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Chapter 1

Rated M
by Bookofshadows
Tags   supernatural   horror   | Report Content

A A A A

 

 
Fuck. This is complete bullshit, this right here ... fucking frizzed-out hair ...
 
Stacy scowled at herself in the mirror, willing her hair to just be compliant for once and lie the fuck down, already. She was late for her meeting as it was - another late night of coke-fueled mayhem had led to yet another late morning of missing her classes. Stacy was positive that she was going to flunk out of school this semester. At age twenty-three, it would be the third time that she had flunked out of her freshmen year. There had been too many parties, too many Jager-bombs, and way too many sexual partners. Her lifestyle simply did not nurture an atmosphere of scholastic achievement, not one bit.
 
Stacy knew this all to be true, and did not give even one flaccid fuck about it. Last weekend, she'd told her Mom and Dad the truth of her grades and future employment intentions, had told them calmly across the big oak table during family dinner. Her aunts and uncles had gaped incredulously, and her parents had raged at her, threatened to cut off her allowance and "cast you out into the goddamned real world!" Whatever. College was not for her. Getting up in the morning was not Stacy's strong suit. Looking good in stiletto heels and a mini-dress was more her forte. Anyway, her reputation on campus was beginning to proceed her; at every club or frat house Stacy went to, she would be plied heavily with drugs and booze, with the intent of getting the curvy young siren rip-roaring, bare-ass inebriated. It never failed to work.
 
Always the life of the party, she thought, and despite feeling ill, she smirked. No, college was not for her: after flunking out this time, Stacy fully intended to make her way in the porn industry.
 
Finally admitting defeat, the lithe young woman tied her dark mane back with a glittery hair band and called it good enough. She fled the disastrous clutter of her bedroom and hurried into the disastrous clutter of the living room. Kathy was lying on the couch in her baby-doll shorts and a man's undershirt, looking like someone had cruelly run her down with an eighteen-wheeler, one that was loaded to the tits with Pabst, cocaine and semen.
 
"Fuck me, Stace, I feel just absolutely fucking awful," her roomie croaked, and curled up into a tight ball. "What the fuck did we get up to last night? I'm so sick ..." Kathy was cut of the same cloth as Stacy. They were a duo to be reckoned with when they were out on a tear. The long-legged blonde was an ex-sorostitute who had been kicked out of her sorority for her increasingly outrageous shenanigans. This was quite a feat, considering that Kappa Delta was widely considered to be the most amoral sisterhood on campus.
 
"Yeah, me too. Like I'm getting the flu. What did we get up to? Hmmm," She considered for a moment. "Um, we went downtown and wound up at Galaxy, but it was dead, so we headed over to Nite Dust. We picked up some guys there, they got some coke, then I'm not too sure what happened. Think we might have done something crazy in an alley somewhere. I recall an alley, and being naked. We ran for a while, but I can't remember what the hell for, exactly. I think the guys might have been getting weird on us. Look, at least one of the fellows was getting waaaay over-zealous with the biting, aha." She undid a few buttons on her blouse and pulled one conical tit out of the zebra-print bra she was wearing. There was an angry set of red tooth-punctures on the upper slope of the smooth, spray-tanned flesh. "Now I can't show cleavage for a while. Fucking animal."
 
Kathy winced. "Ow! The skin around it looks all red and infected. Does it hurt?"
 
Stacy pushed her breast back into the push-up bra and nodded. "Like hell. It's really tender. I'm probably lucky that he didn't get a hold of my nipple. Hey, so what is this guy's name again? Why am I meeting with him?"
 
"His name is Pagan Black. No, really, that's what this D-bag calls himself. He's an ugly, short, and fairly-rich guy that is hopefully going to give us both lucrative jobs as shooter girls in his club. I met him through Andrew - you know, the door man at Galaxy, the big Nubian power-cock that usually lets us in for free? He's Andrew's cousin through marriage or something like that. Can't remember which club right now, I'm too massively hungover for that. We were supposed to go to this together, but, once again, I'm too fucking hung the fuck over. Do you think those guys Gee'd us last night? I feel like they did."
 
