Mail Order Massacres. Hunter Shea

really went all out tonight,” Bill said, taking in the decorated yard. Torches lined the rectangular patch of property, casting a warm glow. Roman columns made of cardboard and expertly painted were tacked over the doorway to the house. Bowls of grapes and metal goblets of wine were everywhere. The partiers wore togas, and from what Bill could see when Robert’s wife Phyllis bent over to pick something up off the floor, little else. For a woman who’d had three kids, she still had an amazing ass.

      “No pressure when it’s your turn,” Robert said, putting the full bowl down.

      “We’ll just hire Phyllis to put it together,” Annie said. Phyllis ran a local theater, so she had the skills and access to a ton of props.

      “You know me,” Robert said, offering them some togas. “I don’t mind sharing.”

      Bill and Annie laughed.

      These key parties had been Robert’s idea two summers ago. Bill thought his neighbor had lost his mind, but when word got around after the first party about what a hit it had been, he’d convinced Annie to at least go to one. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do.

      That was two years and over a dozen parties ago. He and Annie were old pros by now. Sure, there was still a nervous edge when they walked in, but a little wine and a joint or two helped smooth things out.

      “Full house tonight,” Bill said. All of the regulars were there, including a new couple. They were younger than most, the wife with radiant red hair and an impressive chest, her hard nipples straining the fabric of the toga. Bill hoped he pulled her key tonight. He’d had everyone else at the party before. It would be nice to try someone new. Annie was eyeballing the husband, too. This could be a very good night, he thought.

      And the best part was the sex after the party. He and Annie boinked like teenagers for months after a key party. Each new encounter was a time release aphrodisiac.

      “I don’t see the Estradas,” Annie said.

      Robert put on an exaggerated frown. “They called and said they couldn’t make it. George has a stomach thing. Next time. Now, get changed and I’ll pour some wine.”

      They walked into the kitchen. There were more bottles of booze on the counter than a proper British tavern. Bill added a bottle of Wild Turkey to the collection. Well-versed with the process, they went to the spare bedroom off the kitchen, stripped down, folded their clothes neatly and placed them next to the other stacks of “regular” clothes.

      “Come here.”

      Bill pressed his body against Annie, his hands gravitating to her ass, their tongues probing. He could feel the heat of her on his growing cock.

      “We better save it for later,” Annie said, breaking off their embrace with a devilish smile. She slipped into her toga, the hem barely covering the bottom swell of her cheeks.

      “And then even later, when we get home.”

      “And no showering. I want to taste her on you.”

      Bill’s heart fluttered.

      He’d heard of endless horror stories about swapping. Real life couldn’t be further from the truth. Or at least their real life.

      “Hail Caesar!” Bill cried out, swooping his wife into his arms. She giggled, telling him to put her down.

      As they exited the spare bedroom, they heard someone cry out.

      “They’re getting rowdy early,” Annie said.

      “Or we’re just getting a late start,” Bill said, stopping in the kitchen to pour a shot of good Scotch and downing it. Mitchell Mc-Grath always brought the high-end stuff. He should. He owned the liquor store on Virginia Avenue.

      A man yelled, “What the fuck?”

      Bill raised an eyebrow. “I wonder if that’s the new guy. He might not understand how things work.”

      The bottle slipped from his hand when it sounded as if everyone at the party started screaming at once. It landed on top of Annie’s bare foot. She cried out in pain, hopping around the kitchen. “Oh, I think you broke my foot.”

      He didn’t have time to console her.

      The back door slammed open. Their neighbors tried to cram their way inside. In their excitement, they attempted to get in the house in one big pile. Instead, their bodies wedged in the doorway. It looked like something from a Three Stooges movie.

      “What the hell’s going on?” Bill said.

      He saw Robert’s face and his stomach dropped to his balls.

      His neighbor was covered in blood. There was a long, ragged gash down the center of his face. His nose was split in half like a bowling alley hotdog.

      “Oh my God,” Annie screamed, digging her nails into Bill’s arm.

      As people popped free from the bottleneck, spilling onto the linoleum floor, Bill and Annie could see what was behind the roiling panic.

      Black alien bodies reflected the torchlight. To Bill, they looked like oil slicks come to life. Some were feasting on their friends, togas drenched in gore, parts that should be inside now outside. The black beasts, not much taller than a ten-year-old kid, pounced on the back of the people to the rear of the bottleneck. Geysers of blood shot straight into the air.

      “We have to get the hell out of here,” Bill said.

      “I can’t walk,” Annie moaned, raw terror in her wet eyes.

      Bill swept her off her feet, carrying her close to his chest. Someone hit into him from behind, driving him to his knees.

      “No, please, no!” he heard Phyllis cry out. It was followed by a sickening squelch of punctured flesh, then the crunch of bone.

      The damn things were in the house.

      In the bright light, Bill could make them out better—and wished he couldn’t.

      Bulbous heads that were seemingly all mouth sat atop almost human bodies, with the exception of a thick tail that raked back and forth, knocking people’s legs out from under them. As soon as someone went down, another beast was quick to chomp at the softest parts of their exposed flesh.

      The front door!

      He had to get them to the front. All of the creatures appeared to be coming from the backyard.

      Everyone else had the same idea, though there were far fewer of his friends and neighbors now. The terrifying black creatures were taking them down one by one.

      “Hurry, Bill, hurry!” Annie pleaded. Her arms were locked around his neck so tight, it was hard to breathe.

      He got up and sprinted as fast as he could. His heart thumped hard, and he wondered how much longer it could go at this pace before seizing.

      A woman, the new wife, scampered past them. Her scalp had been peeled forward, a wet flap of hair hanging over her face. She blindly ran into the dining room table, knocking herself onto her back.

      That pause was all the monsters needed to finish her. Her scream was cut off quickly. All Bill heard was desperate gurgling.

      Sprinting through the living room, he spied the front door.

      “Almost there,” he assured Annie.

      “They’re right behind us!” she shouted in his ear.

      Bill got to the door, turned the handle and froze.

      It was locked!

      “Bill!”

      He fumbled for the lock.

      Something wet and as hard as cement slammed into his arm, severing it at the elbow. He watched his blood paint the walls and door.

      Annie screamed bloody murder. Suddenly, the weight of her was gone. One of the monsters grabbed a thick cord of her