From Name Dropping with Hayden...
Ashleigh and everyone else for that matter knew this online necromancer was actually a call centre in Nigeria. Michael will be courted by his very own Nigerian Prince next, as long as the Prince can access his bank account to deposit large sums of money for a tiny fee. These scam centres were adaptable, if nothing else.
Ashleigh’s spirit sat perched on top of the sofa above Michael reading the computer screen. It was her laptop, now with busted speakers that Michael still used. She didn’t know why she referred to him as Michael. She knew his name was Hayden.
He didn’t own a computer of his own. In fact, the only things he did own were the clothes on his back. He didn’t even own any underpants and instead claimed to prefer to go commando. That might actually be true. Hayden was an expert at victim mode. If he wanted underpants but didn’t have any, he’d find some way to turn that into a sob story cute enough for a daytime satellite television charity commercial.
The necromancer called herself “Esmeralda” when in reality “Esmeralda” was a team of people, typically men, sat behind a computer. They weren’t just well versed in psychic-babble but also had love bombing down to an exact art. It was all part of the call centre training. They could be whoever you needed them to be. Unfamiliar with how computers work? Yours now has a virus that can only be dealt with over the phone. Your bank account has been hacked, to fix it, please key in all your information. Need a tarot reader? That’s covered along with guardian angels and phone sex.
“Esmeralda” was typing a message into the chat. This first message detailed payment plans. Hayden agreed to pay one pound per minute with the first three minutes free. It cost more to chat over the phone.
He even gave his name as Michael. Hayden was written on his ID. The fake name was part of the fake connection to the deceased King of Pop. No one came to claim his crown, until Hayden came along without even bothering to change his name via deed poll.
If “Esmeralda” had actual psychic powers she’d sense he was lying and she’d also notice Ashleigh floating above the sofa through the Wi-Fi connection.
It was his turn to state his problem and tell “Esmeralda” a bit about himself. The clock was ticking. Luckily for “Esmeralda” “Michael” was a slow two-finger typer. He liked to tell Ashleigh how he never learned to read, even though he also claimed to have PHDs in various, unrelated subjects.
Ashleigh wondered if he’d be cut off when the bank account drained entirely.
I feel this deep connection to Michael Jackson. I just know he is trying to contact me. Each one of his songs contains a message for me.
Ashleigh laughed, but of course, “Michael” didn’t hear. He wasn’t exactly attuned to the spirit world. She was the only ghost floating around that shithole. Angels trying to lure her away from her unfinished business with promises of Heaven didn’t count. There certainly was not any deceased popstars lurking about.
Three dots appeared while “Esmeralda” spent at least two minutes typing out her message. Time was money and she needed to take as long as possible. Oh yes, I can see it through my third eye. Yes. He wants you to send a message to the world. Do you know how you will send this message? Ashleigh didn’t realise it was possible to type that slow.
“Michael” replied with his usual humble-brag of being a musician in his own right. He wasn’t a very good musician. He didn’t even play any instruments or sing and instead preferred name-dropping actual musicians as if they were his friends and supporters. Every now and then he’d gather a bunch of samples from online and throw them together over a drumloop on pirated software and claim them as a song he wrote. A toddler with some pots and pans could do better.
The three dots appeared as “Esmeralda” took an impossibly long amount of time to respond. As she typed Ashleigh noticed the erection growing in “Michael’s” pants while he waited.
Unfortunately for him a picture of that would not substitute real payment when the money ran out. He’d try though. That filthy member has appeared in countless spamboxes over the past few weeks as he tried to impress a new supply. Sometimes he didn’t even bother taking the maggots out of his piss hole or wiping off the grave fluids. He did have to use a selfie stick to get the best angle. His arm couldn’t reach around his gut and it wouldn’t suck in far enough to get a good picture that made it appear as if he were hung like a horse.
I can see he wants you to write a song.
“Michael” scratched his balls before rubbing his cock. It takes two hands to type so he had to put it down. I will. Is he with me now? “Esmeralda” spent the usual amount of time typing Yes.