"Wouldn't be the first time. Why, exactly, is the interview in a hotel room?"
 
"Cuz he's a scumbag. Probably wanted a double-team blow job. I probably would have gone for it, too - the place, apparently, is a very high-end club. Celebrities sometimes stop in, that sort of place. I really want to go to this, Stacy, except ... gah, so sick. Y'know?"
 
"God, I couldn't possibly do that right now, blow a dude," Stacy shuddered. The very thought of some greasy club-owner's coke-hardened dick nudging her tonsils made her want to projectile-vomit. She was sick, all right. Fucking skeaze-bag Guidos and their little vials of GHB ...
 
"Aw, just let him stick it in you, hun. Seriously, don't be a whiner. He'll probably be really small and he'll blow his load in, like, twenty-three seconds. You'll hardly even notice." Kathy rolled over to face the back of the couch, her eyes squeezed shut tightly. "World is spinning. Stop it from spinning, Stace, pleeeeeease..."
 
"Yeah, I can sympathize, my dear. I feel pretty sick. Head hurts. Stomach is churning. I'm all shaky, and my goddamned tit hurts like blue fire. I smoked a joint and had a quick snort just now, and it helped-"
 
"Hey, fuck you, whore! Share with your better half, you selfish bitch!"
 
"It's in my room, the big dresser, top drawer. And we haven't actually fucked in ages." She patted Kathy's matted hair and said, "Gotta go. I'm late for OUR job interview. Bitch."
 
"You'll thank me later, when we're drinking all night and getting paid for it!" Kathy called out after her, but the door slammed shut before she could finish. The bang hurt her head terribly. She groaned again, and threw up on the floor a little bit.
 
--------------------
 
Pagan eyed up his interviewee with naked lust. She seemed to take it all in stride. Good girl.
 
Her name was Stacy, and she had been over twenty minutes late. Traffic was backed up everywhere, she explained; lots of sirens and shit. Ever-congenial in the presence of fine white pussy, Pagan dismissively waved away her wooden apologies and patted the bedspread beside him.
 
"Have a seat, gorgeous," he purred. She sat beside him without apprehension. Mmmm, confident, he thought. We'll have to break that confidence down, won't we, little girl?
 
"Soooo," he said, drawing the word out lasciviously, "have you ever had any experience waitressing before? A server or anything? Deviance is a busy place, girl. You gotta hustle out there on the floor, I'm telling ya. Hustle is the word up in my club."
 
"No," the hot little bitch replied, "but I'm pretty sure that I could do it. Kathy, too. I-"
 
"Oh yeah," he interrupted, in an effort to purposefully show disdain for her. "Yeah, the other one. Why didn't she show up?"
 
"We're both feeling pretty under the weather today. Late night out on the town. Think we might both have a cold."
 
Pagan clucked with false sympathy. Yeah, the girl was hot, real bangin' bod on it, but her face was very pale and her eyes had smudges of purple shadows beneath them. She looked like she was in a considerable degree of physical distress. Better not be contagious.
 
"You gonna live?" he asked, and gently squeezed her thigh. Stacy tensed against this for a moment, then relaxed, resigned to this indignity. Like she had said to Kathy earlier, it wasn't the first time. He slid his hand higher, up under her short skirt, and rubbed the delicate crotch of her thong. She endured it, looking miserable. The combination of her silky skin and the girl's discomfort made his cock twinge in his pants.
 
"Okay, baby, this is how it goes: you can have the job if you let me fuck you. Okay? No guarantees about keeping the job, see, but I'll let you try it out. I think you'll do just fine out on the floor. Guys'll buy shots and shooters off you, damn right they will. You hustle out there and you'll make some fantastic fucking money. It's the only thing I'll promise you here. You'll make fucking bank at my club, baby."
 
"You don't waste any time, huh?" Her teeth were gritted. Nope, definitely don't want this ... ugh.
 
