Yule Error

Yule Error
by
Bobby Derie

"Where's the mistletoe?"

Joe blinked, wheels turning in his head. Terrible visions ran past his mind's eye as he replayed the events of the last hour.

"One of the elves crushed it and snorted it."

Mary blinked twice.


"Joe," she sighed. "Were you the elf?"

Shuddering, Joe sagged into his costume, the fake red and white fur suddenly a lot less warming than it had been a few drinks ago.

"It's okay, Joe." Mary tugged playfully at his beard. "But seriously, mistletoe is toxic if ingested. I'm not even sure if you can handle it, big guy."

She rearranged his hat...revealing a livid line on his scalp, black stitches poking through the skin. Mary was taken aback.

"What..."

"Reindeer." Joe muttered, carefully pulling the cap back down over the wound. "I told the kid not to ride it, but..."

Mary shook her head, and Joe didn't finish. He watched her legs, covered in those tight green stockings, and heard the bells on her shoes jingle jangle as she peeked outside.

"No one in line yet. Stores open in an hour." She turned back. "Are you going to be okay? Want some coffee or anything?"

"It's too late for coffee," Joe found a peppermint stick and began sucking on it. There was always something clean and cool about peppermint.

Mary jingled her way over, hips swaying. She sat in his lap, warm ass pressed up against his crotch.

"What am I going to do with you Joe? You can't go on like this."

He popped the candy out of his mouth for a second, the ivory stick already being worn down like a prison shank. "It's just the season, Mary. Once the spring comes, I'll be fine. Get some sun, a little exercise. Dry out."

"But you come back," she ground her booty into him, just enough so that they could feel each other. "Every year."

She didn't add: and it'll start again.

Somewhere, an angel got its wings. Mary pushed herself up off of his lap. "Looks like we're on. You really ready, Joe?"

"How's my breath?"

The kiss was short and full, leaving behind the taste of Mary's lipstick, the warm memory of a small tongue slipping quickly into and out of his mouth.

"Good enough."

###

Fractal Fantasy

Fractal Fantasy
by
Bobby Derie



"And what shall you be?" the shadow said, striding through the darkened room, raising no dust in its wake.



"What I am," he said, "is an old man no-one has any use for, surrounded by books that nobody else wants to read. The prison I've built for myself title by title, page by page." He looked at the shadow.


"Talking to ghosts."



The shadow smiled. "The sharpest pencil dulls, even if you never use it." Paper rustled, in the dark.


"Get off your ass. There's work yet to be done."



So he betook himself once more to his labor, staring at the blank word document before him, and began to type.

*

"Look miss, we ain't got any wavy-bladed daggers." the hooded man said. His fellows had called him Brother John.



"No wavy-bladed daggers? Can't have a sacrifice without that now can you. Wouldn't be proper." The woman in said, as Brother Jack tied her wrists to the small plinth at the top of the altar stone.



"Well proper or not, it's not in the budget. Now this knife is sharp as anything, it'll do you a treat."


The both eyed the single-edged blade critically. It had a disturbing resemblance to an old cooking knife.



"A budget? What kind of death cult runs on a budget?" An edge of disbelief was overcoming the desperation in her voice.



"The kind that can't count on tithing." Brother John said, as Brother Jack made a grab for one of her legs, and received a solid kick for his troubles.

"Here, help me with this." Jack said, and John set the knife in his pocket for a minute as they each grabbed a leg. She gave a little shriek as they pulled her knees apart, and for a moment her dark skirts went billowing and revealed the mystery within.

"Blimey," John said after a moment. "I thought you was a miss, mister."

"I'm a woman in every way that counts!" she said, blushing hotly.

Jack and John looked at each other, each still holding a leg. It was like the ocean trying to listen to itself by putting up a seashell to either ear.

"Must be a virgin," Jack proffered. "The finding stone wouldn't be wrong about that."

"Must be," John admitted. "For at least a certain value thereof. But what if you-know-who doesn't care for the sacrifice?"

"Well now, I've never been entirely certain on what gender he-or-she-or-it is." Jack said. "I mean, we always bring girls, and it's happy enough with it and all, but there's those things...down there, y'know."

