QUEER HORROR DAY 9 - TORRO

QUEER HORROR DAY 9 - TORRO

His dagger-shaped dick dripped hissing poisons, his jet black body made darker with black striped flames licking his legs, his round cavernous ass (a dank growling scent from within). Even in the dark, his brown eyes burn you, his jaguar muscles, a burning cross. Claws, fangs, talons, pounce!

Oh sweet victim! Sad plaything, you rape-toy seized by the neck, he sinks his teeth and thrashes about, the killer! Terrible passions! Paws pin his prey, crushing breath, THEN the meat rips upward in his bloody maul. Hot gouts spurting, the moonlit wound. The taste of moaning whispers, weakened pleading.

How he loves — as the bull did Europa.

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QUEER HORROR DAY 7 - GHOST

The ghost of her lover permeated the apartment — she could smell her in the shower, feel her empty spot in bed, hear the tinkling of her fork every time she ate alone. At times she caught a whiff of cigarette smoke in the garage, the scent of nagchampa in the living room even though she owned neither. She stared at the blank television as the sun slowly set against the cardboard boxes. It had been two months. They'd never found a body. The television, the radio, the icy window panes called to her, "Come... come here, lover... come be with me please."

QUEER HORROR DAY 10 - LIPS

As the plastic surgeon unwrapped the bandages tightly wound around Melissa's head, we all noticed the curly hairs poking out from between the slats of gauze. The hairless misshapen mound of her new forehead descended into two fleshy folds where her button nose used to be. And in place of her usually pouting lips, there merely glowed an unhealthy pink hole that turned darker red as it receded into her face.

Her girlfriend — the so called "human artist" — had mutilated my best friend's beautiful face into a vagina; as she promised, "Something I will always love to kiss."

It was then that we heard the pained moaning coming from under the sheets, quivering slightly between Melissa's legs.

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QUEER HORROR DAY 13 - RIALTO

There is an old (now defunct) theatre in Ohio, called The Rialto, it has one of those old marquee signs out front. It got built on top of an old burned down tenement  — the landlord did it for money. He got the chair for killing 81 people in the process too.

Even before the fire, the tenement was a cesspool of drugs, illness, suicide, and shitty plumbing. Soon after they cleared the ashes, they erected the theater on the same ground.

Theatre patrons regularly reported a man playing with himself in the back row during matinees, but no ushers ever caught sight of him. The area around seat E on row 7 remained inexplicably cold and wet (no matter what), leaving management no choice but section it off permanently. On more than one occasion, women reported seeing a young girl passed out on the lady’s room floor — her skirt over her head — or a person hanging from the rafters in the balcony's flickering dark.

Today you can still hear noises from inside the theater, sounds of a movie even though it’s been empty for over 15 years. I'd reveal its location, but I’d hate for another fool to try and explore it again, only to end up missing.

QUEER HORROR DAY 1 - HEAVEN HOUSE

An ex-gay therapist's room: queer kids strapped down, being electrocuted and made to vomit while viewing innocuous pictures of men and women. An Bishop's boudoir: old priests and nuns getting ready to gang-bang a black kid. A Westboro Baptist funeral:  the "God Hates Fags" family smiles around the open coffin of a queer kid — her face horribly bashed in. An exorcism room: conservative shirt-and-tie folks holding down a scared kid as a preacher approaches him with hot iron cross and a water bucket — funnel and hose attached. In the last room, a bunch of queers with colored hair tell you, "There is a way out! You don't have to go to heaven, you know. Would you like to be saved?"