Gary Clifton Twisted Sister Crime Twisted Sister Fiction

FICTION — A Matter of Taste

Image - leftofurban
Image – leftofurban

“Christ, Pete, you shoulda heard the bitch scream and beg when I commenced with the razor.  You woulda got your nuts off right there,” Guido, a scrawny little man with a hundred tattoos and a scraggly goatee, grinned.

“Guido, you’re gonna get caught…or killed. pulling that home invasion shit.”

“Bullshit. I got another one lined up for tonight. Delivered a large Pepperoni to this place on 27th last night. Blonde bitch with tits like watermelons gimme the eye. Cunt actually asked me to stop by for a drink. She’s gonna be damned sorry she asked. Gonna slip in there tonight and have some of her. You wanna come along?”

“Man, that shit’s all over the news. They’re callin’ you the ‘Midnight Butcher’. The one last night was your fifth. Count me out, dude.”


 Guido found entry into the house easy – the back door was unlocked. The beautiful blonde was calmly sitting at a kitchen bar in a pink, see through negligee sipping a glass of red wine.
Surprised she didn’t scream or panic, Guido was dumbfounded when she offered him a glass. “You should have knocked, baby.” She smiled. “I’m genuinely glad to see you.”

“Un…anybody here?” he stammered.

“Me and you, baby. My name’s Marisol.”

Guido gulped at the wine, honing his sadistic thoughts. In thirty seconds, the room spun, then blackness.

From the fog he had regained partial consciousness when he realized with unspeakable horror he was in a basement – probably beneath the blonde’s house – and chained naked on his back to a metal table. Marisol, now totally nude, stood smiling down at him. Only then did he notice her long, sharp incisors gleaming beneath bright lights.

“You crazy bitch, lemme go,” he shrieked, his bladder failing. “Goddammit, I’m the Midnight Butcher, I’m gonna get off this table and carve your ass up.”

“Thanks for the confession shithead. I was gonna get that out of you first before…”

“Oh Christ…before what?”

“The girl the news called your ‘first’ had a pizza delivery from the place where you deliver just a few hours before somebody…now I know it was you…came in through an unlocked window and butchered her. You’re too stupid to recall she had a male visitor when you made the delivery. He left and later you did your number. He described the delivery boy and it’s you. Now fucker, I’m gonna save the cops some work.”

“Wasn’t me, honest to god, on my mother’s eyes.”

“Guido, my sister and I both have some rather unusual tastes and sexual…uh, I believe you’d call them peculiarities.”


“Yes, asswipe, your “first” was my kid sister.”

“Oh Christ, have mercy,” his voice dissolved into sobs. “I’ll never do it again.”

“Well said, dumbass. I was going to cut off your nuts and feed them to you, but instead I think I’ll bite them off and give you a last kiss.” She bent down, her long, sharp teeth even more terrifying. Marisol was glad she’d had the basement fully soundproofed. Guido’s scream was sixty seconds of terrified, excruciating agony.

Marisol stood, blood and gore gushing down her chin onto her breasts.

She spat out the contents and said, “You totally stupid jackoff, you never counted on my sister and I being vampires. Before I started this feast, I meant to ask you how you managed to overpower her, but I doubt you could recall right now.”

He screamed, wildly incoherent.

“I finish your crotch, we start on ears, baby.”

She leaned down again, pleasantly surprised Guido’s screams were actually louder than before.


Gary Clifton, forty years a cop, has been shot at, shot, stabbed, sued, lied to and about, and frequently misunderstood. Having published over a hundred short fiction pieces via various venues, published a novel in national paperback: Burn Sugar Burn, and having an anthology of short stories on Amazon: Biggest Balls in Sanderson County, he’s currently retired to a dusty North Texas ranch where he doesn’t much give a damn if school keeps or not. You can find him at  http://www.


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