The chat cut out stating he was out of funds.
“Michael,” he asked the room.
Ashleigh saw this as a good time to split open her own chest. Flies trailing grave fluids came out with the stench. “Michael”, real name Hayden didn’t notice his cock-resting place falling apart. He was only observant when it suited him. It should have been the most obvious sign that “Michael Jackson” was here in this very room with him.
It appeared as if some of her organs started to liquefy, which didn’t really come as a surprise given how high he keeps the heat. That’ll be cut off soon too. They started to receive the threatening red notices about pay-as-you-go meters being installed and a county court judgement. There’s no way he can keep a meter topped up when he must pay for online psychic services. He might try and have it transferred into his name, but that was pretty difficult to do without a phone.
She dipped her fingers in her own blood and went to the mirror over the mantel. She could write anything she wanted. Anything at all. You have a small penis. That might appeal to his intellectual and maturity levels. And it is ugly too.
He was walking around with his trousers around his ankles, stroking his cock and calling out for Michael Jackson. It takes a special type of loser to think that Michael Jackson would respond to that.
This entire situation was just wrong on many levels. “Michael” hadn’t even bothered to move her body. He thought the real Michael Jackson would want to haunt a place with a stinky corpse and dick holes poked into it.
He went to his knees, forgetting, at least momentarily that he was searching for Michael Jackson. With his dick in his hand and the thought of being haunted by the King of Pop on his mind he needed to find relief.
He finally noticed Ashleigh’s oozing chest cavity and swarm of flies. This was a good place to lick. His tongue had yet to sample the delights of her decaying flesh.
Ashleigh shuddered with the memory of his furry tongue licking between her legs while she was alive. If she didn’t fake pleasure, she’d have to deal with his mood swings and manipulation.
With all his money (Ashleigh’s welfare benefits payment) spent on “Esmeralda’s” online psychic services he must be getting pretty hungry. It isn’t true that the human body can live off fat reserves. He had those in plenty, but they were enough to sustain him.
If he ate her, he wouldn’t have anything to fuck. Masturbation being sinful and all. He couldn’t rely on getting a new supply right away. He strung along a few girls online but sometimes they noticed the red flags before that first date. It was quite the dilemma. Eat or fuck?
Hayden looked around confused. The cogs in his brain tried to remove the cobwebs so he could think about self-preservation.
Where there’s flies, there’s maggots. His stomach rumbled. His dick pulsed. Maggots fell into his hands.
He picked one up with surprising control for someone with such bloated fingers and jagged dirty nails.
His furry tongue poked out of his mouth. That earned another shudder from ghost Ashleigh, but of course, he couldn’t see it. He wasn’t tuned into the spirit world. The shudder would have been mistaken for pleasure anyways. Ashleigh didn’t want any astral sex from the mountain troll.
He tilted his head back with his mouth open and dropped the first squirming maggot down his throat. The fur from his tongue covered his inner cheeks, his throat and the holes where he used to have teeth.
Decaying flesh creates a lot of maggots, especially in a house that was infested with flies before Hayden killed her. The squirming maggots weren’t nearly as disgusting as the fur in his mouth.
His eyes went back to their void-stare as he feasted. Unfortunately, he didn’t give the maggots enough time to start eating through the mouth fur before he swallowed.
He wouldn’t go hungry as long as Ashleigh’s body stayed in the front room. With the way it was decomposing though, he’d have to find a new supply fast. He needed to be on his best online behaviour.
He belched when he was done. Fur spores floated around the room on the breeze from the gas leaving his body. Ashleigh tried to shield her body from them, but it wouldn’t really do any good. His tongue licked all over her open chest cavity and sucked up the juices leaking from her vagina right down to her anus.
Due to his sheer clumsiness some of the maggots failed to hit his mouth. These dripped down his chin. He just let them drip. Wiping them away seemed pointless.
