There is garbage strewn all over the floor of the small, low-level apartment. Littering the sink are mold encrusted, dirty dishes. Scattered across the unwashed countertops are brown, paper fast-food bags. Grease stains bleed through creating semi transparent splotches. The air stinks of stale cigarette smoke.

Henley takes a long sip of his drink, and while staring out the window, crushes his smoke out in the beer bottle colored glass ashtray. A grin surfaces upon his face as he listens to the evening news.

"A gruesome crime is being experienced in our city of the late." the woman co-reporting the news has a flawlessly styled hairstyle, and an unnatural look consisting of too much make-up. Looking at her makes Henley ill to his stomach.

"…officials state that this demented rash of crimes began about two months ago."

Taking a pause, the female anchor clears her throat, and nervously shuffles her notes.

"The most recent victim was discovered early this morning. He was a male in his mid twenties. Both his hair and eyes were brown. A local proprietor found the body stuffed into a dumpster. Pentagrams carved into the flesh of the victims create a suspicion of cult related activity. The bodies were found to have been sexually violated. The violations took place post mortem. No names have yet been released." Having finished her piece Mary looked over at her male co-anchor with a look of nauseated disgust.

"What a terrible story Mary." Her co-anchor tried to comfort her.

"It certainly is…DICK!" Henley grumbles above a whisper, as he pours himself another glass of J.D.. A little wobbly, He stands, and shuts off the cheap, wood panel television set. He falls into the brown, beaten armchair, and passes wind as he tosses back a good part of his drink. With his thumb, and forefinger he caresses a religious symbol that dangles off his necklace. He leans forward, and with an ornate glass tube procedes to take a healthy snort of coke. A wide grin melts across his face.

The broad smile quickly fades. A sweat breaks out on his, now more than warm, forehead. His stomach begins to spin like the cycle on a washing machine. Sweat forms a layer on Henley’s body as his temperature starts to resemble that of molten lava. His stomach finishes the spin cycle, and starts lurching like an old, broken down car.

He stands up abruptly, knocking his glass to the floor, and shattering it into an innumerable amount of pieces. One foot stumbles forward, followed by the second. The first barely eludes the smashed shards that have spread across the grimy linoleum. The second foot, however, is not so fortunate. It comes straight down on a widespread array of bloodthirsty, razor sharp fragments. Various splinters bite deep into the pad of his left foot. He emits a frothy howl of fear, and pain as he crashes to the floor. Half way down to the floor the table impedes his short decent.

His mouth connects solidly with the sharp edge of the wooden coffee table. The force of impact on his upper lip, in between his tooth, and the coffee table, is severe. It causes his lip to tear up to the base of his nose. His face puffs up instantly. Blood stains his teeth, and runs from the sides of his lips in syrupy cords. He resembles a freshly fed vampire. With his tongue he can feel a couple of loosened front teeth.

The heat continues to swelter inside him. Despite the stifling body temperature he pushes himself, shakily, towards the bathroom. Involuntary tears slop over the rims of his lower eyelids as he progresses down the hallway. His throat feels as though it is swelling. The heat detracts from the numerous other afflictions. The fabric of his clothing quickly soaks through with heavy perspiration. Being within steps of the bathroom he struggles to his feet.

Henley’s stomach erupts with pain. It feels as though a soccer ball is being rapidly inflated in his abdominal workings. His throat constricts down to a narrow channel as it bloats. His facial expression melts into that of astonished shock. Habitually he drags his wounded foot behind him; at this point he can not feel it. His hand falls on the nicotine stained frame of the bathroom door.

He leans into the door, and limps into the bathroom. Something feels as if it has hatched in his stomach. It is now trying to crawl it’s way up out of Henley’s throat. Sparing a short glimpse down, he analyzes his wounded foot. All that can be seen is a great bloody maw. A minute peak of glass protrudes nauseatingly from the laceration. He straightens, and checks the mirror. The pale, gory figure that goggles back from the reflection is foreign to him.

Clutched in, his grip is the frigid metal of his medallion. Henley stares in awe at his image. His nose must have broken from his fall, because it is now standing at a freakish angle. A steady spout of blood cascades down his mashed lips, and chin. It is now pooling on the pale green counter top, and dripping down the cupboards.

Henley’s throat now resembles a latex condom stretched tightly over a jumbo roll of two ply toilet tissue. His skin has now lost it’s shock encouraged pale tone. It is now a deeper shade of scarlet than the sanguine fluid that gushes from his face.

At once the heat becomes intolerable. His eyes flutter, and his knees grow feeble. Henley teeters on the edge of consciousness; something catches his eye. It brings him fully sentient, like a slap in the face. The heat continues to intensify rapidly. His throat now pulsates violently.

Blister like bubbles begin to form all over his skin. They expand, and cause the skin to separate from the meat, and muscles. The religious symbol falls to his chest from his hands as he reaches up to clutch at his throat. His mouth stretches into an abnormally wide yawn. The degree of agonizing pain is inexpressible.

His eyes are now almost as wide as his mouth. They begin to ooze sluggishly down his cheeks. Waves of heat rise up from him distorting his surroundings. His throat now looks more like that of a bullfrog. It continues to strain until the skin can take it no more. Like an overfilled water balloon reaching it’s maximum capacity it explodes.

A fine mist of blood disperses across the walls, and mirror of the bathroom. The vital juices spreading down the wall like cracks. Henley is able to hear the droplets thrumming like rainfall. With the eye he is still able to scarcely see out of he is able to make something out inside his opened up throat. It is a green cat-like eye, and a leering set of long, jagged, yellowing teeth. Jutting from it’s head, is at least one bent horn. It juts out of the demon’s head at a queer angle.

Ultimately, in an abrupt eruption of flesh, bone dust, and particles of vaporized vital organs, the demon shreds out of his chest. One intestine strains across the demon’s chest before reaching it’s limit, and breaking open with a soggy, squishy sound. Every wall is now awash with Henley Jameson’s guts, and entrails, even the shower curtain, and bathtub.

Henley sees thinks nor hears no more. If he were able he would feel the demon’s steaming piss defile his remains. He would hear its blood chilling laughter reverberating off his bathroom walls. He would smell the, animal like, fetid odor that now fills the apartment. But Henley’s problems no longer exist. The demon kicks, and scrapes Henley’s puddle a couple of times with one hoof. It resembles a cat finishing up in it’s litter box. It then pauses to do something at the mirror before heading out. The demon laughs maniacally as it ambles down the hallway, spaded tail swaying back, and forth.

Upon opening the door a rank surge of stench a hundred times worse than the one in the hallway kicks him in the senses. It only gets worse as he passes the messy kitchen, and grime-ridden living room. Horizontal streaks of blood tag the walls of the hall. They appear to have been made by hands. When he reaches the open door of the bathroom he is unable to suppress his retch.