By Dani Brown
His eyes were cockroaches. Each time they scurried away, a never-ending supply from nowhere replaced them. Diaboll would catch the cockroaches making a bid for freedom with his tongue. He didn’t have teeth so he swallowed them whole.
His feet sucked up slugs and snails. They became a part of him as he glided towards the blue mist on his jiz-made legs. Tentacles of mould lapped around his ankles and crunched on the snail shells for a tasty treat.
He didn’t need to open the gate. Diaboll glided through it like he was a ghost or some shit. He wasn’t shit though. He was cum. And mould. And infectious disease.
His lost semen dripped off the metal bars like visible ectoplasm, leaving a present for the care taker if the care taker survived to see the sun rise.
He was a ball of jiz come to wake the dead. He was called into existence not so long ago for that very reason. A six month supply of spit-laced cum from the brothel was mixed with stolen mould and disease samples to create him but the planning was years in the making. He was a wanted child with a purpose in this life. He didn’t desire to be the disappointment the brothel had experienced so many times in the past.
The words muttered during the last part of the ritual still echoed through him, even as he swallowed his fleeing cockroaches and left parts of himself dripping all over the cemetery. The drippings echoed with strange words too. The result of which were cracks appearing in the earth wherever a part of him splashed. Thick blue mist pushed up from these.
Diaboll needed to find himself on the other side where the graves were fresher. The locale wasn’t an area were permafrost would have preserved many, if any at all. The bones would rise but the aesthetics wouldn’t be as pleasing as something ripe with decay, oozing with earthworms and bloated with death-gas.
He wasn’t curious enough to look around and gave the centre of the cemetery a wide berth, avoiding the underage chavs getting wasted. He arrived at his destination. He wasn’t even required to dig up graves. The corpses were capable of finding their own way out, no matter what stage of decomposition they had attained. All he had to do was sit back and swallow cockroaches.
He didn’t need to drip over every individual grave. Diaboll’s arse was shaped like a bubble wand. All he needed to do was to fart and let the wind take care of the rest. He waited, afraid it would never happen but as his body absorbed more slugs the gas came in big bubbles.
The bubbles popped over grave markers indiscriminately. Diaboll sat down on a larger one. His purpose was now fulfilled. . He had no great feelings of satisfaction. His only over-riding feeling was, in fact, ‘now what?’ He didn’t know. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked as his mould tentacles ate more crunchy snails.
Cracks in the earth appeared with a groan. The drunken chavs didn’t notice. They didn’t notice the blue mist either. Diaboll could hear them laughing and vomiting and sucking each other off.
The first child of decay clawed out of the earth covered in mud and glossy wood chippings. The remnants of what might have been a Sunday-best clung to festering body. Worms oozed out her eyes and into her mouth. Her lips were gone. Her hair sat in clumps on her shoulders with parts of her scalp. Chunks of flesh hung from her, some falling off as she stood up, hitting the ground with a plop.
Diaboll wished for nails to suck on. He was bored. Sucking his fingers just pulled months’ old sperm though his body and out his bubble wand butt.
The earth cracked some more releasing thick blue mist and more children of decay from deeper down the multi-story cemetery. The drunken kids might notice soon and bring some entertainment to this affair. Not like they had any brains to eat but they could be bent over and fucked with femurs covered in mouldy flesh. They might even notice. Well, maybe the boys would. Diaboll made a note to inform the rising dead to fuck the living girls up the arse as their vaginas had seen too many genetically modified cucumbers.
More corpses in various stages of decomposition clawed themselves out of the earth. Diaboll was bored. These were in part his creation. They were his children, but he himself, was only a few hours old. He’d cease to exist in a few more. Meanwhile, they could go forth and take over the planet, if they so desired – they probably didn’t, these creatures were made for fucking, eating and shedding body parts and not much else.
Sperm dripped off Diaboll as he witnessed his children rise out of the earth and strip away the tattered clothing they were buried in. Some of his cum was starting to dry into a flaky crust and blow away in the breeze. He didn’t have long left but he didn’t care. As long as he could witness his children in the fine act of love making, he would die a happy ball of jiz, mould and disease.
The creatures were hungry for one another. They had a need to satisfy their lust before they satisfied what remained of their stomachs. If their stomachs rotted away then they would feast anyways and let others scoop it off the fallen leaves with decayed hands and swallow. It was a first come, first serve type thing – like the kids getting drunk, some had alcohol and the rest had to drink the piss of the ones with the watered down tequila to feel the effects of the alcohol.
