Regular readers will probably know that I have a hard time stringing cogent, coherent thoughts together at the best of times but today is too hot to even try. My mind is in a pub somewhere, sat in a beer garden with a dark ale and a cigarette so I’m going to do something a little different today.

A while ago I had a bit of a traumatic time and had a little bit of a breakdown. I won’t go into details but it was pretty bad and one of the ways I dealt with it was to write short stories. Most of them were dreadful and not worth a tinker’s cuss, but some were pretty good and some friends suggested I post it online so I would like to share one with you today.

WARNING: This was written when I was at my absolute lowest ebb when I had a lot of dark feelings and thought processes I desperately needed to focus into something external. This story is graphic, violent and not for the faint of heart.

And I shouldn’t have to say this, but please do NOT repost without permission.

Tree House

Glenda used to feel desirable.

Once upon a time she could stop a room just by walking into it. A flutter of her eyelashes and the drinks would rain down on her as hard as the jaws would drop at the sight of her hips shaking on the dance floor at the old rock club where Glenda and her friends would go every Saturday, seeing who could cop off. More often than not she won.

Now here she was, wrong side of 40, flabby, wrinkled, spending her Saturday watering the plants in her backyard. When did that happen?

Glenda cast her eyes over to the reason why: her teenage daughter, Lori. A couple of months off turning 17, Lori had her mother’s old hips that shook when she walked and flat stomach. Glenda looked down at her own body, saggy and shapeless. Lori had stolen those from her mother, figuratively and- in Glenda’s eyes at least- literally.

She took comfort from the fact that Lori’s breasts were non-existent, whereas Glenda’s own ample bosom still attracted looks even if the rest of her had gone to pot. Even today they were on display, spilling out of her top for the benefit of no one in particular.

Back in the 90s those breasts had been admired by none other than Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler. He appreciated them, as had the bouncers she warmed up to get to him. For all she knew Steven Tyler was Lori’s father. Anybody could be. Ecstasy and cocaine made a hell of a cocktail, and Glenda liked her glass full at all times back then.

On this glorious summer day, Lori was in a crop top and shorts, lying on a sun lounger with her nose deep in some magazine. Teen People or something like that, the kind of crap that is the focus of every teenage girl’s life but absolutely impenetrable to the rest of the world.

Glenda saw the magazine had some pretty boy on the cover, Zayne What’s-his-name from One Direction she guessed. Glenda couldn’t imagine sucking off a group of sweaty bouncers in a dirty, smoky room for the chance to meet someone like that. What happened to men? What happened to girls?

Lori’s smooth skin and perfect hair made Glenda bite her lip in rage. Pregnancy had been hell for Glenda, robbed her of her entire life. Quitting the drink and drugs cold turkey had been one thing, but she had lost her youth and looks. Before Glenda knew it this little brat that had destroyed her body added insult to injury by becoming gorgeous and taking the boys’ attention away.

Glenda stared intently at her daughter, young and beautiful. This was the worst crime imaginable. Lori’s eyes suddenly darted up and met Glenda’s.

Bitch. The word was in Glenda’s head, but it was Lori’s voice that screamed it in her mind.

Lori smiled, her eyes a shade of brown that was almost red. She winked and buried her head back in her magazine.

Glenda looked away and sighed to herself. She had to face the truth.

I hate hate HATE that girl sometimes.

It wasn’t about the theft of her desirability, it wasn’t the emotional disconnect, it wasn’t even the crap music that was the problem. Fact was, Lori just damn well gave her the creeps.

From what Glenda could tell Lori just did not sleep, never laughed or cried, even as a baby. She had taken Lori to be tested for all kinds of mental problems, thought the kid was a damn retard, but nothing ever came of it.

She was never in trouble, did okay at school. Glenda supposed most mothers would be grateful, but there was just something off about the girl that she just couldn’t put her finger on. A wild child she could handle, at least they would have had something in common.

“Hey mum, I screwed a bunch of dudes last night after taking some meth,” her theoretical daughter would say. If only it were that easy.

About six years earlier Glenda had woken up in the middle of the night and Lori was just stood over her, watching. When questioned, Lori had just tilted her head to the side and smiled. For a split second, her face had looked like a blackened skull with tentacles coming out of her mouth. Glenda had just put it down to her sleepiness and the dim light playing tricks on her, but the image had never left her mind.

Then there was that damn tree house in the backyard. Glenda looked up at it. She had never been inside. It didn’t look particularly threatening, but it had a strange aura to it, like it was the scene of a homicide, a Helter Skelter sort of event.

Lori spent most of her time in there, rain or shine. Glenda was glad, it meant she didn’t have to share space with the little freak.

Glenda hated herself for a moment for thinking that, wondered if other mothers ever felt the same way. The love was meant to be instinctual and unconditional, right?

Maybe I’m just a bad mother she thought to herself glumly. Sometimes she thought it would help if she knew the father’s background, but finding him would have been next to impossible.

