Dan Moxham

by Horror Sleaze Trash on April 27, 2012

Dan Moxham was born in England in 1982. He currently resides in Australia after traveling around America. He has been creating music, art and writing since the early 90s.

Dan has been writing fiction and poetry since 1998. He has had several poems published by small presses and local papers. He has self-published three poetry collections (Medical Atrocity, The Road is Golden, A Heart Touched by Human Hands, Heather). He has done live spoken word performances at the Bristol Old Duke. He is working on his first novel entitled The Mystery of Luminia Snow.

Dan started painting from a young age and has exhibited work in the Bristol area. His art has explored a wide range of themes including the bizarre, macabre, humor and fantasy in mixed mediums.

www.danmoxham.webs.com

Fuck Baboons of Doom

On a cold night in New York City…

The door explodes and lands on the floor in a mess of hinges and wood splinters. The silhouettes of three figures loom across the boards, a light shines behind them and blinks on and off in short yellow bursts.

“Dr Debello…Dr Debello…this is the police…come out slowly with your hands up!” shouts one of the officers, “Show yourself!” he yells, “Ok boys…safeties off,” he whispers to the other two officers and they click the little catch mechanism that prevents the accidental discharge of their firearms.

“Show yourself! We know you are in here! We have had several calls from your colleagues. They are worried about your safety!” The officers stand in the doorway and wait for a response but not a sound greats them.

“Vizarro”

“Yes Sergeant?”

“Go find a light switch and we will cover you from this position.”

Vizarro edges into the room with his gun held out at length. He squints to adjust his vision in the darkness but all he can perceive is some table-like objects. He stands on what sounds like broken glass and it crunches under his boots, “Sign of a struggle here Serge.”

“Don’t worry about that…just find the light switch. Use your torch and be quiet, we don’t know if the Dr is still here.”

Vizarro fiddles with the clasp on his belt to get hold of his torch as he walks nervously forward then trips on an object hidden in the darkness, “Fucking hell!” he shouts at the top of his voice as he drops his gun and tries to steady himself by grasping hold of the arms of a swivel chair. His hips gyrate to the motion of the chair but the wheels can’t take his weight and he falls forward crashing into some shelves next to a desk. Glass smashes and metal objects clatter to the floor and echo into the darkness. The chair slowly rolls across the ground and comes to a stop at the tip of the Sergeants boot.

“For god sake Vizarro, get up and compose yourself!”

“Serge…Serge,” says the officer to his right, “I found it…just here, next to the door.” He flicks the switch and six long tube lights flash into illumination.

“Good work Peatman,” says the Sergeant, “at least we can see what we are dealing with now. My god it stinks in here!”

“Smells bad boss,” says Vizarro as he stands up and pats his uniform down, dusting the glass off of his shoulders. He kneels down and picks up his gun; Serge watches him and shakes his head disappointedly.

The room is completely ransacked; chemistry equipment has been broken and thrown everywhere, glass beakers, filter flasks, graduated cylinders, evaporating dishes, chemical spoons, hundreds of notebooks and utility clamps lay scattered across three long desks and over the floor. The lab is full of contraptions and junk, there are metal racks built from floor to ceiling with hundreds of jars and pieces of equipment stacking their shelves.

The three officers wander around the lab, “keep your wits about you…there are a lot of places to hide in here,” says Serge.

“What the hell was he up to?” asks Peatman.

“I got no idea…but it sure smells like shit!” rasps Serge.

“Boss…Boss I don’t know if I can stay in here much longer,” Vizarro dry heaves into his hand.

“Don’t lose it son…remember your training. We have a job to do.”

The three men walk slowly around the lab with their guns poised. “Holy shit Serge, come take a look at this!” says Peatman.

“What have you got?” Serge walks over to a cabinet where Peatman is stood looking shocked. “Well what is it?”

“A cock Serge…”

“A cock, what the hell are you talking about? Give me that!” Serge snatches a jar from Peatman’s hand and stares at it in disbelief, “Fuck me,” he murmurs, “an old rascal in a jar.”

“There’s loads of this shit Serge…look, that jar has fingers in it; human bloody fingers!”

“Calm down Peatman…dear god is that a flask of teeth?”

“Teeth?” asks Vizarro.