"Yeah, I know. We got the engraver in on the new edition of the unholy text last time. Practically an anatomy chart by itself down there. Had to give him a cold bath afterwards so he could concentrate on things."

Quietly, the young woman on the altar began to sob.

"This is just so..." she snivelled "...typical. You're just as sexist as all the other bastards. I can't help it if I was born with this thing between my legs. I mean, you try and you try and you do everything right and...and I have to go about every day just wearing a mask and pretending to be someone I'm not, and at night at least I can dress up and feel pretty and go out where no one knows me and just be myself, and now here I am and I'm not even good enough to be raped to death by whatever bastard demon or tentacle spawn you hooded ratfucks worship..." and then a hint of steel crept into her voice.
"Well fuck you, and fuck whatever-its-name-is too! I'm as good a sacrifice as any, and if I can't live as a woman, I can at least damn well die like one. Tie those fucking ropes on! I'll show that prick what a proper sacrifice is like!"

So saying, she offered no resistance as Brother John and Brother Jack finished tying her legs down, spread wide on the Y-shaped altar. They went about the rest of the preparations mechanically and mostly in silence, impressed by her stoicism and her small praises for the things she judged they did well.

As the chanting began, though, she still seemed bitterly disappointed that they didn't have a wavy-bladed dagger.

###

Punchline

Punchline
by
Bobby Derie

It was a quarter past three, and James had started in on his 4 o'clock scotch. His guest, on the other side of the desk, sipped a glass of water. Outside was the sweltering heat of summer, the bustle of men and women and cars, even the occasional clop of a mounted policeman, for they were not too far from the park; inside, down the narrow steps to the offices beneath the level of the street, it was quiet, cool, and intimate.

"So, Miss..."

"Ms."

"Ms. Futhark. What is this entertainment you propose?"

"An extraordinary endeavor, Mr. James." she said "But a daring one, as well. One to flog the jade out of the tired masses, who have grown so bored with common obscenity."

James nodded, and with one hand topped off his glass.

"So go on. Give me your pitch."

*

They will awake in an unknown room. A classical nuclear family - father, mother; daughter, son. The room is empty for them, except for a slot in one wall. And of course, one of the walls is transparent, so that the audience may see them, and they can see the audience.

Imagine if you would, their sudden terror on awakening, the drama, the confusion. To see themselves trapped in a zoo, mere objects for the amusement of others. I for one could watch the begging and pleading, the slow torture of days and weeks as they rant and rave, living like animals, shitting and pissing in the corner, going slowly mad as they starve...what madness might overcome them, you think, as they grew close to death? Cannibalism, perhaps. Murder, almost certainly, if only to spare the children suffering. But few have such patience for such fair; Oscar-bait, they'd call it.

So they will discover the collars. A short, electric shock. Enough to light up their spines, to elicit a scream, to get their attention and the audience on the edge of their seats.

Then the first order will come through the slot.

The idea is a descent into debauchery. To make the players perform. Sexual license, at first. Have them strip. A small thing, to see the family naked, but it's an important surrender. Then, the next request will come in. Has she ever had a fist up her ass? Would she get down on all fours before her children, and scream as he pushed it in past the first knuckle? She would eventually, of course. The collars will see to that. To save the children, if nothing else. Bloody and sobbing, what do you think her response will be when the same order comes through for her husband?

Ah, I see that you begin to see it. Betrayal. Unending sacrifices might be made for love, but you can find snuff films and child porn on the internet. What we want to see are a series of betrayals, the family violating each other, the arguments coming, one after another. It could go on for quite some time, before you reach a point where they say no - perhaps the father won't fuck his daughter, perhaps the mother won't suck her son. Perhaps the father simply refuses to take it up the ass.

Then the next order will come through. Except it isn't an order, but a series of photographs. Perhaps the father, molesting a little boy. Or the children, having sex with one another. The mother, coming out of an abortion clinic with her daughter. Numbing evidence. Tinder for the fire. Because we knew...we always knew...that it would end with violence.

Now the next order will come - with a knife and bandaids. Small sacrifices are demanded: the littlest finger on the left hand. Will the mother heed her husband's cries, when she's just seen a polaroid of him splitting a 12-year-old Thai boy on his cock? Or will the father care what his daughter says, after he seen the evidence of her sucking off the family dog? Whose shit has the wife got in her mouth, in that one photo, blown up and cast against the wall?

