Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen
Can I tempt you to whet your appetite with a little something from the Horror d’oeuvres platter? Sweet and sticky perhaps, or would you prefer something raw and wriggling to tickle the taste buds as it slips across the lips. What ever your preference feel free to dip into our distasteful little mouthfuls. Nothing you fancy at the moment? No worries, the selection platter is updated every week so be sure to call back and check out our newest additions.
I found a packet of Condoms and my husband’s boxer shorts, in the glove box of my best friends car. I didn’t make a scene, or lose my temper and scream. I simply punched her in the face, and stabbed him when I got home.
Some people love their gadgets, their toys, their mobile phones. I just love skinning people, so I can play games with their bones.
I never worry about the consequences of my actions. I don’t care. Means nothing to me the suffering of other’s. I just do as I please and to hell with you all. No good looking to me for remorse. Could be a small town in Mexico as far as I’m concerned.
The witch I mugged cursed me to suffer. I laughed in her face and stole her money and mobile phone. I know she has a new phone now. I can’t stop sending her video clips of me cutting my own fingers off. Every night the bloody stumps re-grow. Ready for me to cut them off again in the morning.
The children have gone back to school again for the Autumn term. All of them except for one little boy. He killed himself rather than face the incessant bullying for another year.
Autumns on the way, and I for one can’t wait. All that lovely darkness to hide in on those long dreary nights. For one of my nocturnal murderous calling, its happy days are here again. Or nights, if you get my meaning.
I never realised how stretchy condoms are till I caught my girlfriend with another man. Did you know you can strangle two people with a condom, and not use up all its stretch? All I can say is, heaven help the woman who meets a man, who can use up all a condoms stretch.
Susan Lemon thought no hair was sexy. So she shaved her head every week. Her husband thought long hair was sexy. So he was unfaithful every week. I hear Susan stopped shaving when her husband disappeared. Maybe she hid her razor in his curly, blood soaked hair.
Maurice Pyle looked like an idiot because he was an idiot. The day he died he died surprised, but I suppose idiots don’t know anything about dying. So why wouldn’t he be surprised.
My husband and I are having separate holidays this year. He is going to twelve different locations at once. I am going to where ever they don’t have an extradition treaty with the UK.
I really like the River Cottage cookery programmes repeated on television. When I butchered my unfaithful husband into sixteen different joints of meat, and assorted offal. Hugh Fernley Whittingstall had it covered. Casseroled, smoked, brined, roasted, fried, au-tartare. I ate every shred of evidence, and loved every mouthful. Thanks Hugh.
I would often hear them screaming when the wind was in the east. Noises from the hospital. like roaring, wounded beasts.
I told my parents my sister was strange, but they didn’t listen to me. She burnt our house down, but still no one listened to me. I don’t suppose it matters now, my parents are burned and gone. My sisters still a little strange, but we’ve learned to get along.
The boy who knifed my dog was a wicked little shit. It took months for me to find him, but in the end we had a little private time together. I have a new dog now. I feed him on chopped off bits of wicked shit. Seems only fair.
Evil has a way of corrupting the innocence of the naive. Trusting souls who find themselves out of their depth without realising it. I love the look on their face when realisation hits like a hammer blow. That moment when they realise there’s no turning back. There never going home.
My carer has been abusing me for years. Stealing my pension. Slapping me around, and leaving me lying in my own pee for hours. I hate her and she hates me, but what can we do? The rest of the family disowned me years ago, and she’s the only daughter I have.
Dead boy lake doesn’t get its name for being a nice place. It isn’t. The corpse of the drowned boy was fished out years ago. The fear and blind panic as the weeds tangled round his legs, pulling him under. Well that remains just below the surface. lonely and eager for company.