Veinspill: Parts One and Two, Bonus
Unless, you never drink...wine and lots of it. (want to listen instead of read?)
Veinspill: Parts One and Two, Bonus
Language, Violence, Nudity, Adult
Situations - breakfast of pop horror champions
Pajaro Dunes, Shorebirds
Copyright, Michael Martin West
March, 1995
Click the picture for RealAudio 28.8
stream read by Erik Kleven, produced by David Houston at Moon Studios, Sacramento, CA
İMike M. West, 1998
Part One: PAINDAY
Wherein Meeting the Maker is More Than an Expression
On a day the words summer idyll could barely reach,
With his running boards overhanging each curve between cliff and beach,
Admiring the bright sun and the ocean whitecaps which crashed loudly along the Eastern US seaboard,
Des Colliner manhandled the switches and curves with the gears while the throttle pedal of his large black auto stayed mostly floored.
There existed no happier, lustier sportsman, nor one with a more explosively violent soul.
But Des took these free days lightly, and was enjoying the travel perks included with a small Yank silent movie role.
When he needed to, he could summon up a pain-canceling end game gambit,
Which led to the stardom, the star income, and ever the ladies over
to whom he'd eventually hand it.
He was the Sun's favorite front page Adonis, "Mash" Colliner, the footballer and sometime singer.
The nickname came of Des' highly publicized beating of a sports tabloid's stringer.
Des and his machine were boy and pet, boy and brother,
Cruising the Yank coast with a painful football season and another expensive divorce to smother.
Just around a particularly lazy curve, Des saw the long skirted young
lady pose a hip and an eye, 
Filling Des' non-agenda for a spot of giving of the "Old College" try.
When the pretty lady accepted Des' proffered ride with "it's just to go a little north."
Des grinned and said, "Well, whyn't you come along in my iron-steed. Let's seize destiny, and sally forth."
She laughed brightly, and asked Des how he knew Sally was her name.
Mere coincidence, he said, but more a good fucking omen he thought all the same.
She directed him all the way to an abandoned inland church, a helter-skelter ramshackle, religious insult
That looked as if it hadn't lately been attended by any semblance of worship except maybe an ostracized cult.
Her "home" was a sparsely furnished vestibule room behind a shrouded altar.
The look of the place in sudden fog made his previous lust falter.
Sally invited her celebrity in to have a rest and commune
With some of her new friends who would be "over" soon.
But once inside, Des put away all gloom and second thought.
Even he hadn't expected such an elevated sensational delight
As Sally stripped fanny bare within that room in the back of the church--
He'd found another treasure with his usual come-on, wink and nod search.
Sally confided her actress ambitions and enticed him to join her,
And Des complied, promising the new "talkie" audition, next chance, to be sure.
Soon, they were entwined, in a strange place, a strange time.
It was truly fortunate to Des, not a bit short of sublime.
Until he realized they really weren't alone.
Until he realized he felt his limbs too much like stone.
Until he realized his vision was dizzying more and more.
Until he realized that the cold hardness pressed against his back was no longer the floor.
It didn't matter a bit
That deluded Des had let his defenses slip.
The closer those hazy, other robe-draped, beauties came,
The more he figured the rack he and Sally were on was a "flippin' kink's" game.
He thought, all the more for laughs and hugs,
But instead it turned to manacles, ropes and more drugs.
It was still a laughingly playful game--
Until Sally pitched on top of him with a puzzled expression of shock and pain.
His reasoning piqued from the sight of her blood-jetting misery,
Groggily coming to question why those people had just throat-razored the woman of his reverie.
Her blood came streaming across his chest, gushing deep and dark
And then, roars of panic tore from him until only terror remained, horrible and stark.
A high-breasted leader emerged and pulled from a no longer friendly fireplace, a pair of fired red tongs.
She announced they would be just the first cleansing of all his
wayward wrongs.
He fought his bonds at the sight of those instruments from the fire.
With his mind in between drugs and adrenalin, Des was a shocked observer of the cult's sadistic intent, murderous and dire.
With a razor nick of a ceremonial knife, Des watched more of his blood slowly join Sally's and drip to a new ornate bowl.
His ruined eyes questioned and begged, as his head began to loll and roll.
Des knew he was a desperate man trying to beg escape from tortured death's reach.
Then the tongs did their work, and his mind put him 'tween pain and death's breach.
He hadn't seen even more appear, yet he felt their hungers, as they
Came from corners of rooms and places hidden away.