The finger is only the beginning of course. There will be blood, and crying. Then the next order will come, with tools. More complicated instructions, for the entire family to pierce their nipples. They will have to take turns holding each other down, the parents getting to work on the children first, who by now have probably retreated to a corner. The shared suffering will go on...it could go on forever. But by degrees the cosmetic agony must give way to a bloody finale; the torture must grow to true mutilation. To pierce his cock. To cut off her labia in bloody strips. To sacrifice one of the children's eyes. To dangle out the hope, that one of the children will be let go, if the other is raped. The tools become ever cruder: a lighter, firecrackers, a trio of gerbils, crude dildos spike to rip and tear at raw, ragged holes...

And the room will grow hot and heavy with their sweat and exertions, and their blood and piss and shit will pool on the floor, so that they are kneeling in it, rolling in it, wading in it, the tiny bodies writhing under the grunting, screaming adults; the mother screaming and sobbing, angry as a lioness protecting her cubs, or else cold-eyed and dead inside as she holds them down so that her husband can fulfill the next order from that devilish slot...

*

The street had gone quiet, or as quiet as it dared to get, and James sat at the desk, glass long empty, one hand still grasping the bottle. Chill sweat dripped and ran down his ribs, and beneath the desk a painful erection press against his pants. He swallowed.

"That's a hell of an act. What do you call it?"

Finally, Futhark smiled.

"The Aristocrats: A Prologue."

###

Same Again, Please

Same Again, Please
by
Bobby Derie

Detective Jack Bastard rubbed the gritty residue into his gums, and pulled away a finger stained with blood.

The body was ensconced in a man-high pile of porn, the corpse curled up like a fetus, blood soaked into glossy breasts and vaginas, his rigid tumescence pointing proudly ahead.

All this Jack could understand and accept. Only a couple things bothered him.

"Where the fuck are his hands?" The pale brown arms on the body ended in curved, blunted metal hooks on plastic sleaves.

"Diabetes." One of the black-and-whites answered from the bathroom, and came out holding a tester and packet of lancets.

Crime scene photos snapped, the forensic guys waited taut and expectant, hounds waiting to pounce on the fox.

"Does anybody else see the problem with a guy with no hands trying to jerk off?" Jack asked aloud. When no one answered, he waved the crime scene techs forward.

Jack stalked the small house. Separated from the one next door by a wall of tissue paper and asbestos, but the skanky teenagers next door selling their asses for rent money hadn't heard anything.

The detective rumbled the book shelves, opened the boxes in the closets, rooted through the sock drawer and under the sink. He finally found what he was looking for when he tossed the mattress.

The dominant themes were smooth-skinned stumps and gaping assholes. Boys in wheelchairs. Homosexual amputee porn.

"Detective, the forensic guys think-"

"The body was moved." Jack said.

The crime scene was too pretty, too staged. A mountain of porn, yes - but straight porn, regular porn.

*

"Is like with dog, yes?" the whore told him, sucking on a hand-rolled cigarette that reminded Jack of a pale, syphilitic dick.

"What, with peanut butter?" Jack asked. "Nah, that doesn't fit. He didn't have a dog."

"Nyet. Like...dog with leg, or pillow, yes? Grab on, rub against. Is how double amputees do it. Yvanna watch. Yvanna like to watch."

Jack was itching in all the wrong places, but now was not the time or the place. He tapped the photo again.

"You've seen him, yes or no?"

"Da. Particular kink. Some things, not on internet. You go talk to Mr. Six."

**

Jack had the garden hose pissing on Six for about ten minutes before he sputtered to some semblance of life.

"Bastard!" The old whoremonger said, climbing back to consciousness from whiskey dreams.

"I come from a long line of bastards." Jack said. "Tell me a story, Six. This guy."

"Aw, fuck. Look Jack, all I did was make the introductions, nothing illegal or anything. Like craigslist for chrissake."

"What, who, when, and how. Don't tell me the why, I don't think I could stand it."

