“Hey, spinach-chin!” Bess yelled. “Leave her alone!”
The man simply glared at her, kept mashing fruit into Mavis’ mouth. But in response to Bess’ objection, his throat rumbled and then he spat.
The wad of phlegm, large as a golf ball, sailed across the air and—
Yuuuck!
—hit Bess right in the eye.
“Pipe down, ya hog,” the man told her. “Looks ta me like you gots more things ta worry ’bout than yer stringbean friend here. Like that gut-cut.”
Bess, as she hung from her hook, didn’t know what he was talking about, but at the same time he’d said it, she finally became aware of the sharp, ripping pain at her mid-abdomen. She looked down at her distended belly and couldn’t help but notice the six-inch-long gash and the blood seeping out of it.
“But don’t’cha worry none, Fattie,” the man added. “My brother Esau shore knows how ta do a gut-cut right. It won’t kill ya…”
Bess gaped at the wound.
“The killin’ comes later,” she was told. “It’ll be nice’n slow.”
Then another man (his brother, she assumed) walked into Bess’ field of vision. He went over to the table, patted Mavis’ bloated abdomen. “Dang,” he exclaimed. “This little twig et dag near half the bushel!”
“She shore did. So’s what I do with her now?”
“Just let her set a spell, digest a bit. Then we’ll be ready.”
“Dag it. I should’a figured I’d miss wrasslin’.”
“You won’t miss much,” the younger one said. Now he was at the fire pit, stoking it with a metal rod. “Go ahead’n fuck her. Might as well have a go, huh? Why waste pussy when it’s there?”
The older one glanced at Mavis’ convulsing white body. “Naw. Shee-it, you know I prefer fellas.”
“Hey, a nut’s a nut, Enoch. Stick it up her ass if ya don’t like gash. Git’cher pecker brown.”
Enoch cast a second glance. “Naw. I’d rather beat off, er poke a sheep. Shee-it. Fuckin’ this here skinny thing’d be like fuckin’ a bone.”
“Suit yerself,” Esau replied. “I’d fuck this big ’un ’cept—shee-it! I’d need ta roll her ’round ina pile’a flour ta find the wet-spot!” He scratched his crotch, eyed poor Mavis on the table. “I guess we’re ready. Enoch, flip her over—”
Enoch did exactly this, while his uncomely brother grabbed a wooden saute spoon. He put Mavis in a headlock, jammed the spoon down her tongue and pressed. In a great urping splatter, Mavis vomited up several plumes of partly digested fruit into one of the pie crusts. He slid across another crust, pressed, then out came more fruit puke. Esau continued the process until Mavis little belly was empty and all the pie crusts filled.
Atop each tin, he lay several circles of uncooked biscuit dough. Then he placed all the crusts on a tray and slid them into the oven.
Shee-it yeah!” Esau celebrated. “Grandpa Ab’s gonna love me! I’se makin’ his favorite dessert! Vomit Cobbler!”
“So what I do with this skinny bitch now?” Enoch asked. “Just kill her?”
“Yeah, might as well. “in’t good fer much else. No meat on her, just like that bitch ya brung me from the girlie prison.” But as Esau loped back to the table, he jerked a gaze. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna fuck her.”
“I dang didn’t,” Enoch assured.
“Then what’s all that blood running down her skinny legs?”
Enoch took a look, and sure enough, streaks of blood were running down the insides of Mavis’ thighs.
“Weren’t me,” Enoch attested.
Esau cracked his hands together loud as a stropping belt. “Hot DAMN!” he yelled. “Is this dang perfect or what? The stringbean bitch is havin’ her period!”
Enoch scratched his beard. “Why’s that perfect?”
Esau’s eyes beamed. He jogged to another bucket, withdrew a still-flopping one- pound lake trout. “It’s Grandpa Ab’s favorite thing in the world! Pussy-poached fish! Hold her down, brother! And spread her legs!”
Enoch wedged the girl’s stick-thin legs apart, while Esau inserted the fish all the way up into her vagina. A wet crunch resounded; the girl flinched. “Dang,” Enoch remarked at the sudden ooze of blood. “This here skinny one was cherry.”
“You don’t say?” Esau replied. “And you just popped it—with a trout!”
It was a hell of a way for a girl to lose her virginity. Once the trout was inserted—and still flopping—Esau pinched the labial lips shut with one hand, and with the other—
“Stop it!” Bess shouted. “You sick redneck FUCKERS!”
—he picked up a heavy-duty hand-grip stapler.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Bess screamed.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
Esau stapled those labial lips shut. Mavis, now stupefied by shock, flinched at each hard, metallic clack.
“Put her back up on the hook,” Esau said. “We’ll let her hang fer a few days, let that fish suck in all that pussy blood. It’ll be poached perfect time she’s dead. Then I’ll serve it up with some linguini and marinara sauce.”
Enoch hoisted Mavis back up, then lay the lash between her wrists over the stall hook. “There ya go, Slim,” he said.
Bess’ senses swam in turmoil. “What the FUCK is wrong with you crazy backwoods psychos!” she screamed from her own hook.
“We’se just providin’ our fine grandpap with the viddles he most likes,” Esau explained. He looked at her. “It ain’t nothin’ personal.”
Nothing personal! They stripped her naked, hung her off a hook, and cut a rent in her abdominal wall! What could be more personal than that?
Bess would find out in a moment more.
As Esau approached, Bess tried again to kick out, but by now, between the sheer horror and the depletion of electrolytes, her efforts were inadequate to say the least. Her big legs just slogged forward, harmlessly.
The bearded grin homed closer, then the dirty hand reached out. Then—
Bess screamed.
—then the hand reached into the cut in her abdomen. It reached in deep, fished around, then began to withdraw.
When the hand withdrew, it pulled with it the long gray-pink ropes of her small intestine, twenty feet and then some. Soon, off of one arm, Esau cradled a veritable roll of Bess’ innards.
Bess just stared, paralyzed and numb from the horror.
Esau tugged a bit more, extracting Bess’ stomach and duodenum. “Yeah, we can make some great haggis out’a that. And with the rest of the gut—”
He raised the great roll of small intestine like a prize.
“Shit sausage! Another one’a Grandpa Ab’s favorites!”
He cut the stomach off with bone shears, then carried the roll, as if carrying garden hose, to another table. Meticulously, then, with small pieces of roast string, he tied crimps into the intestine at eight-inch intervals, setting the stomach aside for later tendings. “Yeah,” he proclaimed. “Ain’t nothin’ like a fat girl’s gut to make the best shit sausage! Hot links here we come!”
Bess watched as the dirty rube slowly fed the roll of her own intestines into the pot of boiling water.
“Twenty minutes and then we’re there! It’s better than bratwurst!”
For whatever reason, Bess had a funny feeling more was in store for her.
And she was right.
Esau, first, dragged over the plastic bucket of fileted fish, then the bushel basket of vegetables. Closer, now, Bess was able to see that the baskets contained peeled and quartered white onions, shallots, potatoes, and wedges of fresh cabbage.