Blood and Sex
folder
G through L › House of 1000 Corpses
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
16
Views:
4,058
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › House of 1000 Corpses
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
16
Views:
4,058
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own House of 1000 Corpses, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Blood and Sex
Chapter One - Busted
Hill Country Texas. The two story Victorian style house stood alone in the middle of a large open clearing of dirt. A grey weathered wooden barn in relatively good shape, nestled itself against one side of the house, as if a small child seeking protection from it’s bigger sibling. The trees and green mountains making a backdrop. The house had a quaint little picket fence that at one time could have been considered “cute” but now stood with many broken and missing plats. The house itself was not much better off. It’s once new shutters, stood framing it’s windows, broken and wind beaten.
A new coat of paint might have made the beaten up and peeling siding look slightly better, but hardly much. In some areas in fact, whole lengths of the stuff hung off onto the porch roof as if giant fingers had dug into it, peeling it back piece by piece much like a cat would a wall searching for that hiding mouse.
The rusty shingled roof was the best part of the dilapidated home. Not a hole or blemish could be seen. The windvane that stood atop one of it’s gabled peaks, twisted with an annoying squeak in the slight breeze.
The porch was littered with meaningless junk, rather meaningless to the common folk. But common wasn’t who lived here. Amongst the broken chairs, worn boots, miscellaneous yard tools and home made wooden tables, a figure crouched.
His tanish brown uniform almost blended him pretty well into the background of the unloved home. He shifted slightly from one tired foot to the next, holding his breath as one of the mildew strewn, cracked floor boards let out a groan under his weight.
Silence remained from inside the house.
He glanced over his shoulder, finally spotting that wonderful cloud of dust signaling the approach of a welcome vehicle on the long, lone dirt road.
As the brown, dust covered car approached, with it’s one single red light flashing on top it’s dirty roof, it’s driver shut down the engine, rolling to gravel crunching stop just a few feet from the wrap around porch of the poorly neglected home.
The sheriff himself had come out for this once in a lifetime event. He stepped lazily out of his car, hiking his gun belt up over his pot belly to rest where it should be.
He glanced around.
Two other squad cars and the old Department Bronco lay scattered, surrounding the front of the house.
It was time. The excitement was about to begin.
The double pane window on the front right of the house suddenly shattered.
A small cylinder shaped canister fell to the floor amongst the bits and pieces of multi colored broken glass. It rolled a few feet where it came to rest against the leg of a coffee table.
Two seconds later it exploded. A loud boom and a bright flash lit up the dark, dense and dusty room. Everything seemed to slow down. A scream rang out. A dog went crazy. An old man peed his pants.
Suddenly the door flew open, slamming against the back wall. Its frame busted beyond repair.
A mass of motion, shouts, screams and guns now filled the large junk cluttered main room. Shots rang out from multiple locations. People, good and bad, hit the floor.
30 seconds it was all over. Smoke drifted up from bloody wounds and spent guns alike.
No motion.
A lone form stood, tall, slender, and pale in the aftermath. Smoke and dust swirled about him. Without notice, he snuck away, down the basement stairs, and disappeared.
No one saw him leave. No one knew he was ever there.
He just disappeared.
Hill Country Texas. The two story Victorian style house stood alone in the middle of a large open clearing of dirt. A grey weathered wooden barn in relatively good shape, nestled itself against one side of the house, as if a small child seeking protection from it’s bigger sibling. The trees and green mountains making a backdrop. The house had a quaint little picket fence that at one time could have been considered “cute” but now stood with many broken and missing plats. The house itself was not much better off. It’s once new shutters, stood framing it’s windows, broken and wind beaten.
A new coat of paint might have made the beaten up and peeling siding look slightly better, but hardly much. In some areas in fact, whole lengths of the stuff hung off onto the porch roof as if giant fingers had dug into it, peeling it back piece by piece much like a cat would a wall searching for that hiding mouse.
The rusty shingled roof was the best part of the dilapidated home. Not a hole or blemish could be seen. The windvane that stood atop one of it’s gabled peaks, twisted with an annoying squeak in the slight breeze.
The porch was littered with meaningless junk, rather meaningless to the common folk. But common wasn’t who lived here. Amongst the broken chairs, worn boots, miscellaneous yard tools and home made wooden tables, a figure crouched.
His tanish brown uniform almost blended him pretty well into the background of the unloved home. He shifted slightly from one tired foot to the next, holding his breath as one of the mildew strewn, cracked floor boards let out a groan under his weight.
Silence remained from inside the house.
He glanced over his shoulder, finally spotting that wonderful cloud of dust signaling the approach of a welcome vehicle on the long, lone dirt road.
As the brown, dust covered car approached, with it’s one single red light flashing on top it’s dirty roof, it’s driver shut down the engine, rolling to gravel crunching stop just a few feet from the wrap around porch of the poorly neglected home.
The sheriff himself had come out for this once in a lifetime event. He stepped lazily out of his car, hiking his gun belt up over his pot belly to rest where it should be.
He glanced around.
Two other squad cars and the old Department Bronco lay scattered, surrounding the front of the house.
It was time. The excitement was about to begin.
The double pane window on the front right of the house suddenly shattered.
A small cylinder shaped canister fell to the floor amongst the bits and pieces of multi colored broken glass. It rolled a few feet where it came to rest against the leg of a coffee table.
Two seconds later it exploded. A loud boom and a bright flash lit up the dark, dense and dusty room. Everything seemed to slow down. A scream rang out. A dog went crazy. An old man peed his pants.
Suddenly the door flew open, slamming against the back wall. Its frame busted beyond repair.
A mass of motion, shouts, screams and guns now filled the large junk cluttered main room. Shots rang out from multiple locations. People, good and bad, hit the floor.
30 seconds it was all over. Smoke drifted up from bloody wounds and spent guns alike.
No motion.
A lone form stood, tall, slender, and pale in the aftermath. Smoke and dust swirled about him. Without notice, he snuck away, down the basement stairs, and disappeared.
No one saw him leave. No one knew he was ever there.
He just disappeared.