One Hundred Candles, by Zeebop

“Happy Fasnacht, Gina.”

“What the fuck is this, Marcie?”

“It is somewhat like Halloween, only in February.”

“Uhu.”

“Which is very topical, because we are reading a very spooky story. One Hundred Candles, by Zeebop."

“A horror story by dickgirl-guy? As if his regular stories aren’t horror enough, already.”

“Well, technically it is not one story…”

“A FUCKING HUNDRED STORIES?”

“Apparently so. This is another short story compilation.”

“I mean, yeah, but even sume had enough foresight to at least limit himself to 31!”

“Which means we should better get started.”

READING IN PROGRESS (BGM)

“So, interestingly enough. There is a frame story to this anthology. A group of thrill seekers are playing a game in a cemetery were they have one hundred candles. They are telling each other horror stories and after each story they blow one candle out.”

“Ok, how the fuck is that going to work?”

“What do you mean, Gina?”

“Even if each story takes only five minutes this shit will take like twenty hours!”

“Well eight hours and twenty minutes to be precise. So, without further ado.”

I have no idea how many whores had lived in that room. The book was old, that much was certain. Small enough to fit in a hand, but almost two inches thick. The boards were hard, covered by skin—and that was what struck me first. The skin was soft, brown as caramel, and in the very center of the cover was what was unmistakably a nipple.

“Ah, there is that typical dickgirl-guy brand of disgusting. I almost missed it.”

I didn't read the whole thing that night. Just flipped through it.

“Yeah, that’s a good advice. We should do the same.”

When my period came that month, I drank the tea. But this time, I caught the bloody discharge, and caught it in a bottle. I hid it in that space beside the book, in the darkness. Then I did the same the next month, and the next. When I had three bottles, I set up a special cam session. Dressed in that midnight robe shot through with silver. The candles and pentagram were just props, but the bottles and the prayer were real. The punts stroking their cocks watched in fascination as I thrust the bloody filth into my pussy...and for a moment, maybe in a fit of madness, I could feel the energy of the performance take me over. All that attention fixed on my cunt. All that desire, that hope, even that disgust at what I had become and what I was using.

“Well then, this is a story about a prostitute who collects her “bloody discharge” to eventually make her own mother pregnant.”

“Blaaaaaarghhh!”

“Not over my figure of Pennywise!”

“H-Holy fuck...you know, Marcie. I gave sumedokin a lot of shit for not writing sex, but at least he doesn’t write negative sex.”

Mr. Ocathsip was from the same region of Peru as Sisa's grandmother.

“Aha, I spot an anagram when I see it!”

“Right. I can make out shit and scat. Very appropriate.”

“Hm, it probably stands for Aphotic. As in the Aphotic zone. Very neat.”

“Uhu, Marcie.”

So she ate. One day it was three large pizzas. Another day, mounds of potatoes cooked in a dozen different ways. A third shoot, he had five gallons of protein shake, attached to a hose, and she laid on the bed and let gravity pour it down her throat. Every time, she left feeling heavy, her stomach strained to its limit, the excess calories dedicated straight to her hips and thighs, her jiggly breasts and her fat stomach that already overhung her pussy.

“Hurghlgughgll!”

“Not over my figurine of Jason Voorhees!”

“M-Marcie...is dickgirl-guy trying to kill me?”

“......of course not.”

“Why did you hesitate?”

“We have only made it through two stories so far and Gina already vomited twice. That is not a good trajectory.”

“Well, guess what? Next is a story about mold. It’s disgusting but at least not as disgusting as what we read so far, so I don't feel the need to puke."

"Good for you."

Corpsefuckers was the latest in Crawley's attempts to make enough money to move out of his mother's home. Community college, shifts at the morgue, and occasional cleaning jobs for the DHPD weren't going to get him his own apartment, but a seven-inch dick and a handheld camera might, with the right spin.

“Well no shit. Who the fuck would pay money for that?”

“You would be surprised, Gina.”

“I’m rather not.”

“Now were were we? Ah yes, ****."

“Hurrrrlllll!”

"Not over my figurine of Edward Cullen...actually nevermind. Why do I even have that figurine?"

"Haaa...haaa...."

“Gina, if you keep this up I’m afraid you dehydrate yourself.”

“This is a story about a guy fucking a hundred year old corpse Marcie! And that’s not even the most disgusting part of the story! What is wrong with these freaks!”

“Hm...yes they call it erotic horror but the true horror is the people that find this erotic.”

“Next one is a continuation of the corpse fucker. He gets a girlfriend. And she dies. During sex. Which got her pregnant.”

“Creepy but not as grotesque as the first chapter. Next is a story about a famous Yokai.”

“Wow, this one’s almost romantic.”

“Well, Gina, you almost got your penis biting fetish satisfied."

“I DON’T HAVE THAT!”

...and Gina, who had never sucked a cock before, felt herself peel back the foreskin and swirl her tongue around the swollen purple cockhead.

"HE TOTALLY DID THIS ON PURPOSE!"

"Well, Gina is a very popular name, Gina."

"I'm fucking going to kill him."

By Sunday evening his cock, limp, hung out of the bottom of his boxers. Worse than that, the veins had gone blue-black, and the head, normally the cover of raw liver, was almost as black as coal.

“Oh great! Wonderful! I love it when dickgirl-guy describes dicks!”

"Don't be that way," she said, her voice husky. Sheol leaned against him, and the heat of her crotch pressed against his cock, making it stir and swell. "You need someone who can take this dick. And I need someone to give it to me. It can be as simple as that—or I can show you what else I can do to you."

“Aww, this one was cute.”

“Cute? CUTE?"