His stomach was satisfied. His cock was wondering when it would be its turn. “Michael”, real name Hayden, aimed to please. But he fancied a bit of foreplay first.
Ashleigh was no longer alive so she couldn’t stop him from licking her ear and the mould taking off there too. Her ghost, however, shoved a small cockroach into his ear in return. It had a lot of earwax to eat through. Really, she was doing him a favour. It wasn’t like he could write a song without being able to hear it.
He reached his bloated fingers with their jagged nails towards her butthole. This was leaking grave fluids but he thought she had shit herself in death and started to laugh. At the time she died, there wasn’t anything in her gut to shit out. If a corpse is going to shit themselves that is when they’ll do it.
His dick had been up her dead arse plenty of times. But then again, he wasn’t the world’s most observant mountain troll.
Spittle and spores flew from his mouth as he laughed. Laughing wasn’t dealing with his erection.
He pulled his belly up and parked his hard-on inside her butthole. By this point her vagina melted into her anus to create one large hole, but this was plugged with maggots for extra pleasure for small cocks.
Her body squelched as he pounded into her. The action split open her underarms. Maggots fell onto the tiles. Hayden would be kept in meals for a few days at least. If he were a smarter man, he’d find an old jar and store them in the fridge.
His wheezing and rank breath sped up the decay. But he had breath that killed, rather literally. Whatever women he latches onto next might find herself dead after one inhalation when he leans in for that first gruesome kiss because apparently, killing someone with bad breath didn’t even bring a manslaughter charge.
Grave fluids splattered onto his gut to dry into a firm crust he can snack on later. The glistening sweat kept it fresh and moist for now.
Ashleigh could tell when he was about to cum. He crunched up his face flab with the muscles lurking underneath becoming more hideous and his wheezing grew more intense. It was hard to believe he could become more hideous but there he was getting ready to blow his load.
She saved this moment to go teehee and knock his glass ashtray onto the tiles. That didn’t stop him from spunking into her decaying hole. The maggots it landed on keeled up and died right on the spot. There was no maggoty afterlife for them.
She left it too long to stop him from cumming. If anyone deserved to be trapped in the land of perpetual blue balls, it was him.
He pulled himself out and watched the dead maggots fall out of her butthole in a rushing sea of his spent semen. So much for sex being for her pleasure.
At least the body fluids and dead maggots fell into the pile of shattered glass, ash and the ends of his cigarettes. He’ll have to dry them out before he can roll them into new cigarettes. He was one cranky fuck without nicotine. It didn’t occur to him to spend less money on internet psychics and more money on food, bills and cigarettes.
His beady blue eyes darted around looking for Michael Jackson.
“Michael,” he managed to wheeze out.
It was amazing he could keep himself propped up on his arms. There was a lot of wheezing bulk to prevent from collapsing onto her body. Layers of flab hung from his bones but there must have been muscle somewhere in there.
Ashleigh kept quiet. If he fell on top of her corpse, he’d moosh it into the tiles and won’t have anything to fuck, unless he steals the neighbour’s dog. That wouldn’t have been so bad but she wanted to spend the start of her afterlife dodging angels and fucking with his head until he went insane.
Hayden’s eyes stopped their search. He made himself comfortable next to Ashleigh’s corpse. He tried to put his arm underneath her but this only split open her flesh. He licked at the grave fluids so he wouldn’t dehydrate. He was always on about dehydration when Ashleigh was alive in a bid to get her to drink more coffee.
Hayden didn’t sleep as such but he did doze off. He wasn’t much of a sleeping man and thought because he didn’t sleep, that no one should. That’s what all the instant coffee was for. As Ashleigh couldn’t afford decent coffee with him leeching off her bank account, it came from the value range and tasted as bad as he smelt. His lack of sleep might go some of the way towards explaining why he spent his days (and nights) in such an angry, delusional haze.
Ashleigh wasn’t about to hang around and watch him doze and fart. He wasn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to haunt.
To read more, you can purchase the ebook from godless horrors or head to amazon for the paperback (and also ebook but it is cheaper on godless).
