Chest burning, lungs bursting, arms flailing, the rich coppery taste of blood in my mouth.

Run. Hide. Rest. Watch.

This was the pattern of my life for the next month. Never able to stay in one spot for very long. Always fearful of the snarling rabid dogs at my heels. Scavenging food wherever I could, Watching as the whole world seemed to crumble inwards as the 'others' over-ran the land like an unstoppable bushfire creating a swathe of death, destruction and chaos within its terrifying wake. On the night of my flight from hell I remained hidden, silently weeping in a sewer pipe, sharing my space with three curious rats, a half-eaten racoon carcass and a varied collection of used condoms, discoloured sanitary towels and a small mountain of festering turds. With the foulest stench imaginable clogging the tiny amount of air available to me, I spent that night nervously listening for sounds above my head, stealing furtive glances onto the road from a nearby grating, and shaking uncontrollably as I replayed the macabre events of that evening over, and over....and over...in my mind. 

I reached the edge of despair that long night. Wave after wave of conflicting feelings threatened to drown me, colliding and crashing repeatedly at the weakened remains of my sanity. Horror. Disbelief. Fear. Sorrow. Shame.......Anger....Rage.  

I emerged from that pipe at first light a changed man. After breaking into a nearby recently deserted house I stood under a freezing cold shower unmoving as the dried in crusted shit and cloying aroma of decay were gradually sluiced away from my body. Unexpectedly finding a shotgun and stocked up with enough provisions for the road I left that house with a renewed sense of survival and an unspoken pledge to the memories of my dear family that I would slaughter that bald headed bastard if it was the very last thing I did on this rapidly decomposing planet. I knew that I would have to bide my time. That, at that time, their numbers were increasing at an alarming rate. That I would have to wait for my chance. My only aim was to stay alive.

Run. Hide. Rest. Watch.

This became my mantra.

On my two years on the road I managed to stay ahead of the chasing pack. I bore witness as the new inmates took over the asylum, helping out my fellow disappearing man where I could, but instinctively knowing when to leave a battle that could not be won. My travels took me all across the land, the sights I saw, the terrible sounds I heard, permenantly etched themselves on my mind. All leading to this point.

My thoughts return to the here and now. I'm standing at the window. I'm looking down at my enemy. He glares back up at me. I hear the door below splinter then crash to the floor.

I reload my shotgun and head for the stairs. The time of running is finally over.........

I spent what seemed to be hours tied to that chair. During that time I lost all sense of reality and felt myself teetering on the edge of an abyss just lingering, almost welcoming, the final push that would send me spiralling down into its murky depths. I suffered tauntings, slaps, kicks and pokes, yet none of this mattered. After what I had witnessed earlier that night I fully believed that nothing those two creatures could inflict upon me could make me feel any worse. The pain seemed distant, a minor inconvenience even. With the cold cruel murders of my family I had been visciously hollowed out and left to the wayside like a discarded, withered husk.

My mind had shut down and I sat there taking everything that they could concoct for their own warped sense of demonic amusement. After a while they both gradually stopped, seemingly frustrated at my lack of response to their tortuous ministrations. I slowly lifted my heavy head and stared balefully through streaming rivulets of blood at the pair as they seemed to awkwardly huddle together by the sink. With a lop-sided nod and a freakish grin in my direction the female shambled out of the room leaving me alone with the apparent leader of the wraith-like clan.

This one seemed more in control of his actions than the others. He was taller than the rest. His long back leather slicker rustled as he made his way across the room to me. A deep festering scar ran from the crown of his badly shaved head, past his bulging, seemingly sightless left eye, along his pock-marked cheek and angular jaw, finally disappearing down his scrawny neck and in behind the tattered shirt he wore. Leaning in towards me the creature delicately removed the gag, let it drop, sodden, to the kitchen floor then, to my amazement and revulsion, croaked out three small words;

"Yoooouuu.......diieeeeeee............Sooooooooooooooooon!"

I fought to keep from throwing up on myself as the rotted stench from his breath unexpectedly reached my nose. I settled instead for clearing my throat and spraying his wretched face with as much spittle as I could muster. The bastard's face creased with a wretched smile as he reached up to wipe his face. My skin crawled as his tongue snaked out and lapped at his talon-like fingers. A look of unbridled lust passed across his broken features as his thin stick-like frame shuddered uncontollably before me. He barked out a cracked laugh then turned and strode purposefully out of the room, that smile still playing on his quivering lips.

 A short time later I heard the door opening then softly closing behind me. For a scant second I was sure that I could smell my wife's favourite perfume. Distant memories brought tears to my eyes. I strained my head round but was not ready for the sight that awaited me. The female abomination had returned alone. She had gone upstairs no doubt and foraged through my wife's wardrobe returning to me wearing one of her little black dresses, a pair of badly laddered stockings and a pair of six inch stilletoes. She had gone to the trouble of running a brush through her hair, I observed, but had failed to notice that the same brush still hung limply at her mottled greenish shoulder, trapped and swaying in her thinning, lank tresses. Astonished panda-like eyes from too much mascara and a mess of lipstick haphazardly pointing arrow-like in the direction of her mangled left ear completed the post-death fashion statement which shambled towards me with a wanton grimace on its face. I closed my eyes and all I could take in was the scent of my wife. The thing must have poured the whole bottle upon herself.

I felt a hand run gently through my hair then a light pressure as she awkwardly lifted her left leg then straddled my lap. Her cold dead hands gently cupped my face as she looked into my eyes. Fierce bloodshot orbs wildly questioned mine. I tried to twist away but she was too strong. My stomach lurched as she leant in, peppering my face first with light moth-like kisses then started to messily lick up and down my face. Grabbing the back of my neck and clamping an iron claw on my shoulder to hold me in place she threw her head back, mouth wide open and toungue lolling from side to side, then started to grind herself into my crotch. I was distraught, abhorred by what was happening but was unable to control the resulting stirrings of her continual rocking movements. With surprising dexterity she roughly tore at both our clothes then lowered herself upon me.........