“I mean kinda?”

“She gave him a horse cock and then **** the poor fuck into a relationship on pain of more fuckery! What the fuck, Marcie!"

“Yes, the woman is opportunistic. Moving on.”

The end of the penultimate album was more terrible. The aftermath of the car crash. Their father's head had smashed into the windshield and threw it. The steering wheel had been driven through their mother's skull; in ****, her jaw had bit clean through his penis. Their mangled bodies caught in the instant of an act of incestuous lust.

“It is probably to be expected with a hundred stories, but there are quite a few reoccuring themes with these stories. Penis mutilation is one of them. Good for you, Gina."

"Marcie, for the last time, I'm not into that!"

"The headless goat just collapsed into her lap, and blood's pouring over her huge belly. Nobody can move, we're all standing there in shock, and unable to look away. I know hypnotism is bullshit, but I can't explain why I didn't close my eyes as she caught the headless goat-corpse in her hands, and we watched as she brought the thing up to her mouth and just shoved it in. No chewing, no biting, just one long swallow, like a cornsnake with a rat."

"That was when we implemented the new rule: No Goats for the Fat Lady."

“I have to admit, sometimes Zeebop is very good with the dark humor. There is also a fun story were a brother and sister **** each other. Very comedic."

“Yeah, it’s so funny, you end up dying from laughter.”

It was the warm, soft, flopping thing that slid out of the gaping asshole and into her mouth. She stood there, shocked. Her heart thundered in time with the drums. She could have run, could have torn herself away. Instead, in a moment of madness she leaned into it. Her tongue twined with that strange tongue that emerged from the black anus. She felt it curl and play with her own, like French kissing. Only nothing in her young life had ever prepared her for something this bizarre, this...unholy.

"GLUAAAAARGGGNGGGGHHHHLLLL!!!"

"Not over my figurine of Bella Lugosi's Dracula!"

“I-is this scat? I actually wish this is scat because scat is less disgusting then the alternative!”

“Hmm, more dead racist rapists. There’s a lot of these in here. I wonder if Zeebop has an issue with racists rapists or if he just likes the alliteration."

"Ok fine, I did enjoy when these fuckers get fucked up."

"And I do enjoy the odd femdom scene. Like the one with the alligator woman."

“Uhu, sure you do, Marcie.”

"Well, not enough to get off, but you know, I can appreciate the effort."

ISIS BOARD was painted on the sides in faded golden letters

An Iris board.

“So is it the Terrorist Board or the Iris Board? Make up your mind!”

"We got Ozzy," Bethany said, as she plucked the dildo from the board. It writhed in her hand like a living thing.
There was a sweet old lady named Mrs. Tezcatlipoca
Asa Thothson was dressed in her widow's weeds.

“Ok but dickgirl-guy is just fucking with us with those names, right?”

“To come back on running themes. Genderbending and pregnancies definitely also make the count.”

“Sometimes even both together.”

"Maggots are meant to turn into flies. But some do not. They say if a maggot survives for a century, it gains human form. It looks just like a person, all except for its cock. That part still looks like a maggot. Huge and soft. And when it should release its seed, it spouts out more maggots. They say at night it crawls into the graves and impregnates the corpses of women, so that their wombs swell with maggots, and it eats them from within. Any corpse consumed this way, the Maggot Dick can take the shape of them. All except its dick. That remains, in any form."

“I have no puke and I must vomit.”

“Good job, Zeebop. You cleared Gina.”

“F-fuck you, Marcie. Just wait until we get back to Calitian. I’m looking forward to you puking your guts out."

“Ah, but for now we are still here."

“Uhu, right.”

“Hm, you feel a bit inattentive, Gina."

“If by inattentive you mean comatose like the **** twins who get **** **** by their own father then yes.”

“Well, it is a bit difficult to remain focused. There are many more stories we could have brought up. Ghost dicks, Nazi **** orgies, parasitic fetuses. Snake babies. It is a whole smorgasbord of body horror really.”

“Why can’t dickgirl-guy write cute horror? Like, Sarckle.”

“Well...”

FUCK YOU SARCKLE!”

“Ultimately, we have made it through fifty of the hundred candles. Which does sound like a good stopping point.”

“Thank fuck.”

“No fuckery to be had. This was very unerotic.”

“OH WAS IT NOW, MARCIE?”

“However do not get me wrong. These stories were far from badly written. Just as I have said with Pipeweed dreams, Zeebop is talented.”

“In getting me to vomit, alright.”

“To be more specific, Zeebop has a certain way with words that feels more raw, more vivid then his contemporaries. Most writings on this site have a very amateurish feel to it, even ones I happen to like. This however feels professional."

“Right. Too bad he uses his talents to write the most disgusting shit imaginable."

“Look, is what Zeebop writes about absolutely revolting? Sure. Should we be concerned about his mental state? Absolutely. But quite a few horror authors were toying with madness. Just take a look at Lovecraft.”

“I don’t read stories from authors with racist cats.”

“Anyways, I appreciate all the little bits and pieces of interconnecting lore and worldbuilding Zeebop put into these stories. It was very King-esque in approach.”

“Yeah sure, whatever that’s pretty cool. But guess what, Marcie? People don’t want to read stuff that makes them vomit. Maybe if dickgirl-guy stopped writing such disgusting shit he would actually get some likes.”

“Zeebop doesn’t strike me as one who compromises. I don’t dislike that aspect of him.”

“Uhu.”

“And besides, Zeebop would not be the first author that achieved recognition posthumously.”

“You know. I can actually help him with that. Better sleep with an eye open, you fuck!”

“Good night everyone! And Happy Halloween!”