***

"Jesus had diabetes, Mr. Bastard." Dr. Patel told him. The office felt warm, but Jack shivered and sweated. "His occasional periods of rage, irritability, and belligerence were hypoglycemic episodes."

"That is fascinating." Jack said. "Really. But I'm more interested in why you were amputating limbs off perfectly healthy people."

"Because they asked me to, Mr. Bastard." Her eyes were wide and bright, like a fanatic, staring straight through him. "They felt incomplete. Their bodies did not match their image of themselves. They looked with envy at those who had lost limbs to diabetes, to industrial accidents, and wished to be the same - creatures beautiful for their flaws."

"And the sex angle?"

Her mouth drew into a line, skin around the knuckles whitened. "I am given to understand that Mr. Six arranged matters with those interested. I had nothing to do with that, I merely provided medical services. There are expenses to the disabled life, Mr. Bastard."

She rolled her skirt up to mid calf, and removed her lower right leg. The nylon hung off the stump like the half-shed skin of some ancient reptile.

****

Later, at the bar.

"It would be nice if it was all an insurance scam. People getting limbs lopped off to get their policies paid. There was a whole town full of them down in Florida at one point. The amputee porn could just have been a sideline."

The bar tender topped Jack up, and the detective stared into liquid that smelled like peat and gasoline, but the reflection caught the bartender's smile.

"So why did they kill him?" she asked.

"They didn't." He washed his teeth in whisky and set it back down, wishing for some ice to crunch. "Kids next door, thought he had a stash of money or drugs, spiked his insulin. They'd seen three seasons too many of CSI: Special Victims unit. Knew that corpse pricks got hard after a while - so they pooled their porn to make his little nest, let people think he'd done himself grievous self-harm while masturbating."

Jack laid his head on the bar, enjoying the feel of the cool wood mash into his cheek.

"One of them discovered he was diabetic, found Jesus, confessed to the whole thing. Probably have a book deal by Monday. Same again, please."

###

The Wrong Porn

The Wrong Porn

by

Bobby Derie

Dramatis Personae

Sam (a customer)

Queen (the shop clerk)

Jess (another customer)

Scene

[The curtain rises on a sex shop.]

[Queen is at the counter, bored. Jess is browsing the wares.]

[Enter Sam, with package.]

QUEEN.

It’ll never fit, darling. Your eyes are bigger than your bottom.

JESS.

I…it’s not for me.

QUEEN.

It never is, is it?

SAM.

Excuse me, but I was in here yesterday to pick up something from my box and…well, it’s not what I wanted.

QUEEN.

Pornography is the art of raising hopes and dashing expectations. We risk disappointment every time. What’s the problem?

SAM.

Well I had ordered…something else, and I got this instead. I don’t want this, I want what I ordered.

QUEEN.

How do you know you don’t want it? Have you tried it?

SAM.

No, I haven’t tried it! Look, there’s a girl missing a leg on the cover, a clown, and a midget!

QUEEN.

We don’t judge darling, we just sell.

JESS.

Midgets? As in, persons of smaller than average size?

SAM.

Little people, yes.

JESS.

Like dwarves?

SAM.

Exactly so. Look, I’m in the middle of something here.

JESS.

Can I take a look at that while you two are talking?

SAM.

Alright, fine. Here. Where were we?

QUEEN.

You hadn’t tried it. So you don’t know if you like it.

JESS.

This isn’t even labeled in English, it’s Russian or Elvish or something.

SAM.

I know just looking at it that I don’t like it!

QUEEN.

If you haven’t tried it then you can’t possibly know you’ll like it or not. We never quite know what we like until we try something new. I can rent you a booth in the back to try it out.

JESS.

It has donkeys in it.

SAM.

Look, I don’t want to try it. I don’t want this. I want what I ordered.

JESS.

I think its part of a series.

QUEEN.

What did you order?

[Sam mumbles under her breath.]

QUEEN.

I’m sorry darling, I didn’t catch that. Can you speak up?

[Sam leans over and whispers in Queen’s ear]

[Exit Jess.]

QUEEN.

Oh my. The one with the…?

[Queen makes a gesture toward her chest. Sam nods.]

QUEEN.

Well, we’re not really supposed to, but if you’re really not pleased with it I can do a return. Do you have the receipt?

