Flattery Will Get You Nowhere

FAIR WARNING: This horror story contains drug use, graphic violence, and explicit sex. 🩸🩸

You're welcome. ⚡😁👍

Carl Carpenter considers it a bad omen when the dog brings him the severed human hand.

He’s never seen the dog before.

He has seen the hand.

The dog is a big German Shepherd, totally black, as black as sin, with massive jaws and piercing eyes.

The hand once belonged to a man named Daryl J. Mostetler who hailed from Flint, Michigan— a man Carl murdered exactly three months ago today.

Carl has an eidetic memory when it comes to his sacrifices. He remembers everything about everyone he ever killed. He remembers where he abducted them, how he abducted them, what flattery they responded to the most. He has vivid recollections of every evisceration he’s ever performed. He remembers how many pieces he cut each of them into. And he remembers where he buried them, each and every one of them.

In short: Carl remembers his work.

So even though it’s only a severed hand, the minute Carl sees it in that damned canine’s mouth, he remembers it.

He recognizes it.

He buried that hand and the rest of Daryl J. Mostetler at least six feet deep.

Carl lives in rural northeast Indiana, on a farm consisting of twenty-seven acres, including over ten acres of woodland. His property is enclosed by wire fences, topped with swirls of barbed wire and marked with numerous NO TRESPASSING signs. The small forest he secretly thinks of as Cemetery Woods sits far off the lonely country road.

Carl is a cautious man— meticulous, crafty, and cunning. He’s been a successful serial killer all his adult life and he attributes part of his success to the total randomness involved in his selection of sacrifices. He doesn't commit murder jacked-up on testosterone. Carl kills in cold blood, and he does it randomly. Among those he’s buried in his woods are a teacher, a doctor, a plumber, a nun, truck drivers, college students, prostitutes, drug dealers, pig farmers, even one circuit court judge.

All those people— including Daryl J. Mostetler— have only two things in common.

1. They were all killed by Carl.
2. And they are all buried in his woods.

That’s where Daryl’s hand should be: buried in Cemetery Woods.

Carl has just come out of his farmhouse on this frigid mid-January morning to retrieve his mail. The German Shepherd sits about twenty yards away from the front door. The black beast is graceful as it gently lays the unattached hand on Carl's snow-crusted lawn.

The dog then bares its teeth at Carl, growling.

This is easily dealt with, he thinks; Carl uses flattery. “Well, aren’t you a handsome animal? I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful dog!” He holds out an open hand to it. “Come here, boy.”

To Carl’s utter astonishment, the German Shepherd turns heels and dashes off. It runs east along the road, headed toward the Azbell farm, Carl’s nearest neighbor in that direction, a quarter mile away. The dog suddenly bounds off the road, into the ditch, and disappears.

Deeply disturbed, Carl unflinchingly picks up Daryl’s hand and takes it inside his house.

⚡_____________⚡

Carl Carpenter isn’t like other men. He never feels stress, never fears, never worries. Over the years, his precognitive abilities have instilled in him an unearthly confidence. Once, for three crazy weeks when he was 23, he was convinced he was a demigod. The truth, however, is that Carl doesn’t know what he is or how he acquired his powers. All he knows is: he can see visions of the future, drawn in blood. And he has a preternatural ability to get anything and everything he wants by simply using flattery.

This black hound is the only creature Carl has ever encountered capable of ignoring his fulsomeness.

It's incredibly unnerving.

An hour after the confrontation with the German Shepherd, Carl mounts Bucephalus, his Arabian quarter horse. Daryl’s cold dead hand is wrapped in a trash bag, tucked up between the twin winter coats that Carl is wearing.

He rides Bucephalus through long fields, back to Cemetery Woods. He can’t believe what he finds. Mostetler’s grave is undisturbed, covered with a pristine patch of about an inch of snow.

Carl is flabbergasted. "How the holy fuck did that dog get this hand?"

He considers the possibility he dropped the hand, that he misplaced it, that it didn’t get buried with the other parts of Daryl.

And that’s unfathomable, impossible. Carl is methodical about his work. He is never careless.

Never.

Standing on Mostetler’s grave, Carl knows every piece of Daryl is interred directly below him.