He snorted. "You listening to what I'm saying? Gimme a roll in this bed we're sitting on, and you're the last interviewee of the day. For real. Also, I toss in an eight-ball of rocked-up coke and, uh, how's three hundred bucks? You're worth it, baby-girl, just look at you sittin' there, being all worth it and shit. Mmm-mm!"
 
"Oh?" she asked, trying to keep her voice pleasant. Fuck ME, that's ... well, I can do this now ... at least I think so. "I guess that's a fair exchange ... um, it's 'Pagan', right?"
 
"Pagan Black, at your service," he agreed. The club owner was around forty and was very dark-skinned, his straightened hair worn long and greased straight back into a ponytail with some product that smelled like cloying oranges. It made her want to gag. He was overweight and dressed in a strangely Rap-Gothic fashion; he wore a large black sail of a button-up shirt that was laden with gold chains, and his fat legs were squished into somber leather pants. NOT her type of guy, not at all. Oh shit, this is going to be quite a chore, she thought, and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt his hand leave its nest between her legs and slide up her stomach. He gripped her breast hard, her bitten breast, and the girl jerked away from him with a hiss of pain.
 
"Hey!" Pagan barked at her, "what's up with that? You want a fucking job or not?"
 
"That hurt, you asshole!" she shrieked back. He grinned, exposing a mouthful of gold teeth.
 
"Awwww, your titties are sore, baby-girl? Someone was being too rough on 'em last night, huh?"
 
"Yes, and now YOU'RE being too rough," Stacy barked at him. "Take it easy, will you?"
 
"How about you do as I tell you to, bitch, or you can get the fuck out and start a new career in giving ten-buck BJ's on the corner." Pagan abruptly stood and started pacing along the side of the queen-sized bed, his wide brow furrowed into rolls of unattractiveness. "I've got a hundred bitches lined up, ready to do exactly this, in order to work at my club. Okay? I'd do what I want and they'd be down with it. So no, I won't take it easy, because that's not how I like it. Deal with that shit or get going." As the man voiced his tirade, Stacy noted that he wasn't much taller than he was wide, and she cringed. Ohhhh God, sooooo GROSS.
 
"I'm starting to think this isn't worth it. Not at all, in fact." She rose from the bed in a huff and immediately sat back down, woozy and nauseated.
 
"You kind of look like shit, you know that?" Pagan informed her. He shook his head sadly. "Naw, maybe you aren't Deviance material after all ... our girls are the best looking, they give the best service, and they clear a grand a week, easy. Too much money for a sickly-lookin' chicken-head like you, for real."
 
A grand a week?! Fuck. The nausea was deepening, and her tongue felt slick with sour spit. A thousand bucks a week? Ah, Jesus ... fuck you, Kathy. You should be here, too, goddamn it. You fucking OWE me, bitch, oh you have no idea ...
 
Eyes clenched shut, Stacy muttered, "Okay. Ugh, um ... just let me go to the bathroom and, uh, wash up a bit, 'kay?"
 
Pagan's thunderous frown magically transformed into the sunniest of smiles. Confidence officially broken, he cackled inwardly. The repulsive man pointed a fat, heavily-ringed forefinger at the bathroom door. "Right there, sweets. Come out naked."
 
Refusing to look at him, Stacy stagger-walked over to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She looked at herself in the cheap sliding mirror and asked herself if she could go through with this. The answer was, unfortunately, yes. She could do it - and then look at herself in the mirror again later while she did her make-up to go out and not feel a thing, not one single twinge.
 
But oh sweet baby God, how her fucking tit was killing! Gingerly, she opened her blouse and had a look.
 
--------------------
 
Too tired and woozy to do anything about the small spatter of vomit that rested on the thick rug beside her nest on the couch (fuck it, it was just a little bit, I'll deal with that shit later), Kathy snapped on the TV, tucked her hand between her thighs, and idly masturbated through her tight, satiny shorts until she dozed for a while - her cure for booze-related sleeplessness since she was twelve. She had put on a news network, reasoning that the anchors were dull and soothing, and who gave a fuck about the news anyway? No problems with getting too engrossed by it ...
 
