Sex and Murder Magazine

By N.S. Mounts

The night was looming over like a smokescreen of darkness as I drove back home from work. It was three AM when I saw it standing over a mushy red pile of what once was a deer. Its sickly pale flesh contrasted perfectly against the blackness of the asphalt. Instinct kicked in and for some reason I swerved to miss the six foot tall thing that kind of looked like a bald horse with a human head on top. All I could think about while my car spun out of control was that someone must have spiked the water cooler at work with something a little stronger than vodka. When I woke up, it felt like my head was on the verge of popping open and leaking my brains out all over the dash. I tasted blood in my mouth and a curious metallic flavor too. From somewhere under the car’s hood, I heard hissing. Smoke bellowed out from beneath. I scrambled to open the cars door, but the impact against the trees had bent it out of shape, jamming it shut. More and more smoke rolled out from under the car’s hood. I was somewhere between blind panic and a sleep I knew I would never wake up from. I kicked the side window as hard as I could. I kept kicking. Finally, with a deafening pop, the window gave way. Glass shards erupted outward. I felt a long sliver bury itself deep within my leg. The pain felt far away beneath my overwhelming sense to survive. Even the memory of the giant human horse thing held little importance.

I clawed my way through the window, ignoring the scent of gasoline fumes and impending death. The cold ground greeted me by knocking the air out of my lungs. Still, I crawled across the leafy forest floor away from the time bomb that my car had become. My car was now a fireball threatening at any moment to blow. Scrambling like a wounded animal away from the jaws of death, I rested my aching body behind a downed oak tree and attempted to catch what little breath was left inside of me. Then it happened all at once. A concussion that sent birds flying out from the tree tops. Even behind the huge log, I could feel the heat of the explosion against my flesh. I heard fragments of my car slamming into the trees. The sheet metal and glass now deadly shrapnel that would shred anything living to pieces. Then all was silent except for the snapping and popping of the bonfire that my car had become. I looked around. My car had skidded off the road and down an embankment. I was in the middle of nowhere. The road between where I worked and home was a snaky one. Few traveled it anymore. For some reason I still did. Maybe it was out of habit, a habit that now, stranded miles away from civilization, I wish I had broken a long, long time ago.

I stood up and spit blood on the ground. My neck was sore and I knew it would get even sorer still as time passed. A good amount of blood had leaked out of my calf where the glass shard was still sticking. I pulled it out with a hiss of pain. A new stream of blood formed, glistening in the fiery glow. I removed my dress shirt and made my best attempt to use it as a bandage. The hill above me leading to the road was steep and littered with broken beer bottles and other assorted trash. After a few moments had passed, and I was as recuperated as I was going to get that night, I started climbing. The pain in my leg increased with every step, and a strange nausea was taking hold of me. Fortunately, my car had plowed a make shift road through the weeds and briars. Even most of the litter had been pushed away as my car had slid down the slope. When I got to the top, for a long time, I rested. I sat on the asphalt until the coldness had my ass feeling numb. My leg had stopped bleeding and the nausea was abating. It was somewhere around this time that the memory of the horse thing popped into my head, sending a new wave of panic coursing through my already addled body.


The road stretched out before me and disappeared around two hills in either direction. I was a good five miles away from anything remotely resembling civilization. So I walked. At first, I attempted to run, but the pain in my legs hindered that right away. Instead, I hobbled like a drunken bum down the cracked asphalt road jumping every time the leaves in the trees rustled or some small animal scurried off into the underbrush. As I walked, a memory that must have been jarred lose by the crash popped into my head like a spark. It was an old legend about this road, or, more specifically, the woods surrounding it. Supposedly lonely women would sneak out at night and fuck their husband’s horses that were allowed free ranch through these mountains. When I heard the story so long ago, I had laughed it off. My grandpa had been the one telling the story. He had been towards the end of a long night of drinking while I fished. Apparently they did this during the second world war, back when a good dildo was hard to find and they didn’t want to cheat on their Nazi-fighting husbands. Good old gramps.

The road began a gradual downward slant and I thanked whatever god was listening for it. This meant that the first few houses were but a couple of miles away. I heard the river below. The clouds had moved a little in the night sky so that the moon could peep out to give me some much needed light as I made the descent. I was at the bottom of the hill near the river when I heard voices just beyond the trees at the river bank. The sound came and went like the wind. I staggered in that direction. Maybe my brain was too rattled for rational thought. Maybe. I’m not sure. At the time, I thought maybe whoever it was could give me a ride into town. Besides, I was raised not ten miles from where I stood and had fished in the river countless times growing up. These were good people, I thought. The leaves were wet. They didn’t hear me approach. I saw the bonfire before anything else. It consisted of four tires and garbage engulfed in fire. The flame glinted off the muddy river’s shoals. I crouched behind a tree, barely able to comprehend what I was seeing. . A few old, naked women were tying a much younger woman down to some kind of bench. The girl’s smooth, tight skin and flowing blonde hair made the older woman appear all the more ugly with their tits practically dragging the ground and their gray hair scraggily and waving around in the breeze like old snakes. The girl, however, was stunningly beautiful like some kind of fairy from a corny fantasy novel brought to life.

The bench they tied the girl to was in the shape of the letter Y. I saw the reasoning once she was secured spread eagle and ready for whomever or whatever wanted to take her. She put up no struggle. Even when the ugliest old crone was hovering over top of her, old saggy titties practically dragging across the young girl’s face, withered hands fastening the last of the leather restraints. The rest of the old women knelt down on bony legs, heads bowed with their tatty hair obscuring their faces. From where I was, it looked like witches gathering for black mass. As though—

Then I heard it moving through the brush to the side of the bonfire like a clumsy, retarded child. I heard it scenting the air through a mucus filled nose. Then I saw it. The horse thing, only now I saw it clearly. It was horse only in shape. It moved into the clearing and stood on its hind legs so that it stood at least twelve feet tall. Its pale, bald shape was like a starving, bony horse with humanoid hands instead of hooves, but its head was like some kind of old man mutation with a mouth big enough to swallow a person‘s head whole and teeth big enough to crunch bone. My eyes widened as its cock, rock hard, slimy, and longer than my arm, stood erect. My first instinct was to scream as I came to the realization of what was about to transpire here. Then, I noticed that the young girl was not terrified as I thought she had to have been. In fact, she was smiling and her bald sex was glistening from the wetness.

The oldest woman began to chant something in a language I had never heard before and the other surround hags joined in as the horse man approached the young girl. It straddled her and entered her. The horse thing threw its head back and let lose a maddening howl that brought gooseflesh upon every inch of my skin.

“Thank you!” the girl screamed, over and over again with each thrust until the apparent pain she was in was no longer bearable and she was reduced to blubbering between sobs. The horse thing began thrusting its cock into her harder and harder until blood poured over the end of the bench like a tiny waterfall from the girl’s wounded sex. I backed away slowly, terrified of making a sound and alerting the crones who would no doubt somehow sic this creature on me, perhaps allowing it to fuck me or eat me or both. As I made it closer to the road, I saw headlights. Behind me, at the river bank, I heard the howl again. I threw my arms up over my head and screamed for the driver of the pickup to stop. Seeing my bloody clothing and the look of pure terror on my face, he did.

I told him I was in a car crash and asked him to take me to town. He said he would. We rode to town in silence. I thought about telling him what had happened, but chose not to. Some things are too insane to believe. The next day, I read something about a missing girl in the paper. Above the article was a senior picture of that very same young girl from the night before.