He looks around this area. Twenty yards away is the spot where he buried Raymond Bruce Scholl and Amber Michelle Ford, both of Lima, Ohio. He killed Bruce and Amber on June 11, 1997. It was their reading that allowed him to head off a potentially disastrous scandal involving some of his highly profitable pornographic websites.

Looking back at Daryl’s grave, Carl frowns. In his mind, he sees the dog and the hand. He’s baffled how the one came into the possession of the other.

He decides if he ever encounters that German Shepherd again, he’s going to kill it.

Carl returns to Bucephalus to retrieve the spade and shovel being carried by his horse, then walks over to the place where he buried Mostetler. He buries the hand about ten yards away from the place where the rest of Daryl is interred.

⚡_____________⚡

Carl doesn’t socialize with most of his neighbors but he is cordial with his neighbor Mrs. Azbell, just down the road. The Azbells have a large hen house and Carl buys fresh eggs from them. Because the Azbells have six children, they have connections with many of the other families who live around here.

Carl has flattered Jennifer Azbell so many times over the years, she can no longer even look at him without blushing.

Carl contacts Mrs. Azbell to find out more about the dog. He learns the Azbells don’t own a German Shepherd and Mrs. Azbell knows of no one who does.

He hits a dead-end.

Carl is no fool. He believes wholeheartedly in omens and he knows that dog was a bad one. He knows that even before the animal terrorizes him a second time.

It’s later that same evening when the German Shepherd scratches on the back door. Carl is in the kitchen cooking supper for one (as always). The minute he hears the scratching, he knows it’s the dog.

Carl has several loaded guns stashed in various places throughout his house. From a kitchen drawer below the one where he keeps the silverware, he now takes out a high-caliber handgun. He flips the safety off the pistol, moves to the back door, and throws it open, prepared to shoot right through the storm door.

His back stoop is vacant. He sees no dog.

He does, however, see another body part on his lawn.

Heart pounding, Carl slips outside and rushes to the side of his house, looking for the German Shepherd. He sees nothing but naked trees and a frosty lawn. He rushes to the other side of the house and again finds nothing. Lowering the gun to his side, taking a chill (but still sweating), Carl walks back to the spot where the dog has left him another body part.

It’s another piece of Daryl J. Mostetler, his hairy right leg. Carl recognizes it not only by its shape but also by the way it was severed.

Because every one of his sacrifices was an individual, Carl honored their uniqueness by cutting them up in different ways. Carl sawed some legs into as many as four pieces before burying them. With Daryl, however, Carl left his legs intact.

This leg is supposed to be buried six feet under with the rest of Daryl J. Mostetler, back in Cemetery Woods.

Carl is more distressed than he’s been in decades. There are forces at play here outside the normal. He knows it. He can sense it.

There is something unnatural about that hound!

He wonders if—

The thought is shattered by the sound of the devil dog barking far off in the distance. He knows it’s the German Shepherd. He also knows it’s useless to pursue the animal. It’s already too far away.

Thinking about that damnable beast running free is deeply troubling.

After bundling up, Carl again rides Bucephalus back to the woods, where he buries Mostetler’s leg.

He’s not surprised much to see Daryl’s grave is still undisturbed. The freshly-turned earth where he buried the hand earlier is clearly evident, but the patch of snow directly above Mostetler doesn’t have so much as a paw print on it.

Carl is certain there’s something preternatural about that dog.

Fortunately, he has his own preternatural means of unraveling mysteries.

⚡_____________⚡

Over the last two decades, Carl has found human sacrifices in Flint and Ann Arbor, Michigan; Cincinnati and Columbus, Ohio; Lexington, Kentucky; Saint Louis, Missouri; Chattanooga, Tennessee; Savannah, Georgia; Miami, Florida; and Dallas, Texas.

Carl hasn’t hunted in the Windy City since 1988.

A day after twice encountering the demon dog (and parts of Daryl J. Mostetler), Carl makes a nearly four-hour drive to Chicago. Once there, after snagging lunch at Taco Bell, he begins his hunt.

Carl Carpenter knows he wasn’t put on this Earth to blunder about, hoping that by happenstance he might discover the meaning of his own existence. Carl has always known what he is meant to do. He is a predator. He was born to kill people.

He isn’t, however, a murderer.

