‘Slutlips,’ a Surreal, Psychological Horror Story: Chapter Eight

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[NOTE: this is the eighth chapter (click here for the first, here for the second, here for the third, here for the fourth, here for the fifth, here for the sixth, and here for the seventh) of a psychological horror story based on an audio film of the same name by my musician friend, Cat Corelli, something I wrote up an analysis for; you can learn more about that here. Before you begin reading, though, TRIGGER WARNING: as a horror story, this one has some graphic content of a violent and sexual nature; so if you’re one of my readers with C-PTSD or other forms of psychological trauma, you may want to skip this one. As for you braver souls, though, read on…]

Lily’s head was submerged in the water now. She panicked, trying to swim up to the surface and bring her head above water…but now, there wasn’t even a surface.

The heavy rain above was no more: everywhere was just an underwater universe.

She held her breath for as long as she could.

Daisy? she wondered. Where are you? I need a mirror to look into.

Don’t be afraid, Daisy’s voice said in her mind. Just let go.

Just let go? Lily thought. Don’t be afraid? How can I? I need a mirror, to remind me I’m still here!

She saw dismembered body parts floating past her, including Daisy’s decapitated head, which stayed there for the moment. Blood from the cut neck was mixing with the water.

How can I not be afraid, Daisy? Lily wanted to scream out. I’m gonna die!

“You’re already dead, remember?” Daisy’s head said, the mouth opening and closing as if still attached to her body.

I don’t feel dead. This feels too real!

“That’s because you’re hanging on to the illusion of life,” the head said, bubbles flowing out of the mouth, the words as audible as if they were travelling through air.

A mirror! I need to see Alice’s face in the reflection!

“I told you,” the head said. “You aren’t Alice. You never were Alice. There is no Alice. There never was an Alice. She was a lie, an illusion. You are Lily, and you’re already dead. You must accept that. Let go of the physical world, and you’ll be free. You’ll be at peace. Now, breathe in the water. Don’t be afraid.”

I’d might as well breathe it in. I’m not getting out of here alive.

Lily breathed in the water, took it all the way through her nostrils and down into her lungs…but she didn’t pass out.

What the fuck? she wondered, her eyes and mouth widening.

A strange, vibrating feeling took over her body. It didn’t hurt, but she felt her body begin to merge with the water.

It began with the outer edges of her body: they seemed to be melting away and becoming one with the surrounding water!

Oh, my God! she thought. I’m disintegrating! I need a mirror!

You don’t need a mirror, Daisy’s voice said, for the head was gone, as were all the other floating body parts. Don’t be afraid. Just let go.

Lily’s leg came off, the one her father told her she didn’t have. It floated away in the direction of the other body parts. The further away it went, the more it melted and became one with the water.

Her other leg came off and floated away in the same way, as did her arms. Then her neck melted and became one with the water, severing her head from her torso. As they floated away, they too melted and became water.

Lily’s consciousness was still intact, but it was merging with the collective unconscious surrounding her. Visions of memories flashed before her eyes, images of Donald and Ray raping either her or other children while Wanda filmed the disgusting spectacle.

Don’t be afraid? Lily wondered. How can I not be afraid as I re-experience my trauma?

The only way you can heal it is to feel it, Daisy’s voice echoed in Lily’s mind’s ear. It’s OK. You’ll be OK. We have to get you through this purgatory before you can have peace.

Lily saw her mother watching videos on TV, videos of movies like Mulholland Drive, Pulp Fiction, The Shining, etc. Lily heard the voices of her father and uncle: “We’re the sons of God, mating with the daughters of men. Your sin brought about the Flood.”

She saw stacks of kiddie porn DVDs with their stage names–Danny and Roy Torrance, and Alice–on the labels. The names of the movies, typically tasteless parodies of literary or film classics, read, Great Flood of Come, Alice Through the Fucking Ass, Muff-hole and Drive, Pump Fucktion, Ride ‘Er, Cowboy, The Shagging, and Norman Frigman. Lily was thankful she saw only the names of the awful movies, and not any scenes in them.

The visions grew darker and darker, until she saw waves of black, then a spiral of black. She went down that dark spiral: it was like falling down a giant black anus…going down the rabbit hole.

Now, she saw only black. Infinite, indistinct black.

She was nothing.

She was no more.

…and just when she’d acquiesced to her disintegration, there was a tiny dot of white, a light that grew into a larger and larger white circle.

Then the white light enveloped her.

Oneness.

Connection with the All.

Rest.

To sleep.

No more.

One thought on “‘Slutlips,’ a Surreal, Psychological Horror Story: Chapter Eight

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