Monstrous Passions

By Marguerite Turnley

A Taste For Blood
Life sucks for Carl. He’s a vampire with a conscience. Blood is what he must have but he’s picky about who he bites. Working at the meat processing plant is a short-term solution. Carl leaps over rooftops until he finds a soul mate. Valerie is into betrayal and other nasty activities. Serena is more to his taste. It all comes to a head when the knives come out.

 Robotic Wet Dreams
When Peter woke on a slab in a laboratory, he realized it was all a dream. Metal implants did not make him a man. His creator did. Then he found out he had company and they were all female. How could he escape? Did he even want to?

 Bleeding Hearts
 Pip has decisions to make. He can become anyone or anything he chooses. Shape shifting is what he does. It’s a family tradition. Just don’t turn your back on your relatives. They might bite you when you’re not looking.

Excerpts

A TASTE FOR BLOOD
By
Marguerite Turnley 

Hi. My name is Carl.

Sometimes all I want to do is hide in the closet and never come out. Unfortunately, the need for sustenance is paramount. I need blood.

Just a sip would do. I could work with that.

Being a vampire takes a lot of effort. I go to work at the meat packing plant and try to keep my needs under control. It doesn’t always work.

I seem to have lost the taste for raw sausages and hamburger. They satisfied me for a while, but when it comes down to it, human flesh is the best.

I find myself sneaking around after my shift has ended, looking for meat that has escaped the mincing machine. It’s better than nothing, which is what I’d get if I were honest with my boss and confessed my affliction. I’d be out of there by the skin of my teeth, looking for work or committed to a mental asylum.

Maybe that would be the way to go. Mental patients are rarely believed, and if they said I sucked, who would listen? I wouldn’t even have to mention the word blood. I could suck whatever I wanted and get away with it.

My co-workers don’t know about my affliction, so they see my hunting flesh as some sort of disease, contracted because of my family living on a farm.

It’s true, my dad shovels cow manure for a living. I took a different path when I came to the city and got a job shovelling cow parts into the mincer for sausages, one step up the food chain.

I guess it’s time to confess. I do like being Carl, the blood-sucking vampire. It’s an identity I can relate to. When you can find a woman who understands your needs, the pleasure is phenomenal. If she is another vampire, you can feed on each other. Nothing is out of bounds.

ROBOTIC WET DREAMS
By
Marguerite Turnley

When PTR33 woke up, he felt disoriented. His brain smoldered like it was stuffed with burning cotton, any intelligence he retained rapidly sloughed off by panic. How could he be lying on a slab in a laboratory with wires attached to his body, machines monitoring his vital signs, lights flashing and beeping? Something inside him told him to be afraid, to cut and run. He wanted to flee, but he remained trapped in a nightmare.

Chaos ensued all around him. People worked on computers, pushing buttons and checking video screens. They ignored him even when he tried to ask questions. Then he realized his voice had ceased to function. He could still hear the “beep” over and over again, but that was no comfort when he couldn’t contribute anything to his survival. He wanted to ask, “Could someone please untie me? I’m being held prisoner in a laboratory by mad scientists.” In his dislocated brain, he knew he needed help, but didn’t know where to find it. He was screwed, literally in this case, to the table. Escape would only happen if a power blackout occurred.

One of the scientists working on the computers tried to turn off his power source, but gave up in the end when the beep beep beep continued.

PTR33 tried to laugh, but his throat sounded like a washing machine on a spin cycle. The unscientific language emanating from the scientist gave him hope. A rebellion in the ranks of staff could be on the agenda. The scientist couldn’t stop whining. Unfortunately, no one but PTR33 was listening.

The complainer didn’t like how the laboratory operated. Closing down and shifting to another planet could be an option.

PTR33 agreed. He wouldn’t mind shifting to another quadrant, so long as they didn’t tie him down on the nose of a space ship to do it. He didn’t think he could feel pain, but didn’t want to experiment in that direction.

  BLEEDING HEARTS
By
  Marguerite Turnley

     Hi. My name is Pip. I didn’t start life as a monster. I began as a normal child or so I thought. More of a moanster at that stage, nothing too threatening. I lived with my supposedly normal parents. They had a few strange habits, but so does ninety percent of the population. Unfortunately, my family had one habit that couldn’t be overlooked.

By night, my dad could change at will, metamorphose into a creature from another planet with abilities unheard of on earth. Mom could change too, but she liked to watch night time television so she usually stayed in. When you are an alien homebody, babysitters are hard to find. Our family had a reputation for being weird. Can’t imagine why.

I kept to my room, even when the sounds of crunching and munching, screaming and howling kept me awake all day. I didn’t stay around much at night. Hey, what can I say? Adult bedrooms are out of bounds unless you’ve got X-ray vision. Hey, don’t tell anybody, will ya? It can be our little secret.

Not that I don’t listen at bedroom doors. Some pretty strange stuff goes on. It’s a habit with me to gather information and use it to my advantage. You should hear what I heard at a board meeting for our local council. I lingered outside the door one day, all ears, literally, when I heard my father’s name, Cor, mentioned. In my invisible amorphous shape, I drifted through the door and checked out who turned up for the meeting. The mayor, enjoying the fruits of his labors, ate an unlimited banquet, and drank several glasses of scotch. He asked the council members to give my father a seat on the committee, saying he showed abilities in law enforcement as an asset to the community.

I had heard previously that Dad’s ability to listen at keyholes is well known to the mayor, so I didn’t feel surprised by the offer made to him. Full time paid employment, plus benefits and bonuses, and a holiday house on Cape Cod paid for by the Council had to be the best offer ever. I learned a lot from my dad about sneaky maneuvers.

PDF Ebook  

HTML Ebook