Ashleigh and everyone else for that matter knew this online necromancer was actually a call centre in Nigeria. Michael will be courted by his very own Nigerian Prince next, as long as the Prince can access his bank account to deposit large sums of money for a tiny fee. These scam centres were adaptable, if nothing else.
Ashleigh’s spirit sat perched on top of the sofa above Michael reading the computer screen. It was her laptop, now with busted speakers that Michael still used. She didn’t know why she referred to him as Michael. She knew his name was Hayden.
He didn’t own a computer of his own. In fact, the only things he did own were the clothes on his back. He didn’t even own any underpants and instead claimed to prefer to go commando. That might actually be true. Hayden was an expert at victim mode. If he wanted underpants but didn’t have any, he’d find some way to turn that into a sob story cute enough for a daytime satellite television charity commercial.
The necromancer called herself “Esmeralda” when in reality “Esmeralda” was a team of people, typically men, sat behind a computer. They weren’t just well versed in psychic-babble but also had love bombing down to an exact art. It was all part of the call centre training. They could be whoever you needed them to be. Unfamiliar with how computers work? Yours now has a virus that can only be dealt with over the phone. Your bank account has been hacked, to fix it, please key in all your information. Need a tarot reader? That’s covered along with guardian angels and phone sex.
“Esmeralda” was typing a message into the chat. This first message detailed payment plans. Hayden agreed to pay one pound per minute with the first three minutes free. It cost more to chat over the phone.
He even gave his name as Michael. Hayden was written on his ID. The fake name was part of the fake connection to the deceased King of Pop. No one came to claim his crown, until Hayden came along without even bothering to change his name via deed poll.
If “Esmeralda” had actual psychic powers she’d sense he was lying and she’d also notice Ashleigh floating above the sofa through the Wi-Fi connection.
It was his turn to state his problem and tell “Esmeralda” a bit about himself. The clock was ticking. Luckily for “Esmeralda” “Michael” was a slow two-finger typer. He liked to tell Ashleigh how he never learned to read, even though he also claimed to have PHDs in various, unrelated subjects.
Ashleigh wondered if he’d be cut off when the bank account drained entirely.
I feel this deep connection to Michael Jackson. I just know he is trying to contact me. Each one of his songs contains a message for me.
Ashleigh laughed, but of course, “Michael” didn’t hear. He wasn’t exactly attuned to the spirit world. She was the only ghost floating around that shithole. Angels trying to lure her away from her unfinished business with promises of Heaven didn’t count. There certainly was not any deceased popstars lurking about.
Three dots appeared while “Esmeralda” spent at least two minutes typing out her message. Time was money and she needed to take as long as possible. Oh yes, I can see it through my third eye. Yes. He wants you to send a message to the world. Do you know how you will send this message? Ashleigh didn’t realise it was possible to type that slow.
“Michael” replied with his usual humble-brag of being a musician in his own right. He wasn’t a very good musician. He didn’t even play any instruments or sing and instead preferred name-dropping actual musicians as if they were his friends and supporters. Every now and then he’d gather a bunch of samples from online and throw them together over a drumloop on pirated software and claim them as a song he wrote. A toddler with some pots and pans could do better.
The three dots appeared as “Esmeralda” took an impossibly long amount of time to respond. As she typed Ashleigh noticed the erection growing in “Michael’s” pants while he waited.
Unfortunately for him a picture of that would not substitute real payment when the money ran out. He’d try though. That filthy member has appeared in countless spamboxes over the past few weeks as he tried to impress a new supply. Sometimes he didn’t even bother taking the maggots out of his piss hole or wiping off the grave fluids. He did have to use a selfie stick to get the best angle. His arm couldn’t reach around his gut and it wouldn’t suck in far enough to get a good picture that made it appear as if he were hung like a horse.
I can see he wants you to write a song.
“Michael” scratched his balls before rubbing his cock. It takes two hands to type so he had to put it down. I will. Is he with me now? “Esmeralda” spent the usual amount of time typing Yes.