A man found a woman’s festering hole with his yeast-eaten tongue. He swallowed a worm that came out of her. It was a long pink thing. It seemed to go on forever but finally he the last of its tail poked out his neck (or maybe it was a different worm, Diaboll didn’t care). Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have control over the lower half of his body so there would be no fucking from them.
A man with a green tinge and, most importantly, a lower body crept up behind them and took her in the arse. The legless worm-eater claimed her vagina and wasn’t letting go – until someone piled his torso with a thigh bone. It seemed to enhance the experience. He let go of the woman’s festering vagina to tilt his head back and howl with pleasure. It rolled off his shoulders and landed between someone’s feet, a howl still formed on its lips. The lack of a head didn’t bother the torso, he stuck his fist up the woman instead.
More of the waking children of decay joined them. Diaboll couldn’t even see the original two beneath all the fester and decay and falling body parts. There were moans and groans. And finally a scream from the underage brats getting wasted off watered down tequila and each other’s piss.
Diaboll swallowed cockroaches and watched the unfolding orgy. He had reached the late middle age of a jiz ball. He couldn’t tell if his children were moaning and groaning with pleasure or moaning and groaning because that is what they do. His hearing was going as he reached old age and he could no longer differentiate between pitches.
The smells of upturned cemetery dirt and decayed sex rode the air until worms spontaneously burst into existence. The drunken chavs now had worms for their tequila.
The cold blue mist herded the brats together. The mists surround the cemetery every time they went but they were never thick and worm-filled before. They weren’t thick and worm-filled five minutes ago either. The worms appeared out of nowhere.
The worms weaved themselves into ropes to keep the chavs corralled. The youngest, trying to be impressive, bit down and had a mouth fill up with vomiting inducing pus. The worm was soon replaced, while the kid puked tequila-laced piss and worm-pus between his ankles in great heaving chunks. That was enough to sober up his small frame. When he realised that beyond the worms there were zombies fucking each other in a big decaying-flesh orgy he shat his pants and fainted. The smell wasn’t strong enough to overpower the upturned cemetery dirt and decayed sex but it was still rather bad which result in the other chavs puking.
The waking children of decay would need nourishment after their good morning orgy. Diaboll hoped to be around long enough to bear witness but this pile up had the potential to go on for days. He didn’t have days. The average ball of jiz lived for less than twenty-four hours.
He figured he should swallow some snails before his tentacles received all the nutrition from them. That may prolong his life by a few vital hours. The shells added something other than crunch that cockroaches lacked.
His children were losing more body parts as more found their way out of the earth and piled on top. It didn’t much matter if their bones were crushed or they lost limbs or even their heads, they were already dead. And chav-meat would be mighty tasty, even if they couldn’t offer enough brains for a decent meal.
Diaboll was fading fast by the time the first limbs latched onto torsos and found heads after leaving the orgy. They had nothing to sew themselves together so their new-formed shapes soon fell to pieces.
Diaboll was in no fit state to help his children of decay with their predicament. His fingers had melted off so he couldn’t throw slugs at them. He tried to indicate to use the slug-slime to glue themselves together but walking dead weren’t the smartest of creatures.
A fresh woman still in one piece emerged. One of her eye sockets was dripping with pus but she saw the kids wrapped in worms. Diaboll felt relief. He would witness at least one of his children fed before he was no more. Another one joined her but he didn’t have any arms. He still had a head though and looked to have teeth.
They went to the worm-wrapped together and pierced their way through the mists and gnawed on the thick worms. The kids were passed out. More children of decay joined in to feed on the flesh.
Those left with taste buds met the flavours of tequila and piss and shit and vomit. It wasn’t the most pleasant of first meals. The meat was stringy like dental floss for those who still had teeth. There wasn’t much of it either. Not enough to go around.
The children of decay couldn’t feast on each other. The weak ones were too decomposed to eat but that didn’t stop one enterprising former young man from picking up an arm and gnawing on it like it was the turkey leg he choked on last Christmas. He choked on the green arm but couldn’t die a second time.
The drunken kids were soon reduced to bones. The stronger children of decay sucked the marrow out and left them shattered before wandering aimlessly.
Diaboll would be jiz flakes on the wind by the time his children of decay realised there was a world filled with fresh flesh outside the cemetery gates.
Dani Brown, August 2014