Her slumber was disturbed, however, with the hooting, ululating blare of sirens. The reporters' voices were terse and edged with some raw emotion - panic? Fear? It grated on the girl's subconscious, and she pulled a pillow over her head to block it all out.
 
Some time later, the sirens started outside her apartment building, and Kathy woke up to a brand new problem.
 
 
 
Stacy looked down at her breast, and she stifled a scream.
 
Within the past hour, the marked redness around the bite had spread across her entire breast and beyond. The skin was mottled purple and black around the punctures, which were secreting some milky fluid that stank like rotting meat. Her nipple was entirely black, and was also oozing fetid drops of the horrid pus. As she watched, a drip of the noxious stuff rolled off her discolored nipple and dropped to the cream-colored tile, blip.
 
Stacy's mind immediately began to scream OhmygodohmygodohmyGODwhattheFUCK in an endless loop of panic, blaring at top volume in her brain. Without warning, the nausea cranked her stomach over in a noisy roll, and she doubled over to spray vomit into the gleaming white sink. The high-pressure glut of blood-streaked puke rebounded off of the curved porcelain and splashed outward in a fan, coating the mirror above and mottling the walls and ceiling with gaudy splashes of the stuff.
 
"Oh God," the girl gasped, then hurled another thick wave of vomit at the sink. This time, it was mostly comprised of bile and an alarming quantity of bright red blood. The sink filled. Overflowed. Blood and digestive effluent drooled over the sides of the basin and began to patter down onto the floor. Stacy was burning up. Her sweat was sludgy and thick. It smelled like burnt wires and necrosis. She felt like she was quite literally on fucking FIRE. The weeping girl tore her blouse and skirt off, mewling and leaking oily tears. As she kicked free of her panties, Stacy lost her balance on the slick floor and fell backwards into the tub, landing with a hollow thock against the wall in an untidy tangle of naked limbs. Her nose let forth a gush of blood. It ran in twin streams from her ears. She trembled and jerked spastically in the tub, keening involuntarily. Her bowels let go with an awful spray of black and red-tinged brown, and the poor girl rolled and flailed around in the mess.
 
The door shook under Pagan's pounding fist. "Hey! What the fuck is going on in there?" he bellowed, and rattled the locked door knob vainly. "Open the fuck up! Are you fucking dieing in there?"
 
Yes, Stacy thought, remotely, I'm doing just that. She tried to call out to the greasy bastard, but could only wheeze inaudibly. Her vision was fading quickly.
 
"...call... ambulance..." Her voice slipped out in a choking, wet plea that was lost in the pounding and rattling of the bathroom door. She vomited again, leaning forward and spewing a dark, stinking splash of blood clots and bile between her legs. Hitching in a lungful of air like razor blades, she screamed, "I need help!!! Help meeeeeeAHHHHHH"; then her vocal cords tore, and the scream immediately rasped into a harsh, hushed caw.
 
BANGBANG-BANG, three thunderous blows slammed in quick succession against the cheap hotel door, and suddenly Pagan was stumbling into the the tiny room in a flying cloud of pressed-wood slivers. There she was, writhing like a suffocating fish in the tub, choking on blood and vomit, her naked body covered in vile excretions ... Pagan gaped down at her in equal parts of shock, disgust and - yes, God help him, it was true - deep, trembling lust. He had never witnessed, in real life, a woman so helpless and defiled. The club owner felt his hairy, sub-par little cock surge hard against the tight crotch of his black leather trousers. So ... fucking ... DEFILED ...
 
"NNNNnnnnggglllurrrrgh," Stacy gargled up at him, and Pagan felt his lips rise up in a manic grin.
 
"What the fuck happened, baby? You having a stroke or some shit? What's the problem?"
 
The girl tried to pull herself up with the lip of the tub, but her slimy fingers lost their purchase on the rounded porcelain and she slipped back onto her tight, round ass, plop. The sound made Pagan throw his head back and laugh out loud, deep and hearty. Oh, man, this is ... is ... amazing!
 
