Fifty Shades of Red - Chapter Two

The Lonely Hitchhiker Hacksmith  

The lonely hitchhiker shuffled in his seat, he slowly licks his grimy lips and scans for an appraisal of his prey. The driver could see his mad stare from the corner of his eye. It was the gaze of a deprived pervert, a gaze this driver knew only too well. The hitcher shuffled again. The driver turned his head to face him, the hitcher quickly looked away.
“What takes you out these parts?” The driver said in some attempt of small talk, something to settle the tension.
The hitcher scoffed and shuffled again,
 “The people”
He spoke so rough,
“I like to connect with the people, my people”
One of his eyes twitched, he shuffled in his seat.
The driver chuckled to himself,
“Your people huh? What are you the friggen pope?”
“I piss on your pope” Grunted the hitcher.  
“I’ll take your pope by force”
The hitcher shuffled closer to the driver and looked deep into his eyes.
“I’d pop his saggy brown cherry and make him shit all over his fancy chamber floors right onto the kids he did the same shit to, fuck it I’d fuck the kids too or just kill them” He moved right next to the driver’s face and said,
“I’ll do the same to you, unless you’re a faggot and your cherry already done been popped ha ha HA HA!!!” He broke off into an insane laughing frenzy and raised one arm to the driver’s throat the other dove into his filthy overcoat for his cleaver. The driver had already pulled his revolver out while the hitcher was making his little speech.
The driver whistled to the hitcher and bobbed the gun up so he could see it, see it point directly his crotch.
The car turned down a little dirt road that lead to an abandoned farm house.
“You gonna fuck me?” The driver smiled as he pulled his hand down to turn.
Not if I fuckin blast...” He pressed the gun hard on his cock,
“A .44 in your crown jewels”
The car came to a stop. The driver wound down his window, threw the cleaver out then exited dragging the hitcher out of the car by his hair across the gear stick. He threw him on the dirt and before the hitcher had said a word he stomped his foot down hard upon his nuts. The hitcher screamed a cowardly scream, a second stomp blew out a bit more steam but the next eight were like a living hell. The hitcher lay on the ground with his face in the mud as he was bound.
The driver stood over him and started removing the bullets from his gun.
“That was ten stomps, I think I could do a hundred without getting bored” He said.
“I don’t think you could do a hundred and tonight we aint goin have find out”
He had finished unloading his gun. He took out a single bullet from his jacket pocket and showed it to the hitcher sulking in the mud.
“This here is a hollow point bullet” He said twirling it round his fingers,
“After it impacts on the flesh these little razor-sharp pieces of shrapnel burst out from the end and explode the point of impact in a bloody mess”
He knelt down and undid the man’s pants then ripped off his underwear and grabbed his cock and balls.
“Now I can just picture so beautifully what it’s going to do to this little bundle and what a favor I would do for the universe. No more expeditions for this little nugget digger, no more forced entries. What a service to mankind, what noble thing to turn your evil perversion into crimson pulp in my fist”
The hitcher was bound but he started thrashing his legs around, his captor soon put an end to that with a stern squish of his fist on the gonads.
“You fuck, I’ll kill you, I’ll fuck your bloody corpse” Spat the hitcher through the mud.
“You’ll fuck nothing ever again, I’ll let you go, oh yes a rapist with no cock. It’s just so wonderfully ironic and sad and yet so very just”
“AHH! WHAT DO YOU WANT?” screamed the hitcher. “Did I rape your sweetheart? I would have killed the fucking whore after an eternity of torture I assure you that fucker!” He laughed madly.
“No understand I want to let you go, I hold no grudge against you” He knelt down picked up the hitcher and threw him over his shoulder and carried him into the barn of the old farm house.
He had been here earlier and prepared the area. He slumped the hitcher onto a table that had ropes to fasten on each corner, something he had rigged up himself. He carefully untied the hitcher’s hands and retied them onto the table’s fastenings along with his ankles.
“I’ve been looking for you, Hacksmith” The man announced while he paced round the barn. He stopped and dug through a toolbox,
“Hacksmith the hitcher, you don’t match the description of the man I’m looking for”
Hacksmith ground his teeth while wild thoughts bounced off the walls of his mind concerning the source of the clattering metal from the digging through the toolbox.
“What I mean to say is your physical description is not a match but your killings are almost identical in nature” He stopped digging. “The Heart in a Jar murders, the symbols painted in blood upon the cathedral floor”
He showed the Hacksmith dozens and dozens of newspaper clipping.
“Gruesome Murder”, “Repo Man strikes Again, “Heart in a Jar found Connected to Repo Man Killings. He dropped each clipping on the hitcher’s chest as he read them aloud.