Carl is an instrument of Fate.

The men, women, and children who became his sacrifices were destined to die by his hand. Their deaths served a higher purpose.

They allowed Carl to see his future.

In Elgin, a suburb west of Chicago, he spots a neighborhood tavern called Franz’s Stein and ends his search. Needing information about a German Shepherd, a German-sounding bar seems like an auspicious place to look.

After scoping out several prospects and rejecting them, he eventually targets a 20-something couple named Wendy Dean and Justin Sturgis. He flatters them and buys them drinks.

Wendy is petite, built small, but with especially large breasts. She has silky brown hair, seductive brown eyes, and a smooth golden tan.

Justin is as pale as a snowman. With his skinny body, his wavy blond hair, blue eyes, and youthful face, he reminds Carl of a California surfer boy.

Justin says very little. Carl quickly determines Wendy wears the pants in this relationship.

Carl learns Justin and Wendy just moved in to a new apartment nearby. They walked to the bar tonight to celebrate their one month anniversary of living together. By asking just a couple questions, Carl is also able to determine they aren’t expected anywhere until Monday morning.

After getting the couple drunk on booze and more flattery, he tells them he has some especially potent marijuana. "Wanna get high?"

Justin perks up, saying, “Sounds good, G.”

Leaving the bar, Carl escorts them to his silver Cadillac. When he opens the back door for them, Wendy admits, “I always wanted my own chauffeur.”

They take a ride and smoke a blunt. Carl suggests they go home with him to party. "It's a long drive, but I'll make it worth your while. I’ve got some killer cocaine. And I've got a big guest bedroom, so you hotties can spend the whole weekend if you wanna.”

Wendy makes the decision, saying it, “Sounds good.”

As he drives I-90 into Indiana, he looks into his rearview mirror and sees Wendy kiss Justin on the neck. Even though Carl has already used a lot of flattery on both of them, he breaks a growing silence by using more, “You two make one hellava sexy couple, you know that?”

Justin smiles and looks down. Wendy smiles, flips her hair back, and says, “Thanks.”

Carl takes out another blunt and lights it with his Zippo. Weed is still illegal in ass-backward Indiana, but he doesn't worry about what might happen if he is pulled over. Cops are only human, after all. They’re just as susceptible to his flattery as anyone else.

Passing Wendy the blunt, Carl catches her eyes in his rearview mirror. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Tell me, gorgeous,” his flattery assures a truthful response, “when was the last time the two of you did the nasty?”

Without hesitation, she answers, “Two nights ago.” After passing the blunt to Justin, she asks, “Why?” A puff of smoke spills out of her mouth that she immediately sucks back in.

Carl grins. “I was just wondering if you guys are horny?” He shifts his gaze in the rearview mirror to look at Justin. “What about it, stud?"

Wendy squeezes Justin’s leg. “He’s always horny.”

Carl never passes up an opportunity to flatter. “Well, considering what hot-tea you are, my dear, it’s no wonder!”

"Speaking of hot," says Wendy, "I fucking love these heated seats."

"It may be cold outside," says Carl, "but it's toasty in here!"

Justin passes the joint and Carl notices the snowman’s hands are trembling. Justin may be drunk and stoned, but he’s also still nervous. “Loosen up, dude.” Carl assures him, “It’s all good. Tonight you’re a god and Wendy is a goddess. And I'm just here to worship.”

Wendy giggles. Justin beams at her.

Carl puffs the blunt and then passes it back to them, saying, "I'm stoned. You two finish it off."

As instructed, they gradually smoke the spliff down to a roach. When Justin finally puts it out, Wendy gives him a kiss. Her lips linger against his.

Watching them make out causes Carl’s blood to sizzle. He cheers them on. “You’re awesome! Keep going!”

Justin pulls Wendy into a tight embrace, smashing her ample bosom against his bony chest, as they continue to purr and gasp while tongue-grappling.

Carl surreptitiously reaches down his pants to adjust himself.

He drives in silence for a while, letting the sexual tension build. Then he looks back at Wendy and says, “Why don’t the two of you get more comfortable.”

Wendy smirks. “You mean take off some clothes?”

“Why not?” Carl shrugs, “With bodies like yours, it’s a sin you aren’t naked all the time.”

