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The Fly
Started by: Etrigan

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Etrigan
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Gender: Male
Location: United Kingdom

The Fly

It's desperately unoriginal but I'm not very good at writing long stories so I tried writing a short horror/action story about a man trying to kill a giant fly in a shop and I thought I'd post it up here. I know the ending isn't very good; I was sort of rushing it by then.

Enjoy!

There was a giant fly squatting on Mr Ling’s desk in the convenience store.

When I say giant, I mean giant- this thing took up pretty much most of the desk. It was obviously the source of the incessant buzzing I had heard from my apartment above. It was hunched over the desk, having knocked the cash register to the floor in a scattered pile of coins and notes. Its ugly, spindly little black feelers were writhing busily around one another as if mating. The dim light of the shop gleamed off the blackish-blue sheen of its hairy back. Its eyes were the size of bicycle tyres, but thankfully turned away from me. They were sectioned with a network of what seemed like a million red pentagons.

It had wings, as well. These were each as long as my arm, translucent and membranous. They jutted out of the monster insect’s shoulders, sticking up into the air, and occasionally they would vibrate, turning into a shimmering blur, letting off a deafening, thrumming buzz. The creature’s legs shifted about on the desk, clittering loudly across the wood and metal. As it performed a clumsy half-turn I saw exactly what it was sitting on, and a monstrous bolt of panic hit my heart like a bullet.

Mr Ling was spread eagled across the desk, half of his body covered by the vast hairy frame of the fly. He was lying on his face and he was wearing his blue shirt that had become somewhat famous amongst his customers. The novelty shirt (which had a slogan on it about beer) was thickly matted and drenched with a glistening, viscous liquid the colour of snot. Where this liquid touched it, the colour had faded out of the shirt and was still fading away now. With a dim, blurry sickness I realised that the fly was secreting this vile shit all over Mr Ling’s body, and it was enveloping the kind businessman in a shiny, not-quite-solid cocoon. Long, bubbling ropes of the insectile drool were hanging off the desk and pooling on the tile floor.

Mr Ling’s face couldn’t be seen; for that I was thankful. Even then, the fly’s twitching, greedy proboscis was shuffling and rummaging greedily in his black hair as if looking for fat, juicy lice. As a result of this his head was coated with the snot-slime. One of his hands was dangling over the edge of the desk; I jumped back and uttered a little involuntary scream as it spasmed slightly, beating against the floor.

The fly was then alerted to my presence. I backed away on legs about as sturdy as straw as it manoeuvred itself stupidly around on its little legs, pivoting to look at me. Now I felt sick. My back bumped against a wall and I was suddenly aware that not only was the thing climbing slowly and clumsily off the counter, but I was shuddering violently all over. My teeth chattered as if powered by clockwork; my head was thudding repeatedly against the wall.

The fly observed me with absolutely no expression in its face. Expression in its face? I thought absurdly. It’s a god damn giant fly and you expect it to be looking at you with some kind of sympathy, right? Maybe next it’ll do the Cha Cha.

The creature must have been weighing me up, seeing if I was a worthy meal, because suddenly its legs pumped downwards (I saw the black muscle tissue shift) and its vein-shot, cylindrical, grotesque body gave a nasty lurch. Then it flew at me in that crazy, shifting, veering way that flies do. Its wings screamed endlessly with that horrible droning buzz.

The store was not very wide, so it took all of three seconds for the fly to get to me. I shrieked (rather girlishly, I hate to add) and my legs gave way from under me, sitting me on my ass, propped up against the wall. This saved me; the fly had to turn crazily left to avoid hitting the wall. I felt the nasty little legs brush my face and hands as it passed overhead, and I screamed again. Then it went humming off down the aisles, knocking items off shelves on its course.

I felt unable to get to my feet, so I half-staggered, half-crawled over to Mr Ling’s desk, which was wearing a jacket of the fly’s dribble. It stank of flyblown meat. The buzz got louder and more pervading all of a sudden; I turned and saw the bastard rocketing towards me from the other end of the shop. With a cry of determination and fear I launched my self backwards, crashing down into the gap between the desk and the wall like a broken ragdoll. The fly hovered above me like a massive, malicious helicopter, its mandibles working furiously.

It couldn’t reach down to me; in its greed it had partly wedged itself above me, between the desk and the wall. One of its bristly legs pawed at my face and chest, making horrible little scratching sounds on my shirt. My head swimming with horror, I searched wildly around for a weapon. Mr Ling’s office stationery had been knocked from his desk by the fly along with the cash machine. A pair of scissors lay on the floor within my easy reach. They were only paper scissors but they were the closest thing I had to a weapon, and if I didn’t do something now then the fly would get to me eventually.

I snatched up the scissors; they felt very heavy in my shaking hand. As the fly’s leg waved down near my face again, I dragged the scissors open and snapped forward with them, managing to get the blades in a deep, solid grip around the muscular cluster of sinews where the leg joined to the body. I clenched the handles of the scissors together with all the force I could muster and felt the fly’s black flesh give way. The metal bit deep in, and I expected them to crunch straight through, leaving it with one less leg. But that didn’t happen; firstly because I wasn’t strong enough to hack off the whole thing, and secondly because it gave out a high, screaming, faltering, indignant buzz and pulled away from me, upturning the whole desk, tearing the scissors out of my grasp. Blood splattered onto the tiles in a big whipped bubble.

I climbed to my feet, my fear slightly diminished now that the ugly beast was wounded. It was careening off the walls, flying down the aisles, looping around, scattering everything to hell with loud smashes and crashes. At one point it bumped into the ceiling with a resounding thunk that shook the whole store; I was sure that would at least daze it, but no. It cannoned towards me again, trailing drool and blood.