Disgust...revulsion...despair...shame.

Conflicting emotions threatened to tear me finally apart. My mind cried out for her to stop but my body, cruel deceiver, accepted its fate. After what seemed like a lifetime, the degredation ceased. She slid off me, a cruel grin playing on her cracked and seeping lips. I thought I was imagining things when she stood behind me and started to loosen my bonds. I wrenched myself from the chair and staggered backwards holding my arms up to shield against what I thought would be the final act to this horrible night. Feeling terror like never before I childishly peeked from behind my splayed fingers. She stood there, dishevelled and slightly swaying, pointing crookedly towards the door and mouthed the word "Gooooooo".

I ran.

As I got to the bottom of my path I could hear an almighty crash from behind me. Stealing a quick look backwards I saw the bald one, a look of feral anger on his face, surrounded by his companions. With a cry they began their chase.......the hunt had begun.

There can be nothing in this now ruined world more terrifyingly imaginable than scanning a room whilst you are tied up and gagged, seeing your three children and your wife being held, vainly struggling, in the clutches of the undead, and being completely powerless in preventing the pure evil about to be visited upon them.

Nothing.

I struggled ineffectually against the bonds holding me fast to the chair that night. My muffled cries for mercy, my pleading eyes brimmed with tears, my twistings, turnings, fit-like thrustings were met with cold, dead stares. Each corner of the room held a part of my life, each part straining, willing me to rise from my bonds and to make the horror disappear. Frantic arms clawing outwards reaching for me. Unbelieving, almost alien, screams assault my ears from every direction. Small, wild eyes holding mine, straining, questioning, imploring. Then suddenly.....

                                                                            Snap...!

              Snap...!

                                    Snap...!

Pieces of my heart, shards of my very soul...With each accompanying short, sharp, exclamatory noise a different part of me died as I witnessed my children's eyes turn skywards, their frail, innocent bodies collapse lifelessly to the floor....and then the ragged-clothed vultures descended.

Crunching...slurping...chewing...tearing...lapping...gulping...distorted animalistic moans of pleasure.....all of these abhorrent sounds were drowned out by the solitary blood-curdling scream which erupted from my wife. Empty, devoid of any fight, resigned to my fate, I slowly swayed my head round to look at her through stinging raw eyes. The screams abruptly stopped. Held in the talon-like grip of a decaying bald monster she seemed to wordlessly crumble inwards before me as he delicately leant inwards, clamped his yellowed rotting teeth to the side of her neck and....

...I couldn't bear to watch her end. Struck with utter disbelief and shame I closed my eyes and listened to the painful, gurgling death-rattle of my first and only love. I sat there a shadow of a former man whimpering, powerless to act as my lost family were dragged from the room. The bald one returned a short time later with a female of sorts, her torn, stained, floral print dress flapping open in parts leaving very little to the imagination. Both slowly circled their broken prey occasionally pawing at my face to garner some sort of reaction. I dully stared back at them, praying almost that they would be as quick with me as they had been with my family.

I was wrong....

I momentarily froze...

As that smile broke out across that bastard's face everything came rushing back. I had spent the last three long years trying to put the images and sounds of what had happened that terrible night out of my head, tried to forget about getting any semblance of revenge for what had happened to my wife and my children. I had, almost shamefully, pushed away the memories of the acts that I had endured and attempted to eke out some meaning to what was left of my now empty existence. My hermitic lifestle for the past year at the cottage had healed my waking nightmare somewhat. I had almost come to terms with the fact that I could never have taken them on by myself, that their strength was too great, that their numbers too many. But now, tired of running, and painfully reminded of the atrocities that had befell myself and my innocent family, an imaginary switch had been turned on, both in my head, and in my heart, and I was now resolute in killing every last one of these rotten fucks or die in trying.

It had been a Sunday night, about five weeks after everything had seemed to be back to normal after the initial outbreak had died down. I had been putting out the garbage and had stopped to breathe in the night air. The news reports were all positive that the virus had disappeared and for the first time in ages I believed that I could relax, that my family were safe from harm and that we could get on with our lives again. I remember that it had seemed strange to me that the bins smelled extra terrible that night and as I turned to go back inside the house I caught a flurry of movement out of the corner of my eye. Six shadowy figures raced from the trees at the bottom of the garden in my direction. Running for the house I tried to close the door behind me but failed. The back door slammed against the wall, the glass shattered around me and falling backwards my head bashed against the wall. As I crumpled to the floor the last thing I remember before blacking out was the sight of someone walking towards me from the back yard and the sound of a hoarse gargled laugh.

I woke up sometime later and found myself, mouth gagged, tied to a chair in my kitchen, the single light above me swinging haphazardly around me revealing a wide array of horrors from every corner of the room....oh dear Jesus..nooooo!

I stare emotionlessly at the bloody stumps that were the first two fingers of my right hand. The smell of burnt flesh, excrement and death still manages to assault my ruined and now unrecognisable nose. I cough and painfully spit out a wad of phlegm mixed with blood. Falling to my torn knees I look back up the path at the burning cottage and let out a guttural cry of naked aggression and triumph. Flames lick at the window sills. The thatched roof erupts then crumples inwards. Windows explode outwards in the heat of the hellish furnace burning within. Shards tinkle and stab the earth around me. I do not notice. My whole being aches. I hear the crunch of a footstep behind me. I am past caring..

..in a type of mist shrouded cine-reel, I slowly replay the events of the past few hours in my head.

  I had watched the first few revenants clumsily shamble their way up the path towards me as soon as the last rays of sun had treacherously winked out behind the hills. Their meaningless groans reached my ears as I stood at the second floor window in the cottage. Breaking the window with the butt of my shotgun I nestled it tight in against my shoulder, slowly took aim, and then fired off two barking shots at the small group approaching me. One head immediately disintegrated spraying its companions in tissue and greyish brain matter. The other shot removed anothers throat and most of its left shoulder. As clawing hands aimlessly reached upwards the body lurched forward a few steps then crumpled forward as its head lay in the path behind sightlessly watching its stunted progress. Their companions immediately stopped their journey towards me and fell upon their fallen comrades. Animalistic howls of pleasure filled the air as limbs were torn apart and swiftly devoured. I watched incredulously as a couple seemed to embrace then almost lovingly lick the previously splattered brain matter from each others face. Both held their pose and slowly turned their faces in my direction. I could swear that there was a type of almost feral gratitude displayed openly in their ruined visages.

