The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

By the time the BMW reached its destination the sun had already ducked itself behind the dark clouds for the evening. A brutally
cold, stiff wind blew past the valley in which the driver's brown and white ranch-style home was located.
The driver pulled the eight-track from out of the deck before tossing it in the backseat. He then got out, slammed his door behind
him and made his way around to the other side. His warm, fidgety hands could hardly grab a hold of the door's handle. The
second he was able to take a hold of the knob he flung open the door with such a force that it caused Isaac's lifeless body to fall
out of the car and onto the snowy ground.
The driver closed the door and picked the young man up into his burly arms as though he were an infant. From there, he carried
him from the curved driveway and on to the house, a total twenty-two feet. Somehow, with Isaac in his arms, the man managed
to reach into his right pants pocket and pull out his house key.
The man opened the door, but before even shutting it behind him, he carried Isaac over to a black leather couch and carefully
laid him down, allowing his head to softly hit the pillow at the foot of the sofa. Then, like the rush of the wind, the driver ran back
over, shut the front door and clicked on the lamp light next to the television before feverishly tearing off his clothes and tossing
them to the floor in reckless abandon.
His soft, multicolored carpet felt squishy and smooth in between his feet as he shuffled across the floor to a glass table where a
Panasonic stereo rested. From underneath there was a small drawer. Before reaching inside, the driver raced across the floor
and retrieved his pants. He rooted around the pockets until he found his Taser gun. He then went back to the drawer, placed the
gun inside and pulled out a record which he promptly placed on the stereo's turn style. Right beside the stereo was placed a tape
recorder. With one finger the driver hit the record button.
Just like that, Chicago's, 'If you leave me now', began to play on the stereo, filling the entire living room with Peter Cetera's light,
harmonious voice. The man then reached over and began to pull off Isaac's clothing. From his coat, shirt and tie, all the way
down to his Fruit of the Loom underwear and socks. Once he was through, he raised up and shut all the blinds in the front
window before stretching behind the couch and pulling up a half empty canister of Vaseline. He twisted open the metal container
and with his two right fingers scooped out a glob and proceeded to lubricate Isaac's rectum with the gel.
After he was done, the driver just happened to look up at all the pictures that were placed on the mantle above the fireplace of a
white man that resembled a younger version of himself. His pain stricken eyes didn't want to even catch a mere glimpse of the
man's face. He ducked his head down and kissed Isaac on the cheek before spreading his butt cheeks and entering. The event
lasted no more than two and a half minutes.

The sweaty, out of breath man slowly pulled out and stood up, jerking from side to side while semen oozed from his penis and
onto the carpet. The song that was playing on the stereo ended right on time.
With sweat lacing his forehead and hairy chest, the gasping man looked back at Isaac's body that was dangling off of the sofa.
There were drops of blood that emanated from the young man's rear.
The man, in all his unbridled nakedness, stepped over and turned off the stereo. He then began to pace the floor back and forth
in the quiet living room, trying his hardest not to look at the young person that he had brought home with him. It was a cross-like
burden that seemed to weigh him down. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more to do with the individual that was lying helplessly on
his brand new couch. To him, the young man was nothing more than a piece of trash that needed to be discarded and forgotten.
Without warning, Isaac's teetering body fell off the couch and onto the carpet.
With semen still streaming from his penis the man walked over, picked Isaac up and carried him from the living room to the
kitchen. Within the spacious kitchen was a door. With one hand, the man unlocked the wooden door before opening it wide and
throwing Isaac's body down the stairs. The second he heard him hit the bottom, the man slammed the door shut.
From the basement door he regrettably marched over to a nearby cabinet and took out a sharp knife. Placed on the counter
beside a cookie jar was a blue and white electric knife sharpener. With the flip of a switch, the machine came to life. With steady
precision, the man placed the knife's edge against the loud contraption and watched with his bare eyes as sparks flew from left
to right.
It had never occurred before in times past, his house was newly built, there was never any problem of sorts with such a thing, but
all of the sudden, the lights in the kitchen began to flicker off and on.
The driver, startled only a slight bit, paused for a few moments before resuming his meticulous sharpening detail.
***
The basement, much like the kitchen, was brightly lit, with four ceiling fans spread out along the expansive room. Lanced upon
the ceiling were sixteen hooks, all of which were supporting sixteen blood soaked, brown cloth sacks, each one with its own
bulge. The cement floor was layered from one end to the other with blood. It looked as though someone had spilled red paint and
didn't bother to clean up after themselves. The pungent odor of dead, decomposing bodies was akin to an overflowing sewer on
a hot summer's day. Maggots swarmed and feasted on the bloody floor while Isaac's body laid still, curled up in a ball.
Right above him hung a lonesome young woman who was dangling inside her own special brown, cloth sack. With a tiny hole
that she herself had carved open, she looked down upon Isaac's body in utter dismay, realizing that with yet another victim