Carl wonders if Justin might be a bit homophobic. As usual, it’s exceedingly difficult to tell. So many men react poorly to flattery from other men. Because of the unique nature of his talents, however, that never happens to Carl. He could walk into a straight biker bar with a violent reputation for queer bashing and call every guy in the place ‘sexy’ with absolutely no fear.

Of course, Carl is fearless in all things.

He remembers the dog and frowns.

In the back seat, Wendy pulls off her top. Justin’s mouth falls open when she doesn’t stop there. As she reaches back to unclasp her bra, Carl licks his lips and urges her on, “Go for it, sugar.”

Before getting completely topless, Wendy asks Carl, “This won’t cause you to wreck, will it?”

His eyes dart back and forth, from the road to the rearview. “Nope. I’m good. Show me those magnificent titties, girl! I’m dying to see ‘em!”

When she reveals her pale white breasts to his lusting eyes, Carl is delighted by her tan lines. He sings her praises, “Stupendous! Sexy as fuck!” and Wendy squeals as if he just touched her in pleasurable spots.

Carl looks at Justin and directs him to, “Suck on ‘em.”

Justin doesn’t need to be told twice. Wendy growls with passion as he licks and nibbles her nipples.

After driving another six miles listening to moans and lip smacks, Carl suggests, “You should take off your pants, Wendy. Justin and I want to see you get naked. Don’t we, Justin?”

Breathlessly, Justin says, “Yes.”

Carl’s eyes keep darting to the rearview mirror as Wendy slips out of her jeans, pulling her panties down at the same time. In no time, she’s completely unclothed, except for little pink socks.

Licking his lips, Carl leers at Wendy’s nude body. “You’re delicious!”

All three of them are panting.

Carl keeps the ball rolling, telling Justin. “Now you, man. Get naked. I’ll bet you’re hard already, aren’t you?”

Justin strips and reveals that, indeed, he is.

Carl asks Justin, “Does she give you many blowjobs?”

Justin shrugs. “Not many.”

Carl looks at Wendy, “How can you keep your lips off him, girl? I mean, just look at that handsome—”

When Wendy leans down to perform fellatio, Justin’s loud moan interrupts Carl’s flattery.

With one hand on the steering wheel, Carl reaches down to free his own hard-on. Holding the steering wheel with his right hand, he uses his left to masturbate.

The two young lovers behind him are completely under his thrall. He will direct them, prolonging their pleasures, making the experience last.

It’s a long drive home.

⚡_____________⚡

By the time they finally arrive at Carl’s house, Justin and Wendy are dozing. On the drive here, Carl knows Justin had three orgasms. He has no idea how many times Wendy climaxed. Listening to Justin fuck her doggie style in the back seat, Carl thought she might be multi-orgasmic.

Thanks to Carl stroking their egos, the young couple just had the hottest sex of their young lives.

Now, he will kill them with absolutely no guilt.

He parks behind his house, telling his prey, "We're here!" As they stir and begin to get dressed, he reaches under his seat to grab the pistol, slipping it under his coat.

As they all get out of his Cadillac, Wendy tells Carl, “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Okay,” he says. Wendy is looking at the old farmhouse, but Carl points in the other direction. “My studio is in the barn. There’s also a bathroom out there.”

His eyes puffy and bloodshot, Justin asks, “So, where’s that coke, G?”

Carl leads them toward the barn. “Right this way, my lovelies.”

Once inside the cavernous structure, Carl flips on the lights, walking past six different stalls, going all the way to the back of the barn, back between his Special Place and Bucephalus’s stall.

Behind him, Wendy’s final words are uttered in the form of a question, “Where’s the bathroom?”

Taking out his Ruger 9mm, Carl turns around and fires.

The loud gun CRACK! echoes. Carl's aim is unerring. A cloud of blood mist splashes the air, as the voluptuous Miss Dean drops dead, her head gushing.

Justin looks more confused than frightened in his final instant. Like his girlfriend, the handsome Mr. Sturgis is also slain instantly by a single bullet through his skull. CRACK!

Twin pools of blood spread across the concrete floor, eventually becoming one.

Clean-up is easy out here. He's had years to perfect his methods.

