D.O.A. Extreme Horror Anthology Read Online Free
Author: David C. Jack; Hayes Burton
and the creature is not going anywhere. Not while I’m here.
The basement’s single florescent light flickers and hums above me as I assay my tools. Surgical steel blades, hooks, and separators laid out in glistening rows on the table. Each one sterilized in holy water, they are the perfect implements to open the demon’s chest and remove its withered heart. I’ve been in this fight for years. I know the game. They feign pain from the bindings, but only holy objects can hurt them.
Demons lie.
I look at the creature for the first time in hours. Demons are full of illusions, and this one has conjured up an extraordinary replica of a teenage girl.
She lies naked on the icy table before me. Auburn hair cascades down over lily white, smooth shoulders and pulls my eyes down toward perfect breasts. Despite my better judgment, I feel my vision drawn past a tight stomach and diamond stud belly button ring to the fine patch of pubic hair between pale thighs. The illusion is beautiful. I want to see more, feel more of her warmth. I wish to be inside her beauty, and I feel my groin respond almost on its own.
Willing myself to turn away from the creature’s lies, I shake my head and pull myself back to reality. I can smell the demon’s overpowering sweat in this tiny room. Its filth is so strong that it’s practically tangible. I run my hand along the tools, and the pristine feel of surgical metal under my fingertips reminds me of my task.
It wants me to think it’s a girl, a woman ripe and ready for me, but I know the truth. I see the signs. The mole under her left nostril. The way she looks at me. The way she writes and drinks her mocha lattes with her left hand. I have smelled her from across the hallway of our apartment building, moisture, warmth, and raw sex trailing behind her in a hot cloud. She tried to draw me in with a smile and a seductive walk, but promiscuity is a sin. I know the truth.
It deceives. It lies.
The demon is fully awake now. It thrashes about on the table in wild, spasmodic movements, threatening to upset my table of sterile tools. Spitting and growling, the creature is biting the gag like a rabid dog. I would have expected no less from such a foul fiend.
When I pick up the number fifteen scalpel, its eyes grow wide. For the first time, I see irises of deep brown and dilated black pupils. It sees me and knows me. I can read its gurgling pleas. It is trying to call my name.
Demons lie. Demons placate. Demons reach out toward the weakness of men.
A wise man once said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, so I take those first. My scalpel skates across the eyeball for a second before plunging into the meat. It takes nothing more than a tug, a moist popping sound, and a toss to remove the demon’s eye. It screams behind the gag and sends a stream of bloody spittle flying across the table.
When I cut out the second eye, it arches its back and pulls so hard against the restraints that, for a moment, I think it’s going to break free. In the throes of agony, the beast manages to work free of the gag.
“Noooo!” It screams. “Please stop. Why are you doing this? Please, Mr. Br—”
I quickly block out its demonic voice before it can call my name and try to replace the gag. Yes, demons lie, but I see through the glamour and illusions. I haven’t been wrong yet. As it stands, I see right down to the soulless heart of the beast, and I’ve got to rip it out before the demon spreads more of its deceit.
It’s a challenge, but I finally get the gag back into its mouth and make sure to tighten it properly this time. Another large dose of the horse tranquilizer calms down the beast. One of the downsides of taking human form I suppose.
I pick up the bone saw and feel its satisfying weight in my hand. Filling the room with an insectile buzz, it whirs and vibrates to life as I finger the switch. The demon is passing out now, but it will wake when I start to cut. They always
The basement’s single florescent light flickers and hums above me as I assay my tools. Surgical steel blades, hooks, and separators laid out in glistening rows on the table. Each one sterilized in holy water, they are the perfect implements to open the demon’s chest and remove its withered heart. I’ve been in this fight for years. I know the game. They feign pain from the bindings, but only holy objects can hurt them.
Demons lie.
I look at the creature for the first time in hours. Demons are full of illusions, and this one has conjured up an extraordinary replica of a teenage girl.
She lies naked on the icy table before me. Auburn hair cascades down over lily white, smooth shoulders and pulls my eyes down toward perfect breasts. Despite my better judgment, I feel my vision drawn past a tight stomach and diamond stud belly button ring to the fine patch of pubic hair between pale thighs. The illusion is beautiful. I want to see more, feel more of her warmth. I wish to be inside her beauty, and I feel my groin respond almost on its own.
Willing myself to turn away from the creature’s lies, I shake my head and pull myself back to reality. I can smell the demon’s overpowering sweat in this tiny room. Its filth is so strong that it’s practically tangible. I run my hand along the tools, and the pristine feel of surgical metal under my fingertips reminds me of my task.
It wants me to think it’s a girl, a woman ripe and ready for me, but I know the truth. I see the signs. The mole under her left nostril. The way she looks at me. The way she writes and drinks her mocha lattes with her left hand. I have smelled her from across the hallway of our apartment building, moisture, warmth, and raw sex trailing behind her in a hot cloud. She tried to draw me in with a smile and a seductive walk, but promiscuity is a sin. I know the truth.
It deceives. It lies.
The demon is fully awake now. It thrashes about on the table in wild, spasmodic movements, threatening to upset my table of sterile tools. Spitting and growling, the creature is biting the gag like a rabid dog. I would have expected no less from such a foul fiend.
When I pick up the number fifteen scalpel, its eyes grow wide. For the first time, I see irises of deep brown and dilated black pupils. It sees me and knows me. I can read its gurgling pleas. It is trying to call my name.
Demons lie. Demons placate. Demons reach out toward the weakness of men.
A wise man once said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, so I take those first. My scalpel skates across the eyeball for a second before plunging into the meat. It takes nothing more than a tug, a moist popping sound, and a toss to remove the demon’s eye. It screams behind the gag and sends a stream of bloody spittle flying across the table.
When I cut out the second eye, it arches its back and pulls so hard against the restraints that, for a moment, I think it’s going to break free. In the throes of agony, the beast manages to work free of the gag.
“Noooo!” It screams. “Please stop. Why are you doing this? Please, Mr. Br—”
I quickly block out its demonic voice before it can call my name and try to replace the gag. Yes, demons lie, but I see through the glamour and illusions. I haven’t been wrong yet. As it stands, I see right down to the soulless heart of the beast, and I’ve got to rip it out before the demon spreads more of its deceit.
It’s a challenge, but I finally get the gag back into its mouth and make sure to tighten it properly this time. Another large dose of the horse tranquilizer calms down the beast. One of the downsides of taking human form I suppose.
I pick up the bone saw and feel its satisfying weight in my hand. Filling the room with an insectile buzz, it whirs and vibrates to life as I finger the switch. The demon is passing out now, but it will wake when I start to cut. They always