Reloading my shotgun I turned and climbed a makeshift ladder leading to the roof space. In my time spent here during the last year I had managed to create a lookout post of sorts. With the doors and windows barricaded downstairs the roof seemed to be the best place to launch a defence against the marauders advancing below. Grabbing a few makeshift Molotov cocktails I had earlier prepared and stored in the loft, I first lit the oily cloths then threw them down and outwards at two hulking bundles of rags that had made a joint lurch in the direction of the cottages front door. On both counts, my aim was true. I took great pleasure in watching the two figures first explode into flames then writhe in agony on the dirt track below. Their two remaining companions halted in their tracks, then slowly turned and retreated back down the track.

Reaching for a pair of binoculars I leant out of the skylight and tried to focus on the retreating abominations to see what they were trying to do. Focusing further down the track I spied a group of about thirty all apparently enthralled by the silent orders and directions given by one solitary figure. Standing with his back to me I still recognised the full length torn leather coat. Finishing what he had to say the figure turned around slowly and looked up towards me and the cottage. His dead eyes met mine through the sights of the binoculars. A freakish smile cracked open on his long pallid face as he ran his thumb raggedly across his wizened throat. With a silent shout and a wave of his arm the surrounding hoard split into three directions and advanced. 

The first news reports were in agreement that it started with a rabbit.

The whole world has gone to shit because of Bugs fucking Bunny. Well, to be truthfully honest, Bugs Bunny and the lethal brainfarts of a laboratory full of stereotypical mad scientists each rabidly intent on creating some sort of magical cure for the Aids virus. Like a plot out of a terrible movie, they messed with Mother Nature and that unforgiving harridan came back to take a big wholesome chunk out of their, then everyone else's, throats.  That little buck-toothed carrot-muncher made a break for freedom one sunny Friday afternoon bringing with him, hoppity-friggin-hop, the most contagious disease ever to visit the human race.

This B-virus, as it became known, rapidly tore a swathe through the general populace. Flu-like symptoms lasted for around a week then people started dropping like flies. Overloaded hospitals crumbled under the onslaught, unsubstantiated reports of military personnel drafted into shovelling bodies into mass graves beamed around the globe, news of country after country succumbing to the further spread of the virus. Families destroyed, friends and loved ones swiftly taken away. Chaos reigned for a while and the world went mad. Almost a third of the entire worlds population lost their lives over a period of six crazy weeks. Then...it just stopped. As we all breathed a collected shaky sigh, took the time to mourn our dead and tried to piece the broken parts of our lives back together those same, previously cursed upon, scientists were now praised for halting the supposed end of the world with their fortunate discovery of a supposed vaccine.

Six weeks later the shit really hit the fanen masse, the dead began to rise. Not your normal run of the mill un-dead either mind. True, they all craved the succulent pulsating brain of the living but these bastards were not the mindless shambling idiots that we had all come to know and love (?) from numerous films and books. These rotting corpses worked together in groups, communicating with each other - damn, I even saw one of those fuckers drive a bus full of its own kind once straight through the walls of a barricaded school  to get to the goods inside. The degree of intelligence displayed by them surprised us all. Those not succumbing to a grisly death at the hands of the newly rose invariably became infected and unknowingly passed the now mutated virus on. We had no chance really. The sucker punch of the first strain took the fight out of us - the second strain nearly wiped us out completely.  The dead walked the earth eating a crimson path through the remaining survivors. The supply of fresh living human flesh waned for them in time as our numbers swiftly dwindled. The animals followed as a poor substitute...then marine life...then insects. Without the nourishment of brains these creatures began to shrivel up further then die once again - this time forever.

But one group remain. I believed that I had outlasted them. On the run for the past three years I have managed to elude them at every turn. Before last night I had not seen them for a year. A good year. A year during which I had learned to sleep again, to pass an hour in the day without seeing my three sweet innocent children devoured before my unbelieving eyes, without hearing the gargled screams of my beautiful wife echoing in the deafening silence.

I stand at the window staring down at the only point of attack against my veritable fortress, shotgun in hand, cigarette jutting from the corner of my mouth. Smoke lazily drifts to the rafters. I realize that it is going to be a long night...

I remain motionless unblinking at the window as the last embers of the sun disappear behind the hill...

Let them come.

It will soon be time to move on again.

Sunlight flitters through a break in the curtains enveloping the right side of my face in a welcoming warmth. I was at peace here, possibly for the first time in over a year, but after the events of last night I know deep within my protesting heart that I must move on to somewhere else, somewhere safer.

I grudgingly rise from my slumber, reach under the bed for my shotgun, and, naked, stand stock still for around five minutes listening for the slightest sound within the cottage. Satisfied that nothing untoward stirs within my previously secure surroundings, I carefully rest my weapon against the bed and dress quickly. Moving to the bedroom window I slowly peel back the curtains and survey the silent unmoving carnage displayed on the lawn outside. Body parts strewn sporadically, various limbs bent at unnatural angles, snarling mouths laid open, dead eyes staring, seven foreheads each showing signs of  shotgun blast.a mini-eruption from each betraying the end. An end I readily visited upon each of these craven abominations the previous night. I feel no remorse. It was either me or them.

Fifteen minutes later, after having checked the perimeter I return to the lawn and begin the grisly task of collecting the parts. I will never get used to the stench of rotting flesh. My task completed I pour gasoline over the wretched mound, light a match and stand back to watch the makeshift lasting funeral pyre. The sound of crackling flesh and popping eyeball never ceases to amaze even after so long since my last encounter with these creatures.

