Tuesday, January 19

Hagcity – By Aaron Braund

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The naked body had been sliced in two. One precision cut starting from the top of his head to the base of his genitals. The pieces had slumped at an angle letting the corpse’s entrails form a bloody pile on the bed. From what Neves could see though, this man had enjoyed his death.

For in those eyes, green with blue specks, Neves could see the most horrible pleasure.

This was Amsterdam of course. Pleasure was compulsory; in a way so was sin. This city was like a dirty old hag, willing to open her legs for anyone wanting a good time. This city was full of sin. Detective Neves knew this and fiddled with his rosary nestled deep in his pocket.

But what was the pleasure of being torn in two? Neves pondered becoming increasingly nauseous at the putrid smell of decaying flesh.

Neighbours had alerted the police complaining of the smell that Neves was becoming familiar with. The smell that something evil had happened. The smell of sin. A mule like kick and the red door of Room 33 was gaping; its hellish breath filling the corridor. Inside the room was hardly furnished apart from a dresser and a four poster bed dominating the majority of the space. Pink veils had been hung at the sides of the bed like curtains hiding a black secret and the dimly lit lights obscured that secret further. Hundreds of greedy flies clung to the delicate fabric staying still as if watching Neves ready to riot. The walls were painted pink and the carpet was a claret fabric; a weak scent of perfume mingled with a coppery scent: this was a hookers place. But the other smell and the black splashes on the inside of the veil told him there was much more to this. Neves pulled backed the curtain sending the flies into frenzy.

A man about 40 years of age,  a man who may have had a bulging stomach once, a man now a corpse feeding hundreds of maggots. Neves judged that the man had been dead about a week. And in those eyes, those unnaturally distanced eyes, was a pleasure no Dutch hooker could offer. This man was slaughtered, but was slaughtered happily.

“What the fuck is going on?” one of the young recruits had exclaimed before vomiting violently onto the floor. Neves was quick to react and ordered the boy out. This was his investigation and he needed some very strong stomachs.

Because this was not the first of its kind. There had been others, men torn limb from limb, pieces of their anatomy sliced from their bodies. But three things remained the same. That fine precise cut, so fine no matter what part of the anatomy was chosen it was always done with dedication: Secondly was that horrific pleasure in their eye, a pleasure unparalleled by human standards. This lead onto the fact that all the victims were male.

Neves again fiddled with his rosary thinking about the owner of this place. What kind of hooker was this?

One week ago

It was late and Scarlet stood at the corner waiting for business. She needed a man, deep inside her. She needed his seed to live in her.

All around her Amsterdam coughed and wheezed, choked by the yawning fog. People gushed from the heart of the town, bleeding her dry. She was indifferent to the chaos of it all but also indifferent to her job; mankind had made her this. But she needed it.

Van Boer was making his way back from the office. It was a long walk home and he always took the scenic route, past the daughters of Amsterdam; her very offspring. The goddesses in the glass he called them. Beautiful, shapely women with nymph like curves; the candy shop was full and he was hungry for something sweet. He often fantasised about taking one, making love to her, sweet at first but getting increasingly more aggressive; rumbling the town from sleep. And then he saw her. She was standing at the corner and her red hair surged like a flame in the mist. He wanted her instantly, those pronounced cheek bones, her awkward stance. Thoughts of his wife became hazy as the fog enveloped him and he felt eager to please a queen tonight.

“Hey there.”

Scarlet turned to see this hulking fat man drool at the pavement she stood on. He was business. Her business.

“Hey cutie,” using her most sickly sweet voice ”looking for a good time?”

Amidst that sliming chin, she saw enthusiastic lust filled words sprout forth; words like fuck yeah and I’m gonna fuck you so hard. The kind of words she liked to hear. Words that signified a contract penned in lust and signed in sweat.


The ever intensifying stench was increasing by the second. It made Neves guts twist in knots but he needed a straight head while he looked for evidence. He knew there would be something, sinners always leave their filth. Gluttonous flies buzzed around the room creating a droning choir, swarming Neves thoughts. He waved his arms frantically at them but the drone merely became more agonizing to his ears. The smell and noise in this hell began to become one with his mind and he felt dirty. But at least he was focused.

Two men entered the room with two blue bags and Neves hoped to Christ they were taking what was left of that guy out of here so these flies would get lost. Neves noticed the pine dresser and made his way over to it.

Neves opened the drawer expecting to find nothing. He didn’t expect to find the skins but he did. The empty hollows of their faces made him shudder; those features creased in a perpetual horror stared into him. They were lying next to each other in neat piles like folded underwear. He began to pull one out so he could see its full length and was amazed to find it was a full body suit, complete with hair (this one’s was black). But they were all women suits: long finger nails, long hair and breasts that were unusually crumpled as if they needed filling up.

It wasn’t rational and it certainly wasn’t holy and Neves did not like the unknown. He held his rosary so hard that the silver metal of Jesus’ right hand pierced him; a little blood seeped out from the holy wound. He slammed the drawer sharply and called Forensics over to take a look at the skins. He didn’t know if it was the faces that had gasped or the two men beside him but he didn’t care.

