Stalky's Nightmare 7: To a Pulp


Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?

Story is marked as mature.

The boss connected with the body and swung upward again, a ripple of spray shooting out across the house like petals of a daisy, striking the audience in the face and arms, landing, sticking, and then slowly sulking down like drops from a dropped jar of honey. The woman mindlessly licked up the residue, eyes fastened on the scene onstage. Better value for her ticket dollar than expected, tonight.

Whack came the second blow, caving her back in and dragging her hips and legs a few inches across the apron, where it landed with a soft squelch. "How dare you say this is heavy, Stalky? Heavy, my Aunt Fanny!" He struck yet again, but there was little body left to beat, and the mask's nose savaged the pine floor and the entire head crumpled, little holding the papier-mache and clay together but the baling wire structure within.

Robenstein was panting, leaning forward, hands against his knees, the collapsed head sagging on the floor like a rotten papaya, a bit at a time. "I'll show you how heavy it is, you bitch!"

Comments (1 so far!)



Now that I read this again, the violent man's last name is not one I'd choose now. I had no intention of having him smack of antisemitism, for what it's worth. But it feels too late for me to make changes now.

  • #3297 Posted 5 years ago
  • 0

Inspired by (sequel to):

She sounded flutelike and echoey due to the hollow head that covered her damaged, slightly mushy one…

Stalky's Nightmare 6: Splattered

This story's tags are

  • Published 7 years ago.
  • Story viewed 0 times and rated 0 times.

All stories on Ficlatté are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License. What does this mean?