I tear my eyes away from the fire and walk slowly to the edge of the cliff side. I look out over the bay. The waves crash in against the dangerous rocks below sending spumes of wash up into the air. The rhythmic sound is soothing to my fevered mind. Fevered as I had believed myself to be safe, that time had somehow hopefully ended the existence of these beings, that I was free to spend the rest of my time in peace here. How wrong was I in foolishly believing this?  Breathing deeply, I take in the acrid aroma of kelp, seawater and sand. Fragmented visions of a past life come to the fore - memories of childhood, footprints in the sand, the comforting feel of my fathers hand enveloping mine as we walk along a far from here stretch of beach, the piercing cackle of other children laughing, the caw of a solitary seagull. All of these things gone nowinnocent times never to return. I close my eyes and absently wipe a stinging tear from my cheek.

I know that I must make my move soon. That I must start to pack up the things that I need for the journey ahead. That I must move only during the day and barricade myself in as darkness falls once more - last nights activities prove this. But not just yetsoon. I enter the cottage, retrieve a beer - the last one - from the cold store, and return to the cliffs edge. Feeling the sun against my skin, the sound of the waves rolling in then dragging out, the sharp, cold taste of amber goodness as it weaves its path over my tongue and down my throat, I feel at ease once more. It makes me forget, just for a short time, that I am the last one left. How can I give this place up?

Surely one more day will not make a difference

She screamed for me, her eyes were wide

She begged me to desist

My little ballerina girl

Oh God!

I can't

Resist

Night after night I'd watched her move

And twist around the floor

That innocent look,Upon sweet face

The final heart,

One

More.

Six in all, no doubt you've heard

Were needed for my feast,

To keep my body young again

For twenty years

At least.

I found one in an alleyway, a lady of the night,

The second one,

A trainee nurse

By Christ

She had some

Fight!

My third and fourth picks, they were twins

A lovely pair, indeed,

Identical,

In every way

Pure avarice

My Greed

Victim five, a bookman's daughter

Welcomed death, 'tis true

I savaged her

And ripped her neck

I watched her face

Turn

Blue

The ballerina she was last, a good choice

That's no lie

The final piece

Clicked into place

From London

Soon

I'll

Fly

My one regret, the heart I missed

Christie,

Was that her name?,

My failure in

Attaining her's,

For that,

I feel

No

Shame

She minded me of hearts gone by,

Trophies

From the past

America?

My next stop?

She flees

But that

Won't

Last...........

........till I finally get a week's holiday away from the madness that is my working life.

Seven more days to go before I can forget about the constant barrage of meaningless e-mails, meetings and mind-numbing menial tasks that some juiced up monkey could probably do

Seven more days before I crack open that bottle of French vodka I've been saving

Seven more days before I chill the fuck out, stop sighing uncontrollably, and rest my weary bones

Seven more days......

Just seven...... 

'Jesus Jeff...where the hell are you? Look it doesn't matter. We have the fucker Jeff. Ha! I've found him. That girl at the club really came through for me. Look, I'm after him right now..the bastard just gave me the slip at the club but I know where he's going. I'll phone the cops just before I get there..I want to be there when they drag that sick fuck out of his hotel room...he's holed up at the St. Martins Lane in Covent Garden, room 69 no less..Pah!...if it hadn't been for what this bastard has been up to, that would be funny..Im on my way now Jeff. If you get this, meet me there....' 

 Jeff's heart skipped a beat as he listened to the voicemail message for the third time. He could just about hear his former protégée's excited voice above the beating rain in the background. The message ended with what sounded like a muffled far away thump of a door. Jeff got up, went across the room, checked the office to see if anyone was still about then closed his office door. It had been three days since the funeral. That meant that the red light on his answering machine had been flashing merrily away for the past five days...Jesus...Jeff inwardly grimaced as he remembered standing by the open grave in the pouring rain looking down at the coffin as hundreds of supposed well-wishers filed morosely past offering sad smiles, awkward words of sympathy and occasionally pressing dripping flesh. The young lad had no family left. He had never talked about anyone from his past. This had been fine with Jeff. He didnt like to talk much about his past either. He did like the kid thoughthought that he had real potential and had wanted to teach him everything that he knew. The boy had reminded Jeff a bit of his son who had died tragically a number of years ago. The least he thought that he could do was to give the kid a proper burial and send off. Now that this was over Jeff had finally returned to his office to find the flashing red light awaiting him. Jeff sat down heavily in his chair, steepled his fingers below his nose, closed his eyes and listened to the message again..

. I smile surveying the glistening contents of the six containers on the table before me. With twelve days to spare before the end of the year I have managed to collect the six necessary ingredients for my special feast. The last two donors, as it were, proved to be no problem at all. One, a specialist bookshop owner's cute little daughter, had almost welcomed her end. A girl whose previously dull and meaningless life I had entered, like a shining black knight with promises of riches, adventures and a new life of fast cars, expensive holidays and untold riches. Secretly sweeping her off her feet after a visit to the bookstore I had, at first, listened to her sorry tale of a lonely sheltered life in her little bed-sit in Chelsea, drinking cheap foul-smelling beer and smoking her badly rolled crumbling hashish. I smile again as I remember her wide eyes and open mouth as I sat there on a lumpy sofa regaling her with wild stories about my previous hedonistic life. The girl had almost thrown herself at me. We rutted like rabid wolves on the floor, on the couch, against the wall. I can still her delicious scream as I bit into her shoulder, reached behind into my bag for a straight razor, and then drew its cool length slowly across her throat. My! How her blood splattered the dingy walls of that pokey flat..almost like a Rorshcash test...yes...I could have sworn that I saw the winding river of my homestead within its arterial swash...