SAM.

Yes. Thank you. Here you are.

QUEEN.

I’m sorry, but this isn’t the correct receipt.

SAM.

What? But it’s the receipt I got yesterday when I picked this up.

QUEEN.

I know, I can read the date on it, but look, the name doesn’t match.

SAM.

This is the name of what I’d actually ordered.

QUEEN.

So you did pick it up yesterday?

SAM.

No! I picked this up instead. I thought it was it. The clerk must have rung it up wrong.

QUEEN.

Well, that happens. You should really check these things before you leave. Look, I can’t refund your money without a receipt, but I can run an exchange.

SAM.

Thank you. Really. It should still be in my box.

[Sam checks the box. Enter Jess, flustered.]

JESS.

Do you have any more of this?

QUEEN.

I’ll check in the back, dear.

[Exit Queen.]

SAM.

My box is empty!

JESS.

Well, you’ve come to the right place then. Dildos are on the west wall, and there are booths in the back if the need is immediate.

SAM.

Arsefuck. This is impossible. I just want to fucking get off. It shouldn’t be this hard.

JESS.

You must be looking for something very special.

SAM.

It’s…well, it’s nothing too kinky, you know. But I like what I like, and it can be hard to find stuff. I didn’t want to order it over the internet or anything, have it delivered to the house, pay with a credit card with my name on it to one of those sites. And I got so excited waiting for it to come in…I’ve spent the last couple of weeks rubbing my legs together at the thought of it.

JESS.

Go on.

SAM.

Ew, no. Are you a pervert or something?

JESS.

Something like, yes. Although it’s not like you can really judge me now, is it? I mean, we’re both here for the same reason. It’s not even like you wandered in thinking this was a lingerie shop or something. There were no honest mistakes here. When you get right down to it, we’re after the same thing.

SAM.

No. I know what I want. I’m not…browsing and touching things just to look at them. I’ve seen you in here, before. I only come here for the one thing, and I even managed to screw that up. I think this is the longest conversation I’ve ever had at a porn store.

JESS.

I know, right? How many times have you walked in and out of here, people milling about, and nobody’s looking anyone else in the eye? Everyone giving each other the space to do their thing in private. I’ve seen a lot of people like you, who aren’t here to browse, who feel guilty if they sit and linger instead of getting their sex goods in a business-like fashion. In and out. I don’t hold with that. I think there’s pleasure to be had in every step of the experience, and like anything sensual, is worth taking your time over. And I don’t like to be judged.

SAM.

I don’t…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.

JESS.

Don’t worry about it. I think I’m going to buy this thing if the clerk ever gets back.

QUEEN.

Hello then my darlings, good news and bad news. There’s no more of that series in the back, but I found the item you were looking for earlier in the mail pile.

SAM.

Oh wonderful.

JESS.

Damn.

QUEEN.

Now, if you’ll just give me the one you got yesterday, I’ll change it out.

SAM.

Right, I gave it to…hey now, where is it?

JESS.

Oh. Yes, I must have left in the booth.

SAM.

You dirty…you didn’t. You were only gone a minute!

QUEEN.

Oh dear. Did you take it out of the packaging?

JESS.

Yes?

QUEEN.

We might have a problem then. I cannot accept a return if the product has already been opened. It’s the owner’s property.

SAM.

Oh come on! He’s the one that did it!

JESS.

Look, I feel bad about this. Let me pay you for it, and then you can buy your thing.

SAM.

Alright.

JESS.

Except I don’t have any cash on me, just my card. [To Queen] So can I pay you for it, and you give her the refund for it?

QUEEN.

I suppose. I’ll need to scan the first item again though.

SAM.

I’ll get it.

[Exit SAM.]

[Jeff hands card to Queen.]

[Enter Sam, hands package to Queen.]

[Queen counts out money on the counter, hands packages to both Jess and Sam.]

QUEEN.

There you are darlings. I hope to see you both again.

[Exeunt Jess and Sam.]

QUEEN.

Two more satisfied customers

[Enter Jess.]

JESS.

Er, I don’t quite know how to say this but…you’ve given me the wrong porn.

[CURTAIN.]

###