The chat cut out stating he was out of funds.
“Michael,” he asked the room.
Ashleigh saw this as a good time to split open her own chest. Flies trailing grave fluids came out with the stench. “Michael”, real name Hayden didn’t notice his cock-resting place falling apart. He was only observant when it suited him. It should have been the most obvious sign that “Michael Jackson” was here in this very room with him.
It appeared as if some of her organs started to liquefy, which didn’t really come as a surprise given how high he keeps the heat. That’ll be cut off soon too. They started to receive the threatening red notices about pay-as-you-go meters being installed and a county court judgement. There’s no way he can keep a meter topped up when he must pay for online psychic services. He might try and have it transferred into his name, but that was pretty difficult to do without a phone.
She dipped her fingers in her own blood and went to the mirror over the mantel. She could write anything she wanted. Anything at all. You have a small penis. That might appeal to his intellectual and maturity levels. And it is ugly too.
He was walking around with his trousers around his ankles, stroking his cock and calling out for Michael Jackson. It takes a special type of loser to think that Michael Jackson would respond to that.
This entire situation was just wrong on many levels. “Michael” hadn’t even bothered to move her body. He thought the real Michael Jackson would want to haunt a place with a stinky corpse and dick holes poked into it.
He went to his knees, forgetting, at least momentarily that he was searching for Michael Jackson. With his dick in his hand and the thought of being haunted by the King of Pop on his mind he needed to find relief.
He finally noticed Ashleigh’s oozing chest cavity and swarm of flies. This was a good place to lick. His tongue had yet to sample the delights of her decaying flesh.
Ashleigh shuddered with the memory of his furry tongue licking between her legs while she was alive. If she didn’t fake pleasure, she’d have to deal with his mood swings and manipulation.
With all his money (Ashleigh’s welfare benefits payment) spent on “Esmeralda’s” online psychic services he must be getting pretty hungry. It isn’t true that the human body can live off fat reserves. He had those in plenty, but they were enough to sustain him.
If he ate her, he wouldn’t have anything to fuck. Masturbation being sinful and all. He couldn’t rely on getting a new supply right away. He strung along a few girls online but sometimes they noticed the red flags before that first date. It was quite the dilemma. Eat or fuck?
Hayden looked around confused. The cogs in his brain tried to remove the cobwebs so he could think about self-preservation.
Where there’s flies, there’s maggots. His stomach rumbled. His dick pulsed. Maggots fell into his hands.
He picked one up with surprising control for someone with such bloated fingers and jagged dirty nails.
His furry tongue poked out of his mouth. That earned another shudder from ghost Ashleigh, but of course, he couldn’t see it. He wasn’t tuned into the spirit world. The shudder would have been mistaken for pleasure anyways. Ashleigh didn’t want any astral sex from the mountain troll.
He tilted his head back with his mouth open and dropped the first squirming maggot down his throat. The fur from his tongue covered his inner cheeks, his throat and the holes where he used to have teeth.
Decaying flesh creates a lot of maggots, especially in a house that was infested with flies before Hayden killed her. The squirming maggots weren’t nearly as disgusting as the fur in his mouth.
His eyes went back to their void-stare as he feasted. Unfortunately, he didn’t give the maggots enough time to start eating through the mouth fur before he swallowed.
He wouldn’t go hungry as long as Ashleigh’s body stayed in the front room. With the way it was decomposing though, he’d have to find a new supply fast. He needed to be on his best online behaviour.
He belched when he was done. Fur spores floated around the room on the breeze from the gas leaving his body. Ashleigh tried to shield her body from them, but it wouldn’t really do any good. His tongue licked all over her open chest cavity and sucked up the juices leaking from her vagina right down to her anus.
Due to his sheer clumsiness some of the maggots failed to hit his mouth. These dripped down his chin. He just let them drip. Wiping them away seemed pointless.
His stomach was satisfied. His cock was wondering when it would be its turn. “Michael”, real name Hayden, aimed to please. But he fancied a bit of foreplay first.