This time I didn’t expect the attack. It hit me with a massive weight, slapping the breath out of me and cartwheeling me backwards like a puppet. My body went slamming across a row of shelves and I flopped onto the tiles, products falling all around me like a costly rain. It went sailing on over my head as I lay there in agony, feeling at least two ribs rustling about somewhere deep in my torso. The buzz seemed more far away now; I was viewing the world through a hoop of white flecks.

As it came soaring toward me again, I managed to rise up to one knee. That was as far as I got, unfortunately. Its head barrelled into my side and lifted me up with it; I was spun across the floor like a pebble rippling across the surface of a pond. I felt my fingers pop like wishbones as I put a hand out to try and stop myself. I took a deep breath and blood was sucked back down my throat like salty jam. It bubbled out of my nostrils and from between my lips, soaking my chin.


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Old Post Aug 12th, 2007 06:31 PM
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Etrigan
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Gender: Male
Location: United Kingdom

The fly landed in the aisle and sat there looking at me again. That was the worst part of all; those big horrible crimson orbs were looking right at me. One of its legs hung askew and dripping. The scissors were still stuck in it. I returned its gaze with some effort. “You think you’ve won, don’t you,” I said to it through gritted teeth as I cradled my bad hand in my good one. “You think you’ve won. Well, you’re wrong, you know. You’re wrong.”

It attacked me then, not flying this time but running at me in a weird, jittering, awkward charge. I rolled onto my back (my hand gave off a fresh flare of pain as I tried to stay balanced) and as it came at me I pistoned my right foot straight outwards, landing a vicious kick slapbang in the middle of its ugly face, at the top joint of the dangling proboscis, between the red eyes. My leg instantly went dead, sizzling with numbness, but it shrank momentarily back, giving me the time I needed to lunge forward and wrap my good hand around the handle of the scissors protruding from its limb. Its wing flapped and flailed ineffectually at me; just as I tore the scissors free in a burst of stinking gruel it swung sideways and barged against my head.

I was flipped onto my back, my skull feeling full of wet cotton. As it turned to prey on me I slashed the blade of the scissors across its eye, leaving a ragged, jelly-filled slash. Blood came pouring out of this new wound in big, foaming ribbons. I kicked it again and it went scrambling backward, knocking over the entire stack of shelves. Feeling slightly high with my temporary victory, I cackled at it. It went into refuge on the other side of the store with one of its eyes punctured and apparently deflated, seeping out a cold and clotted black ichor.

I needed a better weapon. Still dizzy, I crawled round to the other aisle, looking for something ideal; something classy. My eyes fell upon the household items section. Of course… bug spray.

As I took two cans of Raid off the shelves I remembered the fly and had a momentary jolt of panic in the realising that it might be right behind me. But it wasn’t, and then I knew that it couldn’t get anywhere near me without broadcasting its location with that stupid and loud buzz.


When I came near it, holding both the cans (I could barely steady the left one with my broken hand) it broke cover and buzzed straight at me. I screamed in fury and raised the twin cans like some sort of gunslinger, leaping away from the fly. It swooped down, aiming for my head, and I attacked with both cans, jamming my fingers down on the buttons, sending hissing fans of poisonous vapour straight into its face at point-blank range.

“DIE!" I screamed in a sort of vicious ecstasy. “DIE, DIE!”

It went twisting and writhing away across the tiles, its legs drumming spasmodically on the floor. As I pressed on, keeping both sprays pinned on the fat, shiny body, I realised that the liquid was collecting on its face in a fine, wet sheen and getting into the wound in its eye. I bet that hurt like a bastard, and I bet it with grim satisfaction too.

My left hand was too weak and painful to keep spraying with full force so I flung that can over my shoulder, and instead stood over the fly’s horribly racked and contorted form, blasting clouds of Raid onto it, all over, with no mercy in sight. No mercy at all. Its buzzing had reached enormous levels of volume, and there was a more rasping, desperate, wild quality to the sound now. It kept flipping over, belching strings of the cocoon-liquid out of its proboscis. Making sure not to get any of the liquid on me, I continued spraying it while stamping on its wings, crushing them into flat, splintered, useless things.

The can of bug spray was almost finished now, and the fly was obviously almost dead; it kept arching its body high up off the floor, then slumping back down in a contorted, Raid-soaked heap. I discarded this can as well, then stomped off to find something slightly more conventional to finish the sonofabitch off with.

I thought a long metal businessman’s umbrella with a plastic spike on the end would do just fine.

When I returned, the fly was trying to crawl away. The clear bug spray had actually formed a slippery puddle around it.

“No you don’t,” I told the insect, and lifted the folded umbrella up above my head with both hands, then brought it down hard and ruthlessly across the creature’s shiny back. There was the wet-wood sound of shell breaking and punching into the soft cartilage beneath, but only a few little burbling streams of blood, so I hit it again. In fact, “again” is a lie. I hit it until the metal struts inside the umbrella were snapped and the fly resembled a big mass of mouldy and chewed hamburger with limp legs, lying in a thick and inky mixture of insect blood and insect spray. Then I raised the umbrella and rammed the spike through the fly’s big corpse, like a stake, piercing it dead center, sending a stinking flood of guts out onto the tiles.

I burnt the shop. That was easy; the Raid was extremely flammable and the toss of a lighter sent a huge, flickering hand of flame curling mercilessly up around the mashed body and carpeting the slippery floor. I left via the front door as the heat began to rise, thick and stinging, behind me. The little bell over the door jingled as I stepped out into the street, my broken hand dangling like that of a showroom dummy.

It was a perfect night for a stroll.


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Old Post Aug 12th, 2007 06:32 PM
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