Excerpt from my erotic/horror novel, The House of Blood.

(This excerpt is Adult in nature, and you must be at least 21 years of age to read it, or to buy the novel, The House of Blood.)


I knew two hours had gone by because I’d experienced eight jolts of voltage and could smell my rectum burning like a rubber tire. I sat there in the chair, wishing Katherine would hurry home with her new lover so they could have sex, and then she could release me from the chair.

Another thirty minutes passed when something suddenly caught my attention. At first I wasn’t sure if I’d heard the sound or not. I strained my ears and listened closely.

There it was again.

It was the sound of a big, heavy-set person making his way slowly up a staircase, dragging something behind him or her. Someone was definitely coming up the stairs, and it wasn’t my wife.

I sat there listening to the loud steps drawing closer and closer to the landing door. If whatever it was came into my living quarters, I wouldn’t be able to run or to defend myself.

I’d be helpless.

Needless to say, I was still sweating, only this time it was from fear.

The footsteps made their way up the staircase with a steady perseverance. I didn’t think it was going to give up on the climb and go back to wherever it had come from. No, that was wishful thinking. Instead, it reached the landing and stood outside the bolted door, breathing heavily as if from exertion.

Or, maybe it was from excitement.

I tried to remain as quiet as a mouse, praying the thing wouldn’t hear my heart pounding against my chest, but that wasn’t to be. A sudden jolt of electricity caught me off guard, and I screamed through the ball gag as it tore through my rectum and shook my body with burning spasms of pain. There was no way to stop the noise I was making. My whole body was shaking uncontrollably in the chair, and I was crying out loud. When it was finally over, I sat there with my eyes shut, attempting to catch my breath as the spasms in my body gradually subsided. Once I had myself under control and could think clearly again, I focused on the deep breathing still outside the heavy door. For some strange reason, I knew the thing was standing there, trying to figure out how to get into my living quarters. I heard what sounded like fingernails scraping down the wooden door. The noise reminded me of the school kids who would rake their fingernails down a blackboard when the teacher was out of the room. I probably would’ve soiled myself if I hadn’t had a dildo crammed up my butt.

Something hit the door hard and shook it.

I squealed like a little girl through the gag.

The door suddenly bulged inward as if a great pressure was being placed on it from the outside. I watched with wide eyes as it got bigger and bigger, expecting the door to explode into a thousand tiny pieces of shattered wood.

Everything, however, came to an unexpected halt and then reversed itself.

The door shrunk back to its normal size, and I found myself thanking God that the thing out on the landing didn’t know how to work a sliding bolt.

I was just starting to feel comfortable, thinking that maybe the whole experience was nothing more than the creation of my overly active mind. That was when the fingernails made their way down the door again, causing me to stain against the leather straps in a futile attempt to escape the chair. The breathing outside on the landing grew heavier, and I knew the thing was frustrated at not being able to get to me.

This wasn’t my imagination.

It was real.

Somewhere in the darkest regions of my mind, I knew it was the boogeyman on the other side of the door and it had come back to get the little boy who was still hidden inside of me.

All of my childhood fears came up.

I remembered how my stepfather used to beat my mother at night in a drunken rage, knowing he’d soon be coming for me and my little sister. I’d put a large stuffed animal under the covers of my bed to make it appear as if it were me, and then I’d hide in the closet with a blanket over me and my sister, Debra. I’d hear his footsteps coming down the hallway and into the darkness of my bedroom. He would stop and stand motionless for a period of time as if lost in a fog, not knowing what to do next. Sometime I’d even hold my breath. I was afraid he’d hear me hiding in the closet and then make a decision to act. I never breathed normally, until after he’d left the bedroom. Even then, I’d spend the night in the closet with my sister, terrified to venture out of my cubbyhole, knowing he could come at some later point in time with clearer intentions.

That’s what the thing out on the landing was—the reincarnation of my stepfather, who was ready to direct his anger at someone who couldn’t fight back.

I waited.

It waited.

There was no doubt in my mind what the thing was doing. It was staring at the door in puzzlement, trying to figure out a way to get passed it. Maybe it was hungry and needed some fresh blood in order to feel rejuvenated.

I didn’t know.

I did, however, let out a sigh of relief when I finally heard the mysterious footsteps retreating back down the staircase.

It had given up and was returning back to wherever it had come from.

The sound of the footsteps grew fainter with each passing second.

Tears of joy started running down my cheeks. They didn’t last long because I was once again hit with another jolt of electricity. I bit down hard on the rubber ball and stifled the scream.

I didn’t want the thing to hear me and then come back.

Time passed.

