The Minotauress

"Sure. Why not?"

Balls grabbed a fistful of the ash, then spread it across the jeweled keystone above Cora's very dead head.

"What now?"

The Writer shrugged. "Open the door."

"Here goes... " Balls took hold of the door's iron latch. He thumbed down the release, paused, took a deep breath...

Dicky shivered, but the Writer only looked on in the certainty that nothing but bricks would be found behind the door.

Balls' thumb slowly lowered, raising the latch, and—

—the rickety door swung open on its own.

Down went the Writer's jaw. The brick wall behind the door no longer existed, but in its place stood a black gulf. Greenish-gray fog slowly eddied into the room along with still more humid heat. Sounds could be heard as if at a great distance: wind, the mad clatter of metal, and layered screams. The Writer, Balls, and Dicky sat or stood frozen in shock.

And another noise—much closer—could be heard coming from the arcane passageway.

Footsteps? the Writer wondered.

A series of wet, slapping thuds. Balls stood closest to the open Bridle. His eyes widened as they detected the approach of something, and he slowly stepped back, aghast.

"You guys ain't gonna believe what's walkin' out'a there... "

A queerly shaped shadow crossed the floor as the arranged mass of muscular flesh stepped into the room. It possessed bare arms and legs that could be described as humanish rather than human: stout, corded but with more girth, more muscle than a human being could have. Hands large as dinner plates, hairy knuckled, and splayed bare feet that were large and thick, which the Writer could only think of as like that of an ogre. The arms were connected directly atop the legs, and it was from this fleshy apex that the creature's "body" sprouted. Not a trunk, thorax, or anything that could be called a mid-section. The thing's body, instead, was a yard-long, eight-inch-thick human penile erection.

"That's the demon?" Dicky stammered, unbelieving.

Balls seemed more angry now than shocked. "A demon's supposed to have horns and a pointed tail'n shit—that ain't no demon. It's a giant dick!"

Indeed, an enormous erection with arms and legs but also... a face.

Long slit-like eyes blinked at them: red irises and white pupils, and below them protruded a great pug noise the size of a pine cone. No mouth could be detected, but now it must be said where this face was located: at the top of a dangling scrotum as big as a grocery bag, which encapsulated two melon-sized testicles. The great crinkled sack of scrotal flesh was rife with long wiry black hairs.

Balls sat down, irate. "That's the damn stupidest-lookin' thing I ever seen!"

"It ain't nothin' but a big dick," Dicky offered.

"Dang straight, and we'se shore as shit gonna need somethin' more than a big dick to kill that thing upstairs."

So this, the Writer thought, is a Spermatogoyle. "You may be right, but we've got no choice but to try."

By now, the Bridle had raised again; only bricks filled the egress. Meanwhile, the Spermatogoyle glanced around as if curious, or even surprised by the three men staring back at it.

The Writer ventured, "Perhaps we're as ridiculous-looking to it as it is to us."

"Shee-it," Balls sputtered.

The stout legs hunkered up and down as the creature plodded about the room. It seemed to glance at the books on the table, then turned toward Balls in his glittering smock.

The Spermatogoyle bowed.

"It's paying you reverence," the Writer told him. "It's thanking you for bringing it out of its domain in Hell."

Balls stared, appalled. "Well yer fuckin' welcome, ya big dick... "

Morbid curiosity forced the Writer to take a closer look at the heinous entity. The great column of penile meat was beating, and beneath the flag-sized swath of flesh that covered the erection, veins fat as garden hose throbbed. The hood of the foreskin hung limp over the tip, but then the brawny hands reached up and pulled it back over a corona like the top of a bald man's head... but with a hole in it that more resembled the deep doughy navel of the dead prostitute on the first door. Stranger still, the thing seemed to be displaying the ghastly glans to Balls in particular. And then—

"Aw, man!" Balls complained.

The beastly hands lowered down the fat shaft and began to stroke up and down...

"It's jerkin' itself off!" Dicky marveled.

The Writer lit another cigarette and sighed.

As the stroking continued, the scrotum began to tighten and the infernally large testes drew up. The ponderous legs flexed as the hands quickened their pace, and in a few more moments the creature was actually thumping up and down on its callused heels, in apparent excitement.

When the action of the hands reached a fever-pitch, the creature tipped its entire penile body toward the floor and—

"Aw, good Gawd!" Balls exclaimed.