Ian A. Bain
Four men gather ‘round the table they burp and chug and laugh each man drops his sack down the dick-measuring contest begins. Edric is first, stroking his beard of moss blood and beer matted into the moss “Aye,” says he, “I’ve a boy!” and from his bag he pulls the head of a boy. “And what did you do to ensure it was a challenge?” Asks Arthur. “Look,” points Edric, “I gave him antlers for defence and doe legs to run away on.” The other men nod their approval. Herne is next, his crown of stagg antlers rests over his ram horns “Here, I too have a boy,” he says the trophy plops on the table. “And what have you done to respect the Hunt?” Edric asks. “Look, I pulled out his teeth and nails jammed wolf claws and fangs in the boy’s gums and fingers even half wolf he was no match for me.” The men nod. The Headless Horseman is next he rolls his trophy across the table the hunting party know what the horseman does to his prey: he gives them false hope, hope that they might actually escape his clutches, he is the cruelest of them all. The men cheer and drink trade stories of the Hunt and Mother Nature looks down on them she laughs.
No, not barbs, hooks rusty hooks on old black chains Every hook is different “You suck at writing” is a small fishhook “You’re too fat to be loved” is a much bigger, nastier hook, covered in hundreds of tiny barbs “You’re worthless” that hook I made myself They tug at my flesh, pulling it from the bone But I’ll let the hooks dig in I’ll let them tear apart my flesh And when there’s nothing left There’ll be nothing for the hooks to dig into.
Ian A. Bain is a writer of dark fiction living in Muskoka, Ontario. Ian enjoys Horror, coffee, and long walks through the swamp with his wife and undead dog. Ian’s fiction has appeared in various anthologies, magazines, and podcasts, and his non-fiction work can be found under “The Horror Hoser” at deadheadreviews.com. Ian can be stalked online at @bainwrites on Twitter.