Door Number Nine

Halloween was dead-quiet in the morgue, just me. Tonight, a treat behind door number nine. I didn’t need to know why she was exhumed. They were done with her now.

Doors wide open, the dark creeped in around stark light. The sound of night magic dancing through the dead. Waiting; my rotting beauty lay on her steel gurney.

Moving inside her was a sensational treat. She was underground long enough for the crawlies to move in. A localised thrill of erratic movement around my hard dick buried inside my frozen cold seductress.

I always bag up, of course, I’m no sicko.

© Natasha Sinclair. 2019.

Snapped

Laying the last body down on the bed, I studied them both, side by side. My beautiful loyal white pups. They looked as if they were peacefully sleeping. Dreaming still. You’d never know by this sight that I had snapped their necks. Still warm, the serenity of death. My wrist hurt. It was almost over now. There was nothing left to hold me back. I stepped up on to the vintage blue weaved wooden stool. Reaching above I put the prepared noose over my head to my neck and jump forward. Swinging and choking, why didn’t my neck just snap?

©Natasha Sinclair