

Friday the 13th is upon us! And to celebrate, in full calamitous style, we here at the Calamity are proud to offer a sneak peak of the next tale to come out of the Odds ānā Endings Boutique: Body Count. Currently in its second-draft, Body Count has been in progress for a few months and is undergoing some major rework, along with ideation for a short series that will be released for Volume III of the Carnival of Calamity Backstage Pass.
Body Count follows the swift evolution of a woman who becomes a serial murderer almost overnight, digging into both the means of her transformation and her motivations for it. Once a regular working girl fighting to survive from one day to the next, her life changes after a rather interesting visit to the most curious shoppe. Body Count is a bloody romp through the city with the help of a few vignettes and a whole lot of commentary. Much like our protagonist, after reading this, you may never be the same.
Unfamiliar with the Odds ānā Endings Boutique? It is a curio shoppe of mystique and wonder, from which flow a slew of tragic tales centered around the human condition and the poor decisions patrons make when granted power beyond their reckoning. What follows is the prologue to such a tale, taking place well beyond the characterās initial visit to the boutique, and already having mastered the magic they walked out with. But at what cost?

I ram the blade into his chest, yank it out, and ram it back in, the shape of the razor causing me to use a great amount of force to do so, which makes me enjoy it all the more. He scrambles to get off me, but I'm not about to let this fucker get away. That he's straddling me and propped up by the dashboard only makes it easier to keep punching him with the blade. Blood flows freely from the growing wound, and droplets join flecks of skin in spraying throughout the car as I slam the blade home again and again and again. He claws at the handle of the door with one hand while attempting to deflect my blows with the other, but this is not my first rodeo; I easily dodges his parries. He then dives for the driver side door, but I'm faster. I grab a fistful of his long yellow locks and yank his head back, pressing the straight razor against his throat.
"You'll never threaten me or another women ever again, you fuck."
I draw the blade against his throat, nice and slow, letting it cut deep into his neck as he throws elbows at me in a meaningless bid to escape. With blood pouring out of his chest and spraying out of his neck, he soon goes limp. The razor rings as I pull it away, that beautiful golden tone it gives off after a kill, flowing over and through me, taking me to complete elation. God, I'm so fucking horny, teetering on the edge of a nice hard cum. Take me over the edge babes, I whisper to the razor. It will be a nice dessert to a delectable meal. But already, this feels so much better than any dose of ecstasy I have ever taken. It always does, every single time.
I watch as blood spurts from his neck, arcing across the driver's seat, spraying the window, the steering wheel, the dashboard. The color is so vivid. Even in the dark, I appreciate the deep reds of his blood, the tan and olive tones of the leather in his car, the way the colors mix as his shirt drinks up what blood falls onto it. The copper scent fills my nostrils and I drink it down, taking long, deep breaths. The sensation is enjoyable; the immersion, complete. I relish this man's death.
I pull down the visor over my seat and snap open the little slider to peer into the mirror. I'm covered in blood while grinning like a fucking psycho.
I'd fuck me.
Continued after the break ā¦
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I let go of his hair with a laugh at the thought; his body drapes over the center console as his head falls onto the driver's seat. My razor is wildly vibrating, hungry for these experiences. She soaks up all of the remaining blood in his body, then calls it out of the seats, the dashboard, the steering wheel, the windows, our clothes. My razor's a greedy bitch, and she leaves not a drop of blood in the entire car. The vibrations in my razor calm as I'm energized and renewed from the drink. I review her work and grin with satisfaction. With the exception of the body, the interior looks pristine.
I pop open the passenger side door and push his body toward the dash so I can swing my legs out. I turn back to the car and admire my work. Terror, anxiety, and anger, all of it had come to a wonderful climax as I opened him up and let his life blood flood out. No orgasm tonight, though. That's okay. You didn't make me nut, Gerald, but I still had a great time.
Fuck, I feel good.
We're just about done here. I reach back into the car and pilfer his pockets, retrieving my phone from his thieving ass. I go through his wallet and nab his cash and ID. Then I retrieve all of his fancy jewelry--rings, earrings, chain--but leave his wedding ring intact.
I pull out my journalāa short, thick leather cordāfrom my clutch and carve another notch into it. This is my journal entry, what I call my post-coital ritual. It's how I keep track of my ...


Well, that was rather violent, wasnāt it? Iām sure Jasonāhe for whom we now have this wondrous holiday to thankāwould be proud. Or, if not him, certainly those of you who appreciate a heavy dose of violence in your horror. Beyond this, how does the story turn out? This was but the prologue, and the story in full will be released as a novelette come September. Stay tuned as announcements regarding the taleās development will be shared in the Backstage Pass. And as mentioned in earlier Backstage editions, vignettes of the story will emerge in Volume III, which, coupled with the Archivistās Chronicles, will make for a violent and bloody good time.
Please, share this with your terror-loving loved ones. And be ready come September when Body Count is published.