His head were about the size and shape of a watermelon, big an’ bald, with big lopsided ears like squashed potato buns. They called him The Bighead, on account of the congenital hydrocephaly, not that The Bighead hisself would ever know what fuckin’ congenital hydrocephaly was, nor, a’corse, would he know what a cervix ’er posterior wall was. Girls ’round these parts, purdy as they was an’ few of ’em as he’d seed, they was just never big enough. His bone had split her pussy right open weren’t no fun humpin’ redneck pussy when yer rod were going in an’ out of a busted cervix an’ posterior wall. The Bighead licked his chops and tasted the dandy things: blood and fat, pussystink, the salt-slime of his own semen that he’d just slurped out’a the dead girl’s bellybutton. She sighed, wiping sweat and tears off her face.īut all she could think about, all she could remember, was the beginning. Heat lightning flashed silently, from miles off. She dug as deep as her weary muscles would allow, then buried the dead child. Nightsounds abounded the moonlight teemed through glowering trees. A small wooden packing crate sufficed for a coffin. The men, in total silence, made way for her. She stood up, shaking, then picked up the dead baby, careful to not let the spillage fall to the floor. “We know it weren’t easy, but it hadda be done,” he said. But then those same eyes strayed past her, to the table. Now more men peered into the room, long-faced, eyes chiseled in determination yet somehow feeling for her. A broth of chicken stock simmered on the stove.īut now the man’s eyes thinned in query. They’ll be back soon, she realized, gazing affrighted at the mantle clock. Of course, they’d want to see the baby’s body-they’d insist.
She set the swaddled bundle on the heavy table. “It hadda be done, ya know that, don’t’cha?” The man’s eyes looked blank in their hardness. There could be no comfort here, no consolation. They’d heard her sobs, of course-but at least they’d stayed out of the room while she’d done it. She stove the baby’s head in with a cast-iron skillet. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to and purchase your own copy. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This digital edition October 2010 © Necro Publications
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