Bogleech.com's 2013 Horror Write-off:
Submitted by PartlySmithI found it in my backyard a few days ago, the dead angel. It was just lying there in the grass, that milky white corpse. It was mostly human in shape; its skin was slick and smooth, like a frogís; its face was completely featureless, aside from a single, black, gleaming, doe-like eye; it lacked any visible genitals, and its body structure was otherwise androgynous. The left arm was missing, and a pearl-colored, syrupy liquid oozed out of the wound.
I wasnít sure how to react when I first saw it. I just stood there in the kitchen, staring at it through the window. I started to feel this bizarre urge to drag it into my house.
I knelt down beside the angel. A pungent, sickly-sweet, spicy odor hung in the air around it. I scoured the yard in search of the missing arm, but found nothing. I stood over the corpse, looking it over. I shot a quick glance at the neighborsí houses. They hadnít noticed, as far as I could tell. With a sigh, I knelt down and hefted up the body.
I carried it to the basement. It surprisingly light, and almost felt as if it were hollow. I carefully eased the body onto the floor. I calmly left the basement, locking the door behind me, and got ready for work.
I couldnít focus on anything at the office. The angel kept gnawing away at my mind. I tried to make sense of what had happened that morning. I left work early and rushed home. I had to do something about that angel. Burn it? Chop it up and throw it in the dump? I donít care. I just needed to get rid of it.
I rushed down the stairs. The angel was still there, in a pool of its thick blood. I contemplated what to do with it, and kept drawing a blank. Iím not sure how long I stood there, glaring at it. I slammed the door behind me; I didnít want to look at it anymore.
I tried to go about the rest of my day, but I couldnít bring myself to do anything, and ended up going to bed early. I couldnít sleep, couldnít get my mind off of the angel. Just the thought of that thing in my house...
I spent the entirety of the next few days in the basement. As much as I hated that thing, I couldnít tear my eyes off of the angel. It had started to decay. Weeping, open sores started creeping across its surface. I noticed small bits of its flesh stuck to the ceiling. Or rather, they were part of ceiling, now, somehow managing to perfectly integrate themselves into the material. Its blood had started to curdle. I found small, gelatinous lumps in the syrupy puddle. I started to squeeze one out of curiosity. It popped, releasing thousands of squirming, red threads. The threads writhed about, escaping through the cracks in the floor. The odor from before had filled the entire house, and brought a moist, cold weight with it. The angel wouldnít last much longer. I had to get rid of it. It wanted me to get rid of it. It wanted me to bury it.
I grabbed a shovel and slung the angle over my shoulders, coating myself in its pearly fluid. I rushed in to the backyard, and dropped the body on the ground. I didnít check to see if the neighbors were watching, I couldnít afford to, I just had to dig. I dropped the angel into the grave I had made, and started shovel dirt on its corpse. Exhausted, I trudged back into the house. I slept soundly that night.
Itís been three weeks since I buried the angel. Nothing would grow on its grave, not even the hardiest weeds. However, I thought I saw something the other day. I gently brushed the damp, loose soil aside, and found a small, bright red sapling.