Stacy gaped up at him and her mouth convulsed into a hollow oval, her lips twitching in the reflex of brain-death. She looked even more like a fish, now - a shit-and-blood-covered, hot-bodied fucking fish. Pagan abruptly doubled over and shook with crazed laughter. This was too crazy, it was too fucking WILD, man, oh shit ...
 
When he straightened back up and looked at her next, Stacy was dead.
 
It was like a slap in the face with a hand made of icy-cold water. She was still staring up at him, but now her eyes were flat and glazed, and she was sliding bonelessly down into the disgusting gloop that was leaking, slowly, down the drain by her feet. As the body slid down the side of the deep tub to the bottom, her hair dragged out in a fan behind her, stuck to the white enamel by the noxious, stinking liquids that used to be inside her guts. Pagan watched the fan drag down the side of the tub, mesmerized by the undulating movement of the long, slick wave of a dead girl's hair-
 
HEY!!! There's a dead, bloody, shitty, naked fuckin' white bitch in the hotel room that YOU rented, fool, what the fuck you gonna do?
 
Acting purely on self-preserving reflex, Pagan jerked forward to crank both taps on full, then clicked the lever mechanism over to SHOWER. The full-blast spray hit the girl's lax body and washed the filth from her flesh in multicolored streams. While the body was getting a good spray-down, he grabbed her discarded clothes off the floor and stuffed them into the wastebasket - then pulled the bag out and knotted it tightly. Pagan stumped out into the room and grabbed his cell off of the nightstand. He dialed. When a husky male voice answered on the other end, he said without preamble, "Listen to me, dawg, and listen good. I need you to come out to a hotel and meet me, right away. It's at the corner of Smith Ave and Dennings Street, just north of the highway exit - it's called James' Rest. Room twelve. You got that? You gotta come right away, man, and you-"
 
The voice said something that made Pagan ladder his forehead into that ugly, dangerous scowl.
 
"Is the hotel nice? Weeping Jesus on a leash, man! Are you listening to me, or am I just motherfucking talkin' away to no one, here? You get over here fucking ASAP, dawg, got me? Bring some cleaning shit; bleach, buckets, rags and shit. Bring a small canvas tarp, heavy-duty trash bags ... and a couple big-ass meat cleavers. Do this right away, homie, like, NOW. You got it?"
 
Pagan hung up, still frowning like a storm front. "Is it nice?" Goddammit, man ... He dialed another number and told his secretary to cancel the rest of the days' interviews. "Tell all those sweethearts that I'll reschedule as soon as possible, okay, baby?" he instructed the girl, and hung up on her, as well. Steam was drifting from the bathroom. Time to turn her over, wash the rest of that gross shit off ... and, of course, play around a little. Just a little, hey... nothing big about that. Fuck it, right?
 
Pagan waddled back into the humid bathroom, sweating profusely - and stopped dead in his tracks. The girl was sitting up.
 
Stacy's eyes were drooping and slack and full of water, but they were most definitely focused on him now. Her skin was rapidly turning a cool, greyish-blue color. She was snarling like dog and was attempting to stand on the slick surface of the tub. She kept rising half-way up, only to plop back down after losing her footing, over and over and over; Pagan watched her do this, not believing or understanding what his eyes were witnessing.
 
"Naw, bitch, no fucking way ... you're dead, okay? You're dead as dog shit. Stop ... stop fuckin' doing that," he whispered. Stacy's ruptured larynx made a soft, growling haaahhh sound; her teeth clacked and chittered as she snapped her jaws at him. She heaved convulsively,and managed to slither over the rim of the tub and somersault onto the floor, landing heavily onto her naked backside, whap. Her breasts bounced comically with the impact.
 
"Stop doing that," he said again, and this time hysteria tinged the edges of the man's voice, making him sound shrill. The girl sat up, bared her teeth, and lunged for his legs. Pagan's mind was frozen, but his reflexes caused him to thrust forward one blubbery, column-shaped leg. The sole his Doc Martin-clad foot smashed into her face. Her nose broke with a muffled crack and Stacy flopped bonelessly onto the tiled floor ... then sat right back up again, her bony hands bent into reaching claws. The girl's nose (which by all rights should have been spouting blood like a fucking garden hose) was barely even leaking, just a slight, sluggish trickle of dark liquid.
 