Jeff poured himself a generous shot of Wisers Special Blend (hidden in his bottom drawer for special occasions), grimaced as the fiery amber liquid burned its quick path from his throat to his belly, and then reached into his top drawer for his revolver. He stood up, put the gun in his coat pocket then crossed the room to leave. Passing the mirror he stopped for a minute to look at his reflection. The face looking back at him did not betray his years. The message that the kid had left on his machine had seemed to awaken a dormant spark within Jeff. The glint from previous years had returned to his eyes. Adrenaline seemed to course through his body as he thought about who he was about to confront and what he was about to do. With a final wink at himself in the mirror, Jeff turned, left the office and went outside to hail a cab.

 ..The second girl, my last piece of the puzzle, had been an aspiring ballerina. I'd watched this fine specimen entrechat, glissade and Pas de poissson from my special box at the Royal Albert Hall for a few weeks. I had showered the impressionable young thing with flowers and expensive perfumes requesting an audience. She accepted and I made my secret visit to her dressing room after the final performance of the night and after everyone had gone back to their homes for the night. My skin almost tingles as I recall her futile protestations at first when I boldly and unexpectedly kissed her. She had seemed to think on the matter for a few seconds then opened up to the idea like a blossoming orchid. Her fine taut body seemed to tremble then ache for mine as I slowly entered her from behind. The image of our joined naked bodies reflected in the full length mirror in her dressing room is one that will stay with me for a very, very long time. Sweaty thrusting, sinews strained, teeth bared in silent keening..her eyes bulging as I roughly strangled her with a close at hand leotard..that helpless pleading in her eyes..the pitiful beating of her fists against my naked chest...oooh..beautiful my dear...so very....beautiful  

. 'St. Martin's Lane Hotel, Covent Garden'...Right you are guv'nor'Jeff settled back in the cab and took a deep controlling breath. He tuned out as the bearded foul smelling cab driver leaned back every minute or so trying to strike up meaningless conversations about the weather, the government, global warming, the latest football transfers. After receiving no answer about the state of his bad back and chronic piles, the driver appeared to take the hint, let out a huge sigh, then turned his attention to the road and the teeming traffic around them in London. Surprisingly the journey took no time at all. After pulling up outside the Hotel, Jeff handed the previously offended driver a fifty and told him to keep the change, stepped out of the cab, climbed the steps smiling at the aged concierge opening the door, and then entered the lair of the Doctor.

... And now my six hearts are here before me. The time of worship and feasting is now close at hand. Anticipation..oh sweet anticipation. The pot is on the hotplate bubbling nicely away. The candles have been lit. Just a few short incantations and then I can begin..

Jeff rode up on the lift to the sixth floor. Mercifully, he had the small enclosed box to himself - no strangers to attempt further small talk with. He was starting to feel nervous now about what was about to happen. With an ominous BING, the lift arrived at the sixth floor and the doors silently slid open. Jeff exited the lift, made his way down the hall then stood before the door of room 69

.ah .the smell of boiling hearts.there really is no other smell quite like it...now who in the blue fuck is that knocking at my door?....insolence damn you....insolence!........

.Jeff stood ready at the door after lightly rapping it three times. He listened to a muffled curse from within and the measured tread of someone coming closer to the door. The door suddenly swung inwards and he now faced the evil murder, the man the kid had given the name 'Doctor Valentine', the fiend who had butchered six innocent women in this Winter of 2008....time seemed to slow to a stop as both men locked eyes with each other. Jeff was momentarily lost for words giving the man facing him the opportunity to speak first...

Grandfather!.....Do come in.I was just about to sit down to dinner..have you eaten yet? 

...........of Winter Valentine until August 20th because I lost a bet. It was a friendly bet with the winner choosing the other's avatar for a month.

Guess who lost??????

I just cant bring myself to post the last part when there's a big pink crudely drawn cock n' balls with frankly alarming pubes protruding from its lumpy sack staring back out at you...I just cant.

I've got it posted 'somewhere' else. If anyone's interested, send me a message and I'll send you the link. If not, no worries...I'll post it in a month's time.

Cheers

SQWA :D

With no thought for, or show of embarrassment about her naked state, Christie led me out of the room and down another side corridor on the second floor of the club. We stopped at a door marked 'PRIVATE' and listened after she had knocked a few times. With no answer or noise from within she first checked behind, then turned and quickly opened the door, pulling me in after her.

Wallpapered from ceiling to floor in faux leopard skin print, the boss' office, I presumed, certainly oozed a certain je ne sais... crap. A huge mahogany desk dominated the room surrounded by a bank of flickering monitors, each showing a different camera view of the rooms above and the club below. Quickly turning on a small desk side lamp....

***No...there's no response to the light....pupils are fixed***

...Christie began to scan each screen to see if she could spot the murdering bastard, and I found myself looking around the rest of the room wondering what sort of a sick freak her boss really was. Many framed pictures of the sleazy overweight dirt bag with his arms clasped around past and present dancers covered the walls of the office - each portraying the same leering grin on his face and an equal look of discomfort displayed by the lucky girl being groped. A space age tanning bed took up most of the left hand side of the room, and, as I returned to Christie's side, gingerly stepping over a wastebasket filled to the rim with soiled hankies, I caught sight of a table in another corner of the room groaning under the weight of a multitude of sex toys and jumbo bottles of lubricant. Joining my 'private dancer' in her search on the myriad of monitors, I was presented with a voyeurs delight.

One showed a young latino girl burrowing her head in the crotch of a well known judge, replete in gown and wig, as three men looked on and silently cheered. Another showed the corner of the club with the cage where a fight of sorts had broken out between the now-crying construction worker and one of his Mistresses - Jesus... she could teach Harrison Ford a thing or to about wielding a whip! Wincing, I turned my attention to the screen displaying the main stage and saw that the Madonna fan appeared to be having real problems removing her cucumber. The three triplets I had run into downstairs had all joined her on stage creating a moving sea of naked flesh, clenched teeth, bouncing breasts and flailing legs in a vain attempt to free the vegetable from the poor girl's fundament. My head snapped to the last screen on the left as Christie let out a sharp moan and shakily pointed at the lone figure I had earlier encountered sitting at the same table almost hidden in the shadows.

