You (WIll) Have Been Warned

This Wednesday I have a horror story to post. It is a disturbing tale about the end of the world and although sex comes up, it is not the kind of sex that most people would enjoy. I don’t know if it is a good horror story but it is mine and that is all that really matters. I love horror and at the young age of thirty-nine, I have decided that I would like to write some.

I am letting you know ahead of time because I understand that quite a few of you don’t like horror and I respect that. I wouldn’t want you sitting down to a story and reading something you would rather not. I debated opening up another blog but you know, this is my space and therefore this is going to be where I post stories.

I am debating how to show that a story of mine is horror and not erotica. I thought about putting Horror: Title of The Story in the blog post header but I imagine most people wouldn’t catch it. I am considering adding a short disclaimer at the start of the story in italics but eww, disclaimers make me queasy.

Here is the thing about disclaimers; they are all relative. I happily watch Slasher movies, and monster movies but I can’t handle Saw or Hostel. My wife those Saw and Hostel but gets squirrelly with Russian Soul Destroying horror. Meanwhile, Phantom of the Pulp is watching movies that would reduce me to a whimpering baby.  I slap a disclaimer or a warning on something and my next thought it is the disappointment when someone reads it and goes “Oh, that wasn’t that bad.”

Incidentally, the horror stories I have in mind use a concept that I flirted with last year. I have always enjoyed the paranoid nihilist fantasies of end-of-the-world predictions and I wanted to do my own. Instead of God, global warming or asteroids, I thought the End of the World should come about because of incredible and inconceivable sexual monstrosities/phenomenon/What the Fuck. Let’s face it, most people are terrified of sex. A prudish conservative might fear communist devils from Kenya but they won’t really shit their pants until they see cross-dressing lesbians who have sex with the blinds open. If the world is to end, it should be composed of what they fear most and what most people fear is cocks and pussy. I have read plenty of stories about bloody apocalypses and spiritual oblivion, but I have yet to read about some giant beast humping the St. Louis Arch while millions of humans with their higher brain functions blasted by the obscenity of it all masturbate in worship.

That seems overdue to me.