Carl closes the barn doors and gets to work. First, he turns on an electric space heater, and then he strips both bodies. He covers both their splattered heads, securing Hefty trash bags around their necks. He uses coils of thick rope to tie Wendy’s hands together, then her ankles. He repeats this process on Justin, also binding his limbs.

Picking up Wendy’s corpse, he carries her to his Special Place in the barn, a stall where two hanging meat hooks are attached to the high rafters.

Carl lays Wendy belly-down on the concrete floor. He attaches both her bound hands and her tied feet to the same hook. Grabbing a nearby section of rope, Carl pulls, slowly hoisting Wendy into the air, creating a human zero out of her. Her nude body is curled back, her stomach the lowest hanging part. Carl raises her about six feet, then twists the rope to lock her into place.

He then raises Justin’s body in the same fashion, belly down, to a height just above his own head.

Next, Carl strips off all his clothes.

Once he’s naked, he spreads two new white linen sheets on the floor, side by side, one beneath Wendy Dean and one beneath Justin Sturgis.

When Carl was fifteen years old, he went to New Orleans to spend time with his great-grandmother. She was half-Haitian, an old voodoo woman, with a gift for augury. The first time he saw her cut open a bird and divine the future from its entrails, Carl knew he was close to discovering his destiny.

Later, at the age of nineteen, he learned that while he has no knack for augury— the sacrifice of birds— he does have a gift for anthropomancy— for human sacrifice.

Carl Carpenter is a Blood Prophet.

🩸

Opening up his special kit, he selects a favorite butcher knife, one honed perfectly sharp.

Watching from his stall, Bucephalus snorts and whinnies. The horse has been witness to so many scenes like this.

Stepping beneath Wendy’s headless, curled-up body, Carl plunges the knife deep into her stomach, just below her rib-cage. With both hands gripping the handle, he drags the blade down to her crotch, slicing open her belly. An enormous volume of blood rains out of the cut, splashing down on the white sheet.

His own bare body splattered with gore, Carl bends down to examine the blood-slosh-on-linen.

Never has a reading been clearer. The shape of the dog is unmistakable, as is the severed hand in its mouth. Looking at the horrifying image drawn brightly in blood, Carl intuits the canine was Mostetler’s beloved pet. The animal’s name is Spirit. It went missing the day Daryl died, the day Carl killed him. Somehow, that ungodly beast traveled almost three hundred miles to unerringly find Carl. Over the last three months, it has become an Avenging Spirit.

Fear trickles down Carl’s spine as blood continues to dribble down a coil of intestines hanging out of Wendy’s stomach cavity.

Staring intently at the Blood Prophecy, Carl knows this hound is a danger to him! Therefore, he deduces, it can’t be a normal dog! No normal dog would pose him any threat!

The visions provided by Wendy’s blood are insufficient.

Luckily, he still has Justin.

Carl strides over to the young man’s corpse. Using both hands, he stabs upward, into Justin’s stomach, the top of his blade scraping against ribs. With a vicious yank, he slashes downward, bisecting guts, cleaving all the way to the blond pubic patch.

Again, blood falls for fate.

Carl tosses the knife into Bucephalus's stall, so the horse can lick it clean. Then he looks down at the bloody sheet...

... and he sees his own bloody screaming face!

The demon dog stands on Carl’s chest, its jaws clamped around Carl’s neck. This prophecy is even more lucid than the last one. Frozen with terror, Carl stares down at a bloodstain depiction of his own termination.

In the next instant, the future is now.

Spirit leaps out from behind bales of hay stacked nearby. Snarling, the dog runs at Carl and, before the killer can react, the canine leaps.

Knocked off his feet, Carl goes down hard, the back of his head impacting the concrete floor. Seeing stars, dazed and hurting, he’s not even aware he’s lying directly below Justin’s dripping, dangling guts.

Spirit’s front pitch black paws stand on Carl’s dark brown chest. As Carl’s vision clears, he sees the German Shepherd is wearing a collar. Spirit clamps down on Carl’s neck, crushing his windpipe, taking his life.

Carl can’t believe his dying eyes when he sees the tag on the collar reads...

Flattery Will Get You Nowhere.

A dead man’s best friend turns up its muzzle and howls.

I hope you enjoyed the horror show!

_______________________Bolt⚡