My stomach crawled as I realised that he was looking directly at the camera. Believing that there was no way that he could know that he was being watched, my blood froze as he tilted his head slightly to the side, squinted his eyes, then appeared to mouth out the words,

'No...fucking...way...you....insolent... Pup.'

With a final snarl at the camera, revealing a row of frankly perfectly formed choppers, he reached down to retrieve his bag from under the table then made a move to leave. Shaken into action, I made a bolt for the door but skidded to a halt and turned when I heard Christie shout, 'Be careful'. She stood there naked and quivering, her beautiful face a mask of concern.  As her perfect breasts jutted towards me, her rock hard nipples a pair of wondrous exclamation marks, I walked back towards her. Taking Christie in my arms, after first delicately cupping one of those glorious boobs in my right hand, I passionately kissed her full on the lips. Thanking her for her help, I winked, (Yes...winked)  then ran for the door once again. Hurtling down the corridor then, taking the stairs two at a time, I saw the bastard leave the club through the emergency exit. Barging my way through the throng I reached into the cage, retrieving a black ass paddle as I passed, then burst through the door into the alleyway..

***Debs...I think you'd better call this one***

I remembered struggling to look up and down the alleyway as the rain incessantly pounded. Seeing nothing but an overflowing trashcan and several discarded condoms as they raced by my now rain-sodden shoes on their way to a sewer grating, I cursed in frustration then reached into my coat pocket for my mobile. I rang Big Jeff but there was no answer. Leaving a quick message about what had happened and telling him the address of the hotel and room number I hung up then started to walk to the end of the alley. Too late, I heard the slam of the club door closing, the splish-splash of rapid footsteps behind me, then let out a gargled scream as a sliver of cold steel effortlessly passed into, then roughly scored upwards, at the small of my back. My whole body seemed to shudder and, just before blacking out, I sensed a steel-like grip on my shoulder, felt the tiny sharp pressure of a needle puncturing my neck just behind the left ear, and heard a voice hoarsely whisper,

'Don't worry my boy...the pain will soon be gone...trust me...I am a doctor after all'.

After having passed out for only a few minutes I hazily came to feeling a far away tugging, pulling, wrenching sensation coming from my chest. I opened my eyes to see a stark white hand cradling a glistening lump of pulsating flesh. Feeling completely numb all over, recognition washed over me as the bastard's craggy face loomed in close to mine. He looked me straight in the eyes, his tongue slowly snaked out and ran up then down the length of my stolen heart. With a trail of blood running down his chin, Valentine grinned wide and squeezed, saying,

'Not long now dear boy...such a shame it had to end this way...you had such...potential' 

And that was the last I saw of him.

And here I am now...whats left of me.

As I lie in this alley with two sad looking EMTs looking down on me I feel the last breath leave my body I feel a distant longing for the soft touch of that beautiful dancer in the club, I feel a cold tremor of remembrance pass through me at the memory of my heart's last beat before my eyes, I hope that Jeff gets my message and takes more care than I did...and..,and  .  ..

***Time of death...three a.m..you can stop the siren now John...it's over***  ..

Unaware of what to expect I slowly moved after her into the room. Her long silky black brown tresses seemed to bounce playfully along her back almost daring me to follow and I couldn't help admiring the outstanding curves tightly embraced by the lacy covering that adorned her goddess-like figure. From her perfect complexion and sensuous lips, to the impressive swell of her breasts straining against her restrictive underwear, from an ass that gently beckoned as she languidly made her way into the centre of the room, the tight thighs and well honed calves ...Jesus...this girl was damn near perfect in every way. I felt an almost inevitable stirring down below, caught myself, remembered the real reason for my being there and was about to speak when, almost telepathically, she coyly looked over her shoulder, put a beautifully manicured finger to her luscious moist bottom lip and said:

'Shhhh...no questions...let me do the talking.'

Her eyes flicked to the shadowy top right hand corner of the room revealing a small red flashing light, then returned to mine as she leant in towards me, gently placed her hands on my shoulders and quickly whispered,

 'Eyes are everywhere. My boss is probably in his office watching us now, with his trousers around his ankles...the dirty bastard likes to keep a record of who visits me here...says the tapes are his insurance for a rainy day. Let me take care of you...put on a show. I'll let you know everything I have to offer...Trust me.'

Like a stupefied rabbit caught in the proverbial headlights I stood there with my mouth slightly open unsure of what to do. Taking control of the situation, Christie slowly took off my coat, undid my tie and led me to a plush looking blood-red circular sofa positioned in the middle of the room. As she gently bid me to sit down, then moved towards a shining black pole a few feet away, I literally tore my eyes away from her and took a quick look at my surroundings. It was an octagonal room of sorts with only one entrance, the sofa and the pole being the only pieces of furniture I could see. Three-quarter length mirrors covered almost every wall and as I chanced a furtive glance at the ceiling I was rewarded with the sight of a full mosaic depicting what I believed to be some sort of debauched rendition of the Last Supper - I say debauched because I fail to remember four naked busty serving wenches pouring wine for the Big man and his apostles in the original

*** I'm not getting a pulse here John...what are we gonna do?' ***

Thinking back now, I dont remember Peter standing bare-chested with his fists in the air and a snarl on his face as Paul reached forward giving his nipple-clamps a tweak either, nor do I recall Judas perched at the end of the table roughly giving a serving girl one from behind. As the lights dimmed and a slow steady rhythmic beat began to pump from hidden speakers, I snorted, shook my head then returned my attention back towards the pole and Christie.

In perfect time to the beat, she slowly peeled off her lacy outer garment. Her warm and inviting eyes never left mine as she delicately removed her high heels then slowly slid them towards opposite ends of the room. Clad only in her bra, panties and suspenders she began to use, then frankly abuse, that pole in a number of unimaginable ways. I sat there with my mouth open once again as she twisted and turned, rose and fell, worked her fine undulating body into extreme positions that made even a battle hardened journalist like me, who had literally seen everything - or so I'd thought - wince. Spirally impressively from the top of the pole to the bottom as the rhythmic beats abruptly stopped, Christie then began to crawl slowly across the floor towards me on her hands and knees with a hungry cat-like expression on her face. Reaching the sofa she sat back and slowly began to remove her suspenders. The sight of her bare flesh moved me once more and, embarrassed, I tried to cover myself..