“Who started this shit?” He asked the hitcher calmly.
“You’re just an asshole squirting out shit but who started this shit storm?”
“I ain’t answer to no boss if that’s what you’re asking” Said the hitcher.
“That’s not what I asked, listen carefully. I want to know why this shit happens, who’s the guy that came up with this sick shit, why does he do what it is he does and more importantly where the fuck he is.”
The hitcher thought about all this, thought about his own position in it all as well as his current position tied to dirty table in a barn.
“It was the Repo Man, he taught me” He said.
“I know that you prick, who is the Repo Man?”
“I don’t know who he is, I mean his name. I don’t fucking know buddy” He screamed. “I swear”.
“Well what the fuck you call this guy, you didn’t call him the Repo Man surely. I mean you met him he taught you this ritual shit you did?”
“Yeah he taught me some bullshit voodoo nonsense had me in his little cult club and everything, okay so I can help you out here buddy” He looked at his captor. “So maybe you can help me off this table out of these binds I’d feel a lot more comfortable”
“Right so you can stab me in the back. What you call this Repo Man to his face he got a real name or what?”
“We called him Reaper” Said the hitcher with a blank expression.
“The Reaper, you shitting me?”
The hitcher shook his head side to side, tears brewing in their glands.
“So how’d you and, “huh” The Reaper, meet then, the sick fuck expo or what?”
“Well one night he just came up to me while I was having a drink at some place.
A group of girls are drinking their tequila slammers bought by some smug fucks who wanna play slam her with their pretty young twats.
I’m watching them, laughing, joking cigarette smoking. One half of me wants to take them out for a nice meal treat them real nice then get them alone and rape them with a chef’s knife up the ass, the other half just wants to rape them real nice and quick and cum in their face and leave them crying and bruised, you know real nice.
This guy walks in sees me looking and smiles, sits down and orders a drink. I turn back to the girls.
About an hour later one of the smug fucks buying the girls drinks takes the pretty little bitch I was staring at all night and leads her outside. I follow them, they walk down the street she’s stumbling can hardly stand. He hails down a cab but she won’t get in tells him fuck off so she walks on and he follows. She’s telling him he’s a creep to fuck off and die. He has enough and pulls her into an alleyway.
“Get off me” She says.
“Just suck my fucking dick bitch, I bought you enough drinks”
“Get away you fuck” She tries to leave but he grabs her throat. She struggles her face goes redder and redder and purple. He lets go and says.
 “Now you going to suck my dick or what you little whore?”
She just nods, so scared looking and goes to undo his pants.
“Hey you alright there little lady?” I says emerging from the shadows.
“Fuck off creep me and my girl is just talking, alright?” This smug fuck says.
“I was talking to the lady, dipshit” I knew that would stir him up.
“You better get lost fast”
“Or what dipshit?”
He goes to make a move on me and lay him out cold on the cement.
“Oh my god thank you, you’re my hero. I can’t thank you enough” She said before kicking the man on the ground.
My mind is going crazy thinking of all the ways she’s going to thank me”
“I don’t want to hear about you raping some girl, get to point Hacksmith”
And the Hitcher was transported back on the table away from his dreams of the past and the familiar glow of the street lights.
“The guy who stared at me, he comes up to me at the same bar the next night.
He pulls himself up a chair and hands me a glass of scotch. I don’t take it so he places it in front of me. I decide to be frank with the guy.
“I ain’t a fag, I seen you looking at me yesterday and I ain’t fucking interested take a hike before you take a fist. To the face faggot”
He just smiles, his teeth are sharpened like a vampire. It wasn’t no plastic I could tell this guy had filed them or something.
“I ain’t a fag either but yeah I was watching you. I thought I recognized that look in your eye.
That appetite filled by flesh, that thirst quenched only by blood”
This fucker was creeping me out, it sounded like he ate people.
“I don’t eat fuckers I kill I…”
“Maybe you should try it” Hissed this fucker like a snake.
I sipped the drink he’d given me; it was fine scotch, maybe the finest.
“I watched you help that girl last night in the ally, she was straight out the frying pan and into the fire that one”
“CRRRRR”,
I don’t like people talking about seeing me doing things, to people.
“CRRRRR”,
It only ever ends in drama and blood.
“So what? You a cop? You look like the devil” And he did in his black cowboy suit, slick back black hair and goatee. He was pale as the moon and those fangs. Not like a vampire actually, only in the front, these ones went all round the mouth. This guy looks like a fucking demon. I notice each tooth is cruel and jagged it’s own way, inimitable as snowflakes before they melt in blood.