Ashleigh was no longer alive so she couldn’t stop him from licking her ear and the mould taking off there too. Her ghost, however, shoved a small cockroach into his ear in return. It had a lot of earwax to eat through. Really, she was doing him a favour. It wasn’t like he could write a song without being able to hear it.
He reached his bloated fingers with their jagged nails towards her butthole. This was leaking grave fluids but he thought she had shit herself in death and started to laugh. At the time she died, there wasn’t anything in her gut to shit out. If a corpse is going to shit themselves that is when they’ll do it.
His dick had been up her dead arse plenty of times. But then again, he wasn’t the world’s most observant mountain troll.
Spittle and spores flew from his mouth as he laughed. Laughing wasn’t dealing with his erection.
He pulled his belly up and parked his hard-on inside her butthole. By this point her vagina melted into her anus to create one large hole, but this was plugged with maggots for extra pleasure for small cocks.
Her body squelched as he pounded into her. The action split open her underarms. Maggots fell onto the tiles. Hayden would be kept in meals for a few days at least. If he were a smarter man, he’d find an old jar and store them in the fridge.
His wheezing and rank breath sped up the decay. But he had breath that killed, rather literally. Whatever women he latches onto next might find herself dead after one inhalation when he leans in for that first gruesome kiss because apparently, killing someone with bad breath didn’t even bring a manslaughter charge.
Grave fluids splattered onto his gut to dry into a firm crust he can snack on later. The glistening sweat kept it fresh and moist for now.
Ashleigh could tell when he was about to cum. He crunched up his face flab with the muscles lurking underneath becoming more hideous and his wheezing grew more intense. It was hard to believe he could become more hideous but there he was getting ready to blow his load.
She saved this moment to go teehee and knock his glass ashtray onto the tiles. That didn’t stop him from spunking into her decaying hole. The maggots it landed on keeled up and died right on the spot. There was no maggoty afterlife for them.
She left it too long to stop him from cumming. If anyone deserved to be trapped in the land of perpetual blue balls, it was him.
He pulled himself out and watched the dead maggots fall out of her butthole in a rushing sea of his spent semen. So much for sex being for her pleasure.
At least the body fluids and dead maggots fell into the pile of shattered glass, ash and the ends of his cigarettes. He’ll have to dry them out before he can roll them into new cigarettes. He was one cranky fuck without nicotine. It didn’t occur to him to spend less money on internet psychics and more money on food, bills and cigarettes.
His beady blue eyes darted around looking for Michael Jackson.
“Michael,” he managed to wheeze out.
It was amazing he could keep himself propped up on his arms. There was a lot of wheezing bulk to prevent from collapsing onto her body. Layers of flab hung from his bones but there must have been muscle somewhere in there.
Ashleigh kept quiet. If he fell on top of her corpse, he’d moosh it into the tiles and won’t have anything to fuck, unless he steals the neighbour’s dog. That wouldn’t have been so bad but she wanted to spend the start of her afterlife dodging angels and fucking with his head until he went insane.
Hayden’s eyes stopped their search. He made himself comfortable next to Ashleigh’s corpse. He tried to put his arm underneath her but this only split open her flesh. He licked at the grave fluids so he wouldn’t dehydrate. He was always on about dehydration when Ashleigh was alive in a bid to get her to drink more coffee.
Hayden didn’t sleep as such but he did doze off. He wasn’t much of a sleeping man and thought because he didn’t sleep, that no one should. That’s what all the instant coffee was for. As Ashleigh couldn’t afford decent coffee with him leeching off her bank account, it came from the value range and tasted as bad as he smelt. His lack of sleep might go some of the way towards explaining why he spent his days (and nights) in such an angry, delusional haze.
Ashleigh wasn’t about to hang around and watch him doze and fart. He wasn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to haunt.
To read more, you can purchase the ebook from godless horrors or head to amazon for the paperback (and also ebook but it is cheaper on godless).