Maybe an hour went by.

I was surprised when I heard the sound of music coming through the speakers above my head. I thought Katherine was back and was getting ready to entertain me with the passionate sounds of her lovemaking.

I was wrong.

I recognized the music as being from the Big Band era. It might have been the Benny Goodman or Tommy Dorsey orchestra playing. I didn’t know. I thought it was a record being played downstairs in the living room. I also heard a lot of voices in the background. There were men and women, and they seemed to be having one-hell-of-a-good time. It brought back memories of the first vision I’d had inside the house. Fortunately, the music wasn’t as scary as the thing out on the landing had been. Listening to the music was a more pleasant way to pass the time.

The tunes being played were actually rather soothing.

It lulled me into a relaxed state that was only broken by those few seconds of electricity every fifteen minutes. As time drifted by, the volume of the music seemed to lessen and the voices became more distinct. I could hear a man and woman talking excitedly to each other.

“We can’t wait much longer,” the woman said.

“I know,” the man agreed. “I think Anne suspects something.”

“That’s not good, David. You know her temper. If she finds out about us, she won’t let us leave.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“You’d better, if you want to have a life with me.”

The music grew louder again with different tunes being played. This went on for ten minutes or so, only to be replaced by another woman’s voice.

“You foolish man,” the new voice said. “Didn’t you think I knew what was going on? Didn’t you think I could see the way you and Greta looked at each other?”

“Just let me leave, Anne,” the man said.

It was the same person I’d heard earlier.

“It would be the best thing for both of us,” he continued. “You won’t miss me. There are hundreds of men who’d die to take my place.”

“I like your choice of the word die.”

“What’s torturing me going to prove?”

“It’s not going to prove anything, David. It’s punishment for your betrayal.”

“Look at all the men you’ve slept with during our marriage. You’re not being fair. Besides, I never had sex with Greta.”

“It’s not about being fair, or having sex with another person,” Anne stated. “It’s about giving your love to someone else.”

“Whipping me won’t change anything.”

“But, it will, darling. You’ll be dead.”

“You won’t get away with this.”

“Like I said, you’re a very foolish man. The only consolation is in knowing Greta’s death will be more painful than yours.”

“Don’t you hurt her, Anne!” the man shouted.

Anne laughed at his pathetic outrage and began to whip him with fast, hard strokes to the body. His screams soon filled the speakers. The sound of the whip was horrible, and I knew it was Terror doing the damage. I cringed with each strike and saw in my mind’s eye the flesh being torn away from his back and the blood flying through the air to land on the floor like a Rorschach inkblot. Anne had her husband tied to the whipping post. His arms were stretched high above his head, and he was standing on the balls of his feet. Thick leather straps held his waist and knees to the post so he couldn’t avoid the strokes from the deadly cat.

David’s bloodcurdling screams were horrendous and made me shudder at the thought of what he was enduring for the love of another woman. In time, his screams gradually diminished. They turned to hoarse whimpers as the cat continued to strike his body with unrelenting force.

The Big Band music crept back in and drowned out the sound of leather striking human flesh.

More time passed.

The music once again faded, only to be replaced by the sound of Lady Anne’s voice as she talked to Greta.

“David’s dead,” Anne said. “It was a horrible death. I whipped him with Terror until his body couldn’t take it.”

There was crying in the background.

“Probably worse than the actual whipping was the knowledge my husband had as he died. I told him your death was going to be more painful than his. He begged me not to hurt you, Greta. Can you believe that? Instead of begging for his own life, he begged for yours. That’s true love.”

“One day we’ll be avenged for your actions,” Greta said in a choking voice. “We’ll come back and take our revenge on you, and it won’t be pleasant.”

“Maybe,” Anne said. “But it won’t be today, will it?”

I could hear a faucet being turned on and water flowing into the bottom of a bathtub. That sound was quickly followed by Greta’s agonizing screams as the hot water scolded her bare flesh. This was worse than David’s death, and there was no way for me to blot out the sound of her screams. I was crying uncontrollably at her pain, struggling at my own bonds in a wild rage as if I could break free and somehow save her.

It was the longest hour of my life.

Strange as it may seem, I found myself welcoming the jolts of current to my body after that. It was the only way I could take my mind off of Greta’s death. I knew as the cries died out and the music crept back in, I’d hear those hideous screams inside my head forever.



(The House of Blood can be purchased in Trade Paperback ($14.75) or e-book format ($8.00) from Pink Flamingo Publications. It can also be purchased in e-book format from Amazon’s Kindle at both the U.S. ($8.00) and U.K. stores (£5.60).)