He gave me his card; it was plain white with the words
               “Lamia’s Steak House”
In black with a number in the corner.”
“You got that fucking card or what asshole?” He had had more than enough of The Hacksmith’s story.
“No but I know where it is I’ll tell you, it’s a town called Shred Haven” He sung trying to remain useful.
“Never heard of it, you bullshiting me Hacksmith” He grabbed a hammer and smacked his hand hard, a few times. Each hit broke bones, left them crooked in the skin and gaping through flesh.
            

“Shred Haven!” Sung the Hitcher
Like the irked onyx raven
Or a brutal stain on a picture
Painted from the blood of a craven
Tainted the scent of her allure
            “Shred Haven” Sung this man
             As claws tore through his flesh
               Dead fingers cast clung to sand
                Decay drifts from his last breath
               Razors linger like a mask of death
            “Shred Haven” Sung the Hitcher, followed by a deeper suffering, a grinding, gloom steeped curse festering inside




“Your last breath is yet to come Hacksmith”, The Hitcher drooled like an ancient hound waiting to die. Suddenly out bursting into an insane song
“Mother Mab! Let me ride
I’m courage clad Let me stride!
Acid rain is my piss
Annnnnd
I can’t refrain to never miss
HA HA HA!!!
AND YOU’LL NEVER WALK ALONE AGAIN!!”
He wailed and crooned while his pants were ripped off and yet again his sweaty crown and jewels were in the fist of his captor.
A knife was produced in the captor’s other fist and without hesitation, bodily or morally; he sliced all trace of manhood from The Hitcher Hacksmith’s crotch. The knife peeled it off like trimming the fat off a steak.
An execution of testosterone, a castration, a just scarring printed on flesh and skin in stone and undying devoid of lust.


He was nothing but a bloody crotched ken doll doomed to walk the world in shame and misery. His love stolen and cast away in a bucket of off cuts to rot or be found and devoured fiendishly by a sickly rat, or most likely house the grotesque revolt act of birthing a swarm of maggots, unnatural children, Beelzebub’s larva spew like thick white waterfalls from vile blowfly gods. He lies on the table delirious from blood loss and sees his own gonads splattered in a mushy lump on the floor. He cries as the worst is confirmed, and vomits at the nauseating sight and smell of his own rotting balls, maggots sliding in and out of, performing their ancient rite. How long had he been out? He could not think straight. Was this him being alive still? He looked down, he was naked and spayed clean but bandaged.
“Why?” He thought.
“Why the fuck do I have to be alive?