting the young lovers (at least the young woman) to have a decent burial, he phones the police from a payphone a few blocks away. He walks brisky from the phone-booth into the night air. He hates himself, he hates the world. Overhead a crow screams into the dark. "Death for all" it yells mockingly "but not ever for you.".


The police arrive at the home of Edward Anderson and Elise Potter around 3 AM. When they enter the apartment they see two young people shot to death on the floor. One officer ventures into the main (and only) bedroom. There he finds on the floor strewn jewelry pieces and a human shaped pile of dust. Baffled, the officer calls in the lead detective. The lead detective is not surprised by the find but is a bit skeptical about what it may be. He instructs the other officers to bag some of the dust as evidence.

A few weeks later the lead detective receives the results of all the tests done on the dust from the apartment. Some of the results state that it could be human but the DNA was so deconstructed that it was impossible to tell for sure. All the results list "Inconclusive" for the finished product. Clearly surprised, the dective calls for further investigation of the murders. His goal now is to find the anonymous caller who tipped them off.

--------author's note---------
this would be the second draft of this story. i'm pleased with it right now. i believe that we will see more of the Lowman. his wanderings may make for some interesting short stories. this was a turning point for this character. prior to the incident in this story, he had witnessed many a murder and even committed a few himself. he had never wanted to intervene. here we see that he feels bad about what he's done and that in some ways, he wishes for a partner, one that reminds him of his one true love. will he find that partner? who knows. perhaps another story will tell. in this story, there are some references to a few movies or books i'm fond of. the last names of the two young lovers: anderson refers to The Matrix's Neo (aka Mr. Anderson) and Potter, refers to Harry Potter's Lily Potter. The word lowman was a word if first read in Stephen King's Dark Tower series. My lowman is quite a bit different from his. King's Lowmen were animal/human hybrids that were mostly assholes. My lowman is a vampire, who has a conscience and is capable of love. And the crow, while a minor player, is a bit taken from The Crow series.