Trigger Warning: Extreme Horror: Contains Strong Sexual Content, Violence, Drug Use, and Language. by John Raptor Page B

of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory…when these signs begin to happen, stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand.”
    “I thought you’d be dead by now,” is my reply.
    “Do you believe in the Lord Jesus?” Gramma Wilkins says, ignoring me.
    “I don’t believe in anything.”
    Gramma Wilkins takes a sip of tea with a shaky hand.
    “I highly doubt that,” she says, setting the china back down; it rattles against the saucer. “Everyone believes in something. For instance, don’t you agree that there are those who need to be punished in order to be put upon a straight and narrow path? Children, for example, are spanked, put in pain…why can’t the same be done to adult sinners?”
    “Sinners contribute to society.”
    “And what is it that you contribute to this…society?”
    “I'm a cop. I keep this cesspit society clean.”
    Gramma Wilkins laughs (weakly). Coughs up phlegm into a wrinkled palm. Then sips more tea.
    “Oh, Robert, but you yourself contribute to this…cesspit. You’re weak and stupid.”
    Silence.
    “Have you learned any lessons, Robert?”
    “I guess. If I had known you were going to torture me, I would have never cheated on my wife.”
    “Well, good,” Gramma Wilkins says, then bites into a piece of toast with her big blocky dentures. “You learned something.”
    “Can I go now?”
    “That’s what the Hell House is for. Learning lessons. Discipline. You’re tortured for your sin, and you become good.”
    “Or you die,” I say.
    The Bunny, behind the kitchen counter, digging through a drawer (I don’t like the sound of that clanging): “Many die, many die.”
    Gramma Wilkins takes another bite of toast…her dentures fall out. A pair of teeth, slathered in saliva, sitting on the table with a piece of burnt bread squeezed between the incisors. Wilkin’s empty maw simply laughs, tongue flapping between bleeding gums.
    “Some die,” she says. “Some have to die.”
    “So have I learned my lesson?”
    “Do you know the difference between right and wrong?”
    “I don’t know. Those are very abstract ideas.”
    “Do you even believe in right and wrong?”
    “Killing is wrong, sex is wrong, drugging is wrong. Do I win?”
    Gramma Wilkins giggles, shaking her head, and then picks up her dentures and drops them in her cup of tea.
    Splash.
    “It’s a shame so many had to die for you, Robert. So many had to be put on display. Yet, you still fail to learn your lesson.”
    “What was it I was supposed to learn exactly?”
    “You’re in hell with these sinners because you’re no better than them. Whores, killers, blasphemers, thieves, liars, and spics.”
    “Yeah, well, you’re a controlling bitch.”
    “I’m not controlling anything, Robert,” she says, a tinge of anger in her voice (good!) “I’m trying to send a message.”
    “You should be happy with what I’ve done with my life. I’m taking control and being a man. I’m the violent, ignorant sociopath you always wanted me to be.”
    “I’m not angry about the killing, Robert. God tells us to kill. But you’re being a whore. Letting those harlots tempt you and take you away from your wife.”
    “Have you been spying on me? Did you seriously have me kidnapped and locked up in your fucking torture chamber to teach me a lesson? This is insane! I’m not a child anymore, Gramma. I’m a grown ass man!”
    “You can’t kill sinners if you are a sinner, Robert. It’s…hypocritical. I had to cleanse you.”
    “Fuck you. I don’t need your fucking help.”
    Gramma sighs. “I thought I equipped you with a harder form of communication, Robert…but you still act like a goddam cunt.” She touches the globe with her long jagged nails. “The world is shit and if you can’t take shit, you will die out there. If you can’t even resist the urge of the flesh, I don’t know how you’ll fight the Devil when the end times come. You need to grow a pair…or do you still think