added to the lineup, her odds of escaping had all but shrank.
She held her naked self as tight as she could while resuming her daily regimen of desperate prayer time, hoping beyond all hope
that someone would come and save her from the barrage of collected death that she was reluctantly gathered amongst. The
more she prayed, that was all the longer time seemed to stretch out for her. Every so often she would take quick glances down at
the motionless body on the floor just to make sure he wasn't moving.
"Dog kcuf," Isaac grunted aloud with his eyes still closed.
The young lady's ears perked up like an attentive dog at what she hoped she had heard. She poked one eye out of the hole and
noticed that Isaac's hands were moving.
"C'mon...c'mon and get up." She gasped with just about every ounce of air inside her lungs.
She watched in fervent exultation as the man's hands slapped the bloody floor all while repeating the words he was shouting.
"Shh," she strongly whispered, "don't talk too loud or else he'll hear you."
Isaac didn't utter another word, he only rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes. The woman in the sack saw two eyes, but
there was something different. The man's eyes rolled backwards to where all she could see was nothing but white. His body then
turned back over until it was on its hands and knees.
The man breathed in and out as though he were fighting for air. To the shock of the captive woman above, Isaac began to growl
an unearthly noise. The woman's entire body clinched itself as she watched the man's arms expand in size.
His legs and feet cracked and extended in length while his fingers scraped across the floor until they began to bleed. Soon,
sharp claws shot out from Isaac's fingernails while thick, black fur protracted from just about every aperture of his body until there
was nothing left but a larger sized, hairy version of the man.
The woman hung in her sack while her petrified eyes caught way too much of the unspeakable. At first, she threw it all up to
delirium. She had been kidnapped, raped and nearly murdered, both her mind and eyes could have been playing all sorts of
cruel jokes on her at that point.
The young man that at one time she hoped would be her escape, was seemingly gone, what lurked about on the basement floor
was nothing but a mutated former human being.

The woman could still see Isaac's white eyes and what resembled a face, a face that astonishingly began to stretch outwards
into what appeared to be a snout and sharp fangs. The man could be heard crying out in unbearable pain until his human voice
had all but morphed into that of an animal's roar.
She couldn't contain herself a moment more. Not only was she shaking like a leaf, but she was also urinating at the sight of
seeing pointy ears extend up from the beast's head before its once white eyes drew back to amber.
With her one eye the woman watched as the creature sniffed at the floor. It snarled and licked up spots of blood until it came
upon the warm, wet space below her. On its powerful arms and hind legs it lurched its way over and smelled before looking up
with its shining eyes at the sack. She wanted to shut off her brain, or at least go into a fit of hysterical blindness.
Just as it seemed as if it were about to attack, the buzzing noise from the floor above captured the beast's attention. The woman
watched as the thing appeared somewhat confounded. Its head turned from her to the stairs and back again before growling in
anger and galloping for the steps. Her eyes had captured the ungodly; it was time for her ears to take over.
She heard the creature tear through the basement door before letting out a devastating roar. Her captor didn't seem to even
have enough time to let out a simple squeal before being mauled by the thing.
Two things, and only two things she heard, the animal roar and growl, and the crashing of a human body being tossed from one
end of the kitchen to the other. It sounded as if someone were taking a jackhammer and using it on the floor with as much
reckless noise that was taking place. Just for the briefest of moment's, the young, captive lady actually felt a glint of sorrow for
her uncaring captor.
Then, after seemingly endless minutes, the crashing racket stopped. The woman could hear what sounded like sharp teeth
tearing and chomping before another rumble entered the home. To her it sounded as if an entire door had been knocked down
again.
There was a bitter hush. The knife sharpener was still operating, but inside the woman's head was jarring stillness. She could no
longer hear the beast. She couldn't hear roaring or teeth tearing flesh. There was nothing but hushed silence inside the home,
along with a whistling wind that she prayed would serenade her to sleep that evening.