***There NO pulse Debbie 'cos there's NO FACKING HEART ..Shit.shit..hand me that compress...there's too much blood loss 'ere...there's nothing else we can do...Shit'***

....catching sight of my aroused state, Christie smiled lasciviously, sat astride my lap and undid the clasp of her bra. A small groan escaped me as her perfectly formed breasts and erect nipples jiggled out then swayed once, pendulum-like, before my very eyes. Standing once more she proceeded to bend over in front of me and tantalizingly lowered her panties...Good God! ... Taking a seat once more in my lap, she rested her back against my chest, began to slowly - maddeningly - grind her beautifully formed cheeks against my straining erection, reached back and draped her slender hands behind my neck, turned her head to face me and began to tell me what had happened to her at the party she had went to the previous week.

I struggled to concentrate as her motions became quicker and more direct...my brain tried to piece together her story as my heart rate rose and a thin film of sweat broke out on my brow. Turns out that she had been invited by one of her friends at the club to a 'private' party just outside London where the work would be easy and the rewards would be plentiful. She was told that around thirty men would be gathering at a well respected Judges country estate to share a night of cards, booze and exotic dancing. 'Extras' would be entirely up to the girls' discretion.

Christie had gone to the place and done her routine for the gathered gents, turned down the repeated advances of more than a few of them, been well paid for her nights work and had been just about to leave happy and contented when a guy cornered her outside in the shadows of the veranda. With a creepy Eastern European tone to his voice he had heaped praise on Christie for her wonderful abilities and had enquired if she did one-on-one parties. Not waiting for an answer he had pushed a note into her hand (a room number and an address of one of the most expensive hotels in London), promised that money would be no object, and then disappeared back into the country estate.

Shaken, and disturbed, Christie had dismissed the encounter and went home believing that she would never set eyes on him again. But every night since then she had turned up to work at the club and he had been there, at the same table each night, with the same leering and questioning expression on his face. In her dressing room she had arrived every night to find flowers and a note bearing the words 'you know where I am if you change your mind my dearif you do, please do me the honour of wearing this.' She also discovered that every night an expensive bottle of neon green nail polish rested on her dresser beside the note.

My heart had almost stopped as she leaned around, cupped her hand to my ear and whispered, 'He's downstairs now.'

I stood up awkwardly, my raging hard-on forgotten, stuffed my tie into my coat pocket, took Christie's hand in mine, looked her in the eyes and said,

'Show me........'

***Echo 17...additional...Can we get an EMT over here?...yes, that is correct...side alley of the club...yeah...quick as you can...?...Over.

 'Jesus Bert....this boy doesnt look too hot..look at the size of that 'ole in 'is chest!'

'Poor bastard....looks like the Doctor as branched out ta fellahs as well...dunno if an ambulance is going to be able ta 'elp this poor sod***

I really don't think I've got much time left now. How long can a body continue to survive without its heart? Just one of life's little questions I've never got around to finding the answer to...until now. I can vaguely make out flashing blue and red lights at the end of the alleyway and the shadowy figures of two coppers standing over me...disembodied voices seem to randomly come and go...I just haven't the strength to lift my head, never mind acknowledge them...if I can just try to piece together what happened tonight...before its too late...

Earlier, Justine, a very reliable contact of mine in the past, had come through for me. She knew that I had been putting out my feelers concerning the murder case and phoned me up saying that a friend of hers had just recently come across some information which, if the price was right, would, in her own words, 'blow that fucker right out of the water'. I'd done Justine a favour a few months ago by keeping her name out of an article I had been writing. It turned out that an old friend of hers had caught wind of something that would definitely help with my story about Doctor Valentine. Her message on my answering machine told me to meet up with her American dancer friend at a 'gentleman's' club I'd often frequented - purely work related I assure you - and to ask for either Sierra or Christie. Justine told me that I would be expected and added, with a laugh, that I would NOT be disappointed.

***Heres that ambulance now Bert... Stand back....Fer fucks sake! Dont move 'im...the detectives will want ta see 'im first...go down the othah end of the alley and stop those othah bleeders from comin any further..***

Glad to be finally out of the pouring rain, and, hoping that this would be the big break that I needed, I remember slipping the bouncer a twenty, pushing open the huge batwing doors of the club, and making my way to the bar to inquire after my mysterious informant. The club was a strange place. All walks of life met here under this roof to throw down a few cold ones after a hard day's work, to escape from the daily grind of their monotonous lives...oh...and to get a good look at some outstanding tits and ass. Shop workers, plumbers and young punks rubbed shoulders with the likes of politicians, judges and high flying businessmen. For a man like me, with his ear to the ground listening for any morsel of useable newsworthy hearsay, this place was a veritable goldmine. As I stood back to let a huge breasted blonde pass by wearing only a smile and a skimpy g-string and leading an embarrassed looking city worker by his tie to a private alcove for, presumably, a special one-on-one, I instinctively took a quick scan around the room.

The atmosphere tonight had been electric. Muted rock music pounded from each of the personal alcoves vying with the solo Madonna track blaring out to the lone dancer furiously gyrating naked on the main stage and trying to insert a frankly ridiculous sized cucumber up her shaven front bum. I recall musing on her supposed state of virginity and doubted very much that this was her 'very first time'. Raucous cheers and drunken wolf whistles broke out from a roughly hewn cage in the corner of the room near the emergency exit as a group of construction workers cheered on their workmate currently stripped to his saggy underwear and getting his poor arse paddled blue by a wholesome dominatrix. The smell of alcohol, perfume covered sweat and dirty money permeated the air. At the bar a completely naked Asian girl was slowly dry humping the leg of a well known television celebrity chef as he looked on in drunken bemused wonder and kept handing her a steady stream of crisp ten pound notes....