It was overhead he saw a very large, red, horned inhuman monster grinning from a cloud of smoke.
Wearing inverted five-spiked amulets to prove Des an even more sodded bloke.
Des was carried from the backroom to their altar.
They tied his naked form with an animal sacrifice's halter.
Another razor slice across an ear and a blood drenched hand was held up high.
Then another razor put rents in his left cheek just below his eye.
Intonations to child murdering Lilith rained.
Intonations to drink from the offered dead and pained.
Intonations thrummed as the message went out seeking and casting.
Intonations of consummate evil everlasting.
The pain Des felt was great from innumerable damages internal.
With clubs and ropes, they twisted, wrenched, beat and broke him in summoning the blood bitch eternal.
They alternately cauterized his bleeding with the poker, and then ribbon sliced more deeply into those limbs.
They sectioned his skin and put cracks in his bones as if by practiced program, not at all random sadistic whims.
It was the poker so frightfully hot and red,
In the eye and on the side of the head
That shocked him back to full sensation--
The condition that forced the final transformation.
Des was pain spiraled to a state of being so clear--
That it sent his mind slowly through the gap in the pain and the fear.
To escape so infinitely far from the twisted people
Eons of distance away through the starlit broken steeple.
It happened when he felt the pain
Of unbearable torture dealing blows to a cracked open brain.
Please, oh please, Des pushed all sensation away--
Don't come back while I'm alive he thought, but couldn't say.
As his life flowed into that earthen jar
He felt the presence of a being approach from afar.
A god of Evil alchemically re-assembling his blood atoms in place
And creating in those cells a new foetus in that bloody vase.
Their aim came to be as they coaxed to life their demon, feeling it sense
It's own towering, growth escalating with Des' torture to levels more and more intense.
As Des' earthbound form began to see it coming--
A shuddering, pulsating, bloody mass likeness throbbing to their unholy drumming.
The creature was now ambient and eating from Sally's blood soddened form.
It sat on haunches and fang-ripped the flesh in a feeding frenzy storm.
No sight on earth prior had terrified Des more, nor reality offended--
As it's attention turned to Des, and Des' world became black-then a chewing sensation attended.
Des could feel himself inside it, as he and it welded and blended.
They were together a new kind of monster, being born from worship and pain transcended.
Oh, thought Des, as he came to see from its eyes, it can't be.
Oh, god! I'm he!
But now Des had a new soul, free of pain and strong where pain once kept
Evil bloodthirst was firebranded in his mind, and it lived in the farthest corner of his hell where it had slept.
And deep from within that meld he was physically whole again
Those gathered round started to recoil at their newbirthed specimen.
As they tried to hold their creature to their bidding
Des laughed and said, now, you've really got to be kidding.
This time he was ready to restart the ordeal
And Des begged no more the question, was any of this real.
Des and the monster bloodlust were joined as one--
Each knowing the other's intent as the carnage was begun.
In a whirlwind murderous spirit he fed at that sacrificial feast
--These silly people were going to regret their calling of the beast.
The sacrificial knife was his, and in a speed moment that flashed,
Every high priestess' throat was flowing red where he slashed.
The others had used less time for their situation to comprehend
They prostrated themselves to the evil as Des gave the ceremony its fitting end.
And years and years later there remains nothing of the church, or even the nearby town,
And less of the cultists' pilgrimage to have it all burned down.
For no one could fathom from what Hell could come such a force--
That leveling and burning the remains was the unanimous course.
The discoverers never talked of the insides of that place,
What they'd seen and what they'd felt in their hearts apace.
The new blood-drinking beast had exploded the cultists' prostrate forms,
And left their eyes screaming with hymns to the coming of storms.
****
Des, the last man who'd ever hunt humans for real, nor try,
Knows by several tests he's now not the kind to ever die.
So too, he knows, the storms of carnage will no longer end, at least
Among the cults who seek to call out the blood drinking beast.
It's with no little sense of humor
That the cults grow on the strength of the rumor,
Des spreads among the satanic faithful, his unknowing victims intended.
So that they can be his chosen, only with an outcome by Des amended.
And of the hitchhiker he met on his touring little chase--
Due to a choking mouthful force-fed with blood from that Evil vase.
She, too, forever hunts at Des' side through the victim-rich cults
with renewed vigor
For tubs of blood and the power surges of stark terror's rigor.
Stick around, the pump is just getting primed...I
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Yes, whisk me off to Part Two!!! I'll
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