There was Steven Tyler of course, a couple of the bouncers, a couple of party’s where everybody got favours, and a strange Goth guy she had picked up in the club.

That last one had been weird. He had been a strange character wearing a long cape even though the club was roasting. Vision Thing by Sisters of Mercy had been playing. He approached her and their lips met before any words had been shared, then her mind went blank.

There were flashes of images; strange hooded figures, the man’s face laughing, even tentacles. She knew that was ridiculous though, guessed she had just taken a bad trip. The next morning she woke up in her empty bed, her genitals bruised and full of the man’s seed. It should have been a hellish, drug fuelled nightmare, but not to Glenda. To her that was the last time someone had genuinely found her desirable.

Glenda heard a knock on the front door of the house. She blinked and shook her head, realising she had been so deep in thought that she had been drowning the same plant with her hose for well over a minute.

She turned the hose off and headed inside. She looked out and saw that Lori had moved from the sun lounger and was heading up the rope ladder into the tree house.

What’s that creepy little cow up to? She thought, then automatically felt ashamed of herself for thinking it. She supposed she should be grateful to have a daughter who didn’t cause her much trouble. Glenda made herself a promise that she would try to be a more supportive mother, even if she did have a weird kid.

Lori entered the tree house through a hatch in the floor. On one wall was the stuffed and mounted head of a horse, the other walls covered in jars filled with the pickled and preserved body parts of animals; a squirrel’s skull, a cat’s lungs, a dog’s stomach among others. She even had the skeleton of a duck in a glass case.

Lori admired her collection for a while before turning to the black rug that covered much of the floor of the tree house. She pulled it up, revealing a loose floorboard.

Licking her lips in anticipation, Lori picked up the floorboard with trembling hands, hardly able to contain her anger and excitement. Under the floorboard was a secret compartment containing a shoe box, some candles and a box of matches.

Lori did a giddy lap of the tree house, unhooking and closing the black velvet curtains on the windows, leaving her in darkness. She placed the candles around the room, carefully placing and lighting each one with a different match in order to draw out the experience, savouring the atmosphere.

When she was done, Lori sat in the centre of the floor and turned her attention to the shoebox. She took off the lid and looked inside at a package wrapped in tinfoil.

It didn’t take long for Lori to rip the tinfoil off like a child on Christmas, revealing the contents; a human heart.

Lori stared long and hard at the bloody heart in her hands, cherishing the memory of how she had got it, ripping it from the open ribcage of her first human victim just a day earlier whilst it had still been beating in his chest. She had felt powerful, euphoric even.

He had been easy to manipulate, an old pervert who liked the taste of young meat. A flutter of eyelashes and a couple of unspoken false promises had been all it took to lure him to the old abandoned sanatorium. He liked it rough and had consented to being tied up. Oh, how he screamed when Lori showed him the knife, took it in her mouth, licked it suggestively and smashed the blade straight through his rib cage.

He hadn’t liked it that rough, apparently.

Opening her mouth wide, Lori took a deep mouthful of the fleshy mess in her hands. She gorged, smearing blood all over her face, tearing it apart with her teeth.

She pulled out a ventricle with her fingers and sucked it like spaghetti, savouring the flavour and the texture and licking the red, coppery sauce from her fingers.

A wave of excitement hit her, she felt high. Lori looked at the last tiny morsel in her hand. She took the last bite and chewed it slowly, not wanting the moment to end, the moment that made it all worthwhile. The faking and play acting, pretending to give a damn about boys and school and what’s-his-name from whatever band. She hated those parts of her life, but it made this part all the more rewarding when it came.

After swallowing the last of her meal, Lori lay down on her back, panting, sweaty and laughing. She felt a warm sensation moving down her gullet and into her stomach.

She felt better now. She had sensed everything her mother had felt and thought when they were outside. It was clear Glenda was going to be a problem..

I may have to take care of her, she thought to herself. But not yet.

Not before Lori could support herself. For now she served a purpose. But soon.

Soon Lori could tie that piggy up, make her squeal before cutting open that fat slut’s stomach and chest, reaching in there for her next meal…

The thought made Lori warm in her crotch. She decided to take care of it.

He came from beyond the veil, a visitor to our world. He appeared in the tree house, visiting the girl. She was unconscious. Poor thing had gotten over excited and fallen asleep.

The “man” had a smile that was probably reserved for when a child scored the winning goal at a school football match, but he was proud and rightfully so in his mind.

He reflected to himself for a moment about the girl lying before him. There was a time where he had lamented the fact she was female, but she had proven her worth. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Women were the givers of life, to him it made a twisted, yet obvious sense that they should have a talent for taking it away, too,

“Good girl,” he whispered, before swinging his cape behind him so he could crouch down and kiss his daughter on the forehead.

She stirred but never woke, sweet dreams of murder in her head.


So that’s your story. If you’re still with me then thank you for reading what will undoubtedly be used as evidence in my trial after I finally snap.

Take it easy guys, see you next time 😉 xx