One more room needed to be searched: the bathroom. God knows what’s in there he thought clutching the rosary ever tighter, the Lord is my Shepherd. The white door stood like a hungry mouth and he willingly fed himself to it.

One week ago

Scarlet wanted to get her client back to Room 33 so she kept him eager by sticking her tongue in his salivating mouth. As usual the flats smelt pungent with mans filth, a cocktail of hideous odours, vomit and piss and sweat converging as one making her gag. Thankfully it would be her last night in this dreadful place.

Van certainly enjoyed Scarlet’s eagerness. She was kissing him so violently almost ripping the breath back from his lungs. This was what he wanted and he envisaged the hot, aggressive fuck he was going to get. He liked it like this, when the bitch probably despised herself and most of all probably him, made the sex more nasty. “Intimacy” was what he got at home, the mundane kind of love making that he just couldn’t stand anymore. He needed a goddess, a goddess of Amsterdam, and tonight he would be her loyal slave.

They had finally reached the blood red door of room 33. She opened the door and Van was happy to see the room was classy though maybe a bit clichéd; there was a sexy odour redolent in the air which made him hard. Van could see Scarlet’s determination to get the job done as she lay on the bed spreading her legs open and then closing them. This excited him. “You naughty bitch,” He muttered as he took his pants off removing a condom from his back pocket. With a seductive smile she snatched it away and threw it over the room. Van smiled no longer caring; desire had taken over.

The fat grin was followed by a dive onto the bed nearly crushing her. She got ready for the same routine, the dirty talk, the occasional fake yelp and the you’re so big! Usually her clients would get tired and she would get on top to finish them off but some would have so much stamina and they would fuck her till their dicks bled. She braced herself as he started to pump her, she would have to moan in ecstasy soon and practically scream to please him. Despite his bulk he moved briskly and she saw the folds of his fat crash like waves.


Neves was stunned about what he saw in the drawers. Human skins? Why? Who would keep women’s skins? Whoever it was he knew it was some sick fuck who probably even wore them. He opened the bathroom door slowly; just an inch but it was enough for that wretched smell to seep through; something like a dead fish, no, a whole pool of mutilated, dying, rotting fish. He almost fell to his knees the smell was so intense. His hands felt along the wall to reach a switch and he found it, flicked it on and entered the bathroom almost crushing the plastic Jesus in his hand.

Apart from the unholy smell the bathroom was small and very basic. There was a toilet, a sink and a bath; just an average bathroom. He saw himself reflected in the medicine cabinet, grinned so he could see his teeth and noticed the floral shower curtain covering the bath. It was there the smell was strongest. With caution he moved forward gradually discerning the silhouette of something piled in the bath. At first he thought they were severed heads, hundreds of them stacked on top of each other, their features cold and dead, mouths wide open, eyes gaping. But when he pulled back the curtain he saw the eggs; hundreds of small black eggs filling the bath and piled high. They were coated in a thick jelly that reflected the bathroom lights. Occasionally the jelly would shudder as if something in the eggs stirred. He wanted to turn and run, this is Satans spawn, he thought, piled high in a bath! But he could not resist reaching into the jelly’s guts and pulling one free, it was a force he could not resist, hidden in that blackness.

The egg was cupped in his hands and he stared into its opaque skin, unaware of what awakened inside. Suddenly the egg cracked, tentacles breaking from all sides of the evil in his hand. It reached for his neck and before he could scream it had tightened its slimy tendril round his windpipe. Neves thrashed viciously as the thing continued to tighten its grip. He fell on the floor and more tentacles erupted from the egg enveloping Neves. His eyes bulged and bled as the thing started to apply monstrous pressure to his chest. Then those grotesque fingers slithered down his throat. With one final squeeze Neves made a sick gurgling sound and was dead.
One week ago

Scarlet had finished with her client. She knew that hot seed had shot into her. That was the most satisfying feeling: when it was done. Van had been one of the rough ones; he had grabbed hair almost pulling it out and frothed at the mouth like a rabid animal. Then he had slumped to the side and she could finally see his nakedness, the greasy rolls of his stomach, the purple stretch marks around his obese waist. She stabbed her finger into his neck and he was paralysed.

He couldn’t believe this feeling, it was beautiful. After Scarlet had touched his neck he felt it; this wave of peace passing right through him. Wave after wave stiffening his body but the stiffness gave him a tingling sensation which made him giggle. He saw Scarlet stand up and she looked at him with such hateful eyes. They drained of colour turning to black voids inside her head. He giggled again; the peace… Then he heard the sick crunching sound as she ripped off her arm. The waves… He saw the newly exposed limb which took the shape of a blade and he didn’t even flinch when she started to slice him with it. Van’s testes tingled as she carved right through the centre of his balls. The joy… His guts were spilling as the bone like blade sawed through his stomach. Van was still laughing when she cut through his ribcage into his throat.

For Scarlet the job was done as she reattached her arm. The seed burned in her intensely and she knew she would have to lay very soon. That’s when she went into the bathroom.


Neves emerged from the bathroom. He knew what he had to do now. The young officer said something but he didn’t take complete notice. “Just go in there, its fine” he said in his calmest voice before walking out. On the streets of Amsterdam he could hear the screams and knew his brothers and sisters had hatched. Soon, he thought, very soon.

 – By Aaron Braund

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