Ichor
folder
1 through F › Crow, The
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
934
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
1 through F › Crow, The
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
934
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Crow, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Dirty Old Man
The lock on the door was the only thing not broken or falling apart. The dust and grime had killed any chance of this being called a nice place long ago. It was like the twisted mind of the man who lived there had long since infected the place and gone malignant.
Rain hit grimy windows that streetlight warred through to let fall the palest of glow on ruined furniture and lying debris. A gaunt man with a potbelly sat in diseased underwear, a piss yellow in the front leading to a shit brown in the back.
The panties in his hands were much cleaner.
They stood out brightly against the muck and puss of the room. It and others like it, kept in a box under his bed gleamed. They were kept there for easy access during the night. He never let any of his guk fall on them, oh no, no, that wouldn’t do at all. These were his lovelies. The only things in all the world he cared about, right-o! They brought him such joy and such nice hard ons too! If the old nut pipe wasn’t stirring right now then he didn’t know his slapstick from his bunghole.
He had been collecting them for so long now. This was the newest one though, plucked off that little girl down by the river…
A loud staccato tap hit the grimed window, making the old man’s heart shudder painfully in his wizened chest. A knarley arthritic hand groped at the spot, trying to push the pain back into its hiding place. It shot down his left arm and throbbed away to nothing after a second.
The filthy old man could see a giant black shape outlined in the orange streetlight against his window. The loud tapping came again, followed by another jolt in his chest. He got up and warily made his way over to the window and the fluttering shadow.
Some kind of fucking bird? Thing nearly ruptured him. Show him!
The old man bent for a chair leg broken off long ago. He watched the bird’s shadow through the grime, thinking it must be a big fucker. Shadow was at least a foot. He crept to the window where the shadow still danced at his window and yanked it up with a squeal of wood on swollen wood.
He was bringing down the hunk of wood with a black-toothed smile before he noticed nothing was there.
The shock of the wood hitting the sill ran up his left arm and gave his heart another painful jolt. He was just looking around for the blasted bird when he heard a child’s voice.
“Darkness there, and nothing more.”
This time it wasn’t just a jolt of pain; it was like someone was carving out his heart for dinner, the pain was so bad. It raced down his arm as his legs gave way and he collapsed. The voice continued talking as he lay, gasping his last.
“My daddy read that too me. It used to scare me a lot.”
As the old man’s eyes rolled up he saw the ghost pulling on the panties he had just held. The ghost walked over to him and looked down on him.
“You’re a bad old man and I want you to die now.”
So he did.
Rain hit grimy windows that streetlight warred through to let fall the palest of glow on ruined furniture and lying debris. A gaunt man with a potbelly sat in diseased underwear, a piss yellow in the front leading to a shit brown in the back.
The panties in his hands were much cleaner.
They stood out brightly against the muck and puss of the room. It and others like it, kept in a box under his bed gleamed. They were kept there for easy access during the night. He never let any of his guk fall on them, oh no, no, that wouldn’t do at all. These were his lovelies. The only things in all the world he cared about, right-o! They brought him such joy and such nice hard ons too! If the old nut pipe wasn’t stirring right now then he didn’t know his slapstick from his bunghole.
He had been collecting them for so long now. This was the newest one though, plucked off that little girl down by the river…
A loud staccato tap hit the grimed window, making the old man’s heart shudder painfully in his wizened chest. A knarley arthritic hand groped at the spot, trying to push the pain back into its hiding place. It shot down his left arm and throbbed away to nothing after a second.
The filthy old man could see a giant black shape outlined in the orange streetlight against his window. The loud tapping came again, followed by another jolt in his chest. He got up and warily made his way over to the window and the fluttering shadow.
Some kind of fucking bird? Thing nearly ruptured him. Show him!
The old man bent for a chair leg broken off long ago. He watched the bird’s shadow through the grime, thinking it must be a big fucker. Shadow was at least a foot. He crept to the window where the shadow still danced at his window and yanked it up with a squeal of wood on swollen wood.
He was bringing down the hunk of wood with a black-toothed smile before he noticed nothing was there.
The shock of the wood hitting the sill ran up his left arm and gave his heart another painful jolt. He was just looking around for the blasted bird when he heard a child’s voice.
“Darkness there, and nothing more.”
This time it wasn’t just a jolt of pain; it was like someone was carving out his heart for dinner, the pain was so bad. It raced down his arm as his legs gave way and he collapsed. The voice continued talking as he lay, gasping his last.
“My daddy read that too me. It used to scare me a lot.”
As the old man’s eyes rolled up he saw the ghost pulling on the panties he had just held. The ghost walked over to him and looked down on him.
“You’re a bad old man and I want you to die now.”
So he did.