***How long has he been here officer? Shine that light over here Debbie...Jesus, this doesnt look good at all...***

...After asking first about Sierra, then about Christie I was eventually told that Darla (The American Dream no less) was waiting for me in the V.I.P. suite up on the second floor. As I made my way to the stairs past the many tables filled with drunken revellers I remember almost tripping over a bag of some sort left beside a chair. I'd moved in close to that table to allow a bevy of red-headed nude triplets pass me by. My gaze was transfixed by their passing and as I fell forward I recall thinking that those girls were completely identical in EVERY way - even down to the small cluster of freckles gathered tattoo-like on their collected left arse cheeks. I managed to steady myself and recover in time to look back and see a solitary figure at the table, almost hidden in the shadows, swiftly dart forward and retrieve the bag before settling back into the darkness. Over the pounding of the music I heard a cultured voice say

'I do apologise my good fellow. How completely clumsy of me...are you alright?'

I mumbled that I was fine then turned to ascend the stairs to the second floor. At the top I looked back down and could have sworn that a pair of reptilian eyes glared furiously in my direction from that darkened alcove. Fierce hatred seemed to emanate in waves from those tiny orbs but a sudden light tap on my shoulder made me turn around. I was greeted by the dazzling smile of one of the loveliest young women I have ever had the fortune of running into. Wearing a full body length white lace number, suspenders and high heels, the vision of beauty introduced herself as Christie. As she took my hand and led me to a door at the end of a short corridor she turned to me, leaned in close to my left ear and breathed the words,

'Come into my office newsman..I believe you and I have something to..discuss' ..........

The early morning mist seemed to lightly hug the ground as she effortlessly pounded the long and winding path around Barnard Park. She thought that this park was far better suited to her needs than the others that she had tried out during the past few weeks. Regent's and Saint James' Park had too many overweight joggers and excessively meandering corgi-walkers vying for space even at the ungodly hour of six in the morning. As she stopped for a minute by a park bench to take on some fluids and caught sight of a red squirrel merrily scampering up a nearby tree, Christie thought about the shit-storm that had just gone down in the past few days and tried to finalize the plan for her last few hours in London.

She didn't blame herself in any way for what had happened to the magazine guy at the club two nights ago. She had been paid for information and whatever someone did with it, or however someone acted on it afterwards, was none of her business. Sighing as she pictured his ruffled hair, cheeky grin and warm brown eyes, she admitted to herself that he had been kind of cute....for an Englishman. The majority of the guys that she had come into contact with during her six-week stay in the capital had all openly expressed, in her view, the very worst traits in men possible. Granted, she never strayed very far from dancing at the club at night but for a supposedly well renowned 'gentleman's' establishment, was it too much for a gal to expect a few gentle men to pass through its gaudy batwing doors? Instead, over the past few weeks shed had to contend with the lowest of the low - guys who reeked of stale cigarette smoke and cheap hooch, guys with terrible crooked teeth and matching pungent breath, guys with cheap crumpled suits who felt it was their god-given right to surreptitiously touch her up or slide a hand in between her ass cheeks as she bent over and went through the motions of her well rehearsed routine. It was true that the money was easy, the tips were mostly generous, and she knew that she had the ability to squeeze every last note out of her adoring punters, but their unwanted lecherous advances coupled with the murderous events taking place right now in 'jolly old' London had caused Christie to reassess her current situation and hastened her plans to return to the States.

Around eight weeks ago, Christie had bailed out and left Vegas shortly after a scam she had been working turned badly south. After watching her move her sweet, sweet stuff up on stage one night a gullible high roller had fallen head over heels in lust with her, and she, never looking a gift horse in the mouth, intended to lead him on and bleed him bone dry. After fleecing her intended mark of over close to thirty thousand dollars Christie discovered that the supposedly mild-mannered software technician was actually being pay-rolled by some pretty angry Jersey mobsters - a bunch of real nice guys who all turned up one fateful Saturday night looking for a return on their investment. Sensing the impending danger Christie had immediately gathered all of her money, caught a cab to the airport and bought a flight to London. At the time it seemed like a good idea she hadnt been to Europe for a number of years and it seemed like the perfect place to lie low for a while, to let the smoke settle, as it where, before returning home (to her real home this time) - turned out that the reality of the situation couldnt have been more farther from the truth.

Upon arrival she'd made contact with an old girlfriend who had moved from the states to London about six years ago and, fortunately, she had been kind enough to put Christie up for a few days in her flat - no questions asked - until she had got her bearings. They'd shared a fairly brief but intense relationship in the past which had ended on good terms after both girls realised that, although the animalistic sex they shared was so fine, they were looking for very different things in life. They went their separate ways and had sporadically kept in touch. Justine, as she now called herself, even managed to find Christie a job at one of the best strip clubs in London as a barmaid. The manager of the establishment, who could have been described as looking like a badly tanned teddy bear with a penchant for wearing stripes, took one look at Christie's figure and, after a short audition, soon had her working her magic on the pole. Billed as 'Darla...the American Dream', Christie's near flawless figure, energetic sets and myriad of exotic costume changes soon made her one of the clubs favourites. An accolade which brought with it more money and opened doors for 'private' parties.

It had been at one of these after work 'parties' that Christie had first come into contact with the 'Euro-creep' as she liked to label him. It had been, in her opinion, one of the most unsettling experiences in her varied and often dangerous life. An experience she was to later share with the cute looking news guy the very next night at the club. As she finished her bottle of water and dropped it into a wastebasket beside the park bench Christie shook her head and started to run again. After overtaking an old lady walking an anorexic looking poodle, which, incidentally took a crafty air-snap close to her heels as she passed,  Christie tried to replay the conversation she had shared with him in her head, tried to further convince herself that she was not to blame for what had happened, and tried to shake the sudden  feeling that she was being watched.

The morning mist grew thick and Christie soon disappeared into the descending gloom.......