Pagan back-pedaled clumsily, and Stacy crawled forward on her hands and knees in pursuit, her mottled-blue heart-shaped ass pumping like twin pistons in the air as she skittered across the floor after him. The girl's pointy tits swung wildly beneath her. Her face was twisted into a predator's killing bite.
 
She chased him out into the room. Still back-pedaling, Pagan hit the bed with the backs of his bulbous thighs and he fell like a turtle onto the bed. Zombie! his mind was screaming, Zombie! Zombie!
 
Surely this wasn't really happening? Surely, he was actually splayed out on the generous bunk that lay below-deck on his yacht, high as tits on heroin - and this was just all a crazy nod-dream. Surely.
 
But it wasn't. Stacy's bony blue fingers popped up into view and clutched hold of the bedspread. Her wet, tangled hair slowly rose into view ... then the mottled skin of her forehead ... two dead, red-rimmed eyes ... a nose in which the cartilage was visibly cracked in two pieces, yet it was not swelling or bleeding ... full lips, grey and skinned back over bone-white teeth -
 
A shriek tore itself out of his throat -"Oh fuck! Fucking ZOMBIE!!!" - and he rolled away, fell off the other side of the bed, then sprung up while gripping the edge of the pillowy bed-spread in both hands. Stacy had crawled most of the way onto the bed by now, and Pagan dove forward, holding the bedspread in front of his body like a protective net. He swept it over her head as he slammed into her, and tackled the now-ensnared thing off the bed and onto the floor, landing on her and pinning her. She struggled like a wildcat beneath the bedspread, and Pagan grimly held her captive. He waited for her to tire: of course, she did not, so he was forced to struggle and wrap her up like a burrito in his make-shift, quilted restraint. By the time he was finished with this task, the fat man was sweating heavily, his grease-laden heart was palpitating wildly ... and his cock was bigger and harder than the disgusting little protrusion had ever been, ever in his life. This made ordinary domination-play seem as vanilla as daytime-TV ... right at this moment, he had full license to bind and control her against her will. Who would ever challenge him on it? No one would ever know, and even if they did, who could blame him for restraining this wild thing? Its bite was probably deadly - even more, it would undoubtedly tear him apart and eat him alive, if the thing got the chance to do so. Not binding the girl was clearly not an option.
 
In a strange, roundabout way, he was doing the right thing.
 
Pagan adjusted his bulk so that he was sitting on top of the struggling, swaddled girl's chest. He stuck his short, rotund legs out and began to pull off the long laces out his boots. He was definitely going to be needing them.
 
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Fantasy  on says:
Too bad that I had to read from my sisters account, you know, the m rating.
Was it just me or were some of the scenes a little awkward?

Fantasy  on says:
The way you write really hooks the reader in.... Well, from my opinion. I can't say anything for everyone else lol
Oh yeah, I just laughed because decay rhymes with grey, I guess that's why I had decided to read the story....

exo-exorcism  on says about chapter 3:
my goodness this is incredible. Your writing is awesome!! Ive never read a zombie story as disgustingly detailed as this, its great!

applecyanide  on says:
Amazing writing, yo. At first, I thought this was a supernatural (the show) fanfic, but then it wasn't. Oh, well. Can't say I was disappointed though. Great story :)

arosebushqueen  on says about chapter 2:
So this was kind of disturbing....but it was so wonderfully written!

exo-exorcism  on says about chapter 2:
HOLY JESUS _____ THAT WAS AMAZING and disgusting BUT AWESOME! You're writing is fantastic!!!!!!' I do love me some zombie stories but damn that was some next level dead man walking business right there

pococo  on says about chapter 1:
This is...sending me shivers down my spine OTL
But it's good :D

DragonBreath  on says about chapter 1:
You have a really good writing style! ^^
Love the story... so far!! :D

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