The three men look at the jars in horror; some contain severed toes, lumps of unidentifiable flesh, clumps of hair and other blackened decaying body parts, plasma, meat and fat.

“Peatman…count those toes. Vizarro…count those fingers.”

“Ten toes in two jars Serge,” says Peatman.

“Same thing with the fingers Boss. Ten in two jars.”

“So we are dealing with the remains of one person. Do you think this is the Dr? Maybe someone busted in here and ran a couple of experiments of their own?”

“Maybe he did this? Some kind of medical Nazi shit?” says Peatman.

“Ok put that down and fan out. There must be some clue as to what the hell has gone on here. Whoever the perpetrator is, it doesn’t seem like they cared about leaving evidence of their crime lying around! Let’s try to make sense of this!”

“There’s a computer over there,” Vizarro points over to a desk in the far right corner.

“Fire that up and let’s take a look,” Serge nods.

Vizarro walks over to the computer and switches it on. The fan whirls and the monitor flickers bright light.

“Serge there is something preloaded onto the start up. I can’t get around it to access any other files. I think it’s a recording or a video.”

Serge and Peatman walk over to the computer and stand either side of Vizarro, “Well…play it!” says Serge firmly. Vizarro clicks the cursor over the play button and a thin line begins to move across a wave graph. The recording is distorted and crackles white noise for a few seconds then a voice can be heard:

“My name is Dr Debello, six months ago my colleague Dr Hendrickson and I traveled to South Africa. We had been running top secret government funded experiments on the Chacma Baboon and in our research we had found a strand of DNA within the Baboon which could be used as a cure for AIDS. It took us two years to process the data and we discovered that the particular strand of DNA could only be found in random Baboons.  So we traveled to the Drakensberg mountains to run tests on as many Baboons as we could. We were given money to set up a camp and to buy equipment. We could only use one trusted guide due to the sensitive nature of our research.

We arrived without a problem, met our guide and set up camp near a large area with many sightings of the Chacma Baboon. On the first day we collected samples of the nearby water supply and soil, took photographs and studied the behavior of the Baboons. It was while we were analyzing the animal’s actions that our guide began to act nervous and strange. He said that among the Chacma Baboons he had seen another breed, a very violent and hostile breed that had terrorized a small village where he had lived. Neither my companion nor I witnessed the species he spoke of and put it down to local superstition.

Night fell and we sat around camp, Dr Hendrickson spoke of his concern for our guide’s worsening behavior, I glanced over at him and he seemed to be in some kind of trance, mumbling prayers in a tongue I was not familiar with. We decided to go to our tents early and review the situation in the morning, yet on awakening we discovered our guide to be missing. We searched the perimeter but no trace of him could be found, we checked his tent and noticed that all of his belongings were still there. I will admit that at this point I wish I would have suggested going back to the village, but the need to collect the data overwhelmed me. I told Dr Hendrickson that we must venture to the Chacma Baboon sight and at least collect some blood samples. He regrettably agreed.

We arrived at the sight at 9:15am; Hendrickson took the camera and crouched down behind a tree. I took the tranquilizer gun and lay on the ground. I aimed the gun then looked through the sight, I saw several Baboons, they looked frenzied and were fighting with each other, clawing and biting. One was smashing his own head on a tree. I moved the gun sight and saw a large amount of dead Chacma lying dormant in the dust. I noticed some were seeping blood from their thigh or genital area. I turned in horror to tell my companion but he had already caught sight of the atrocity. We both agreed to leave and head straight back to the nearby village. I took hold of my rucksack but as I was about to pick up my gun I was shoved hard to the ground. I heard screaming but couldn’t distinguish if it was animal or man; I pushed myself onto my side and realized the shrieks were a mix of both. I saw three large Baboons, massive in body with ferocious looking fangs; they foamed at the mouth and ripped at my colleagues clothes. One beat him around the head as the other tore his trousers off. My god…there was nothing I could do; I tried to move but I was being held down. I witnessed these brutes rape my colleague more times than I could count. I threw up; my head was spinning, as one finished another got on him until his screams turned to murmurs. I looked up and one was stood above me, I felt my clothes being torn, then he banged his fists on his chest and let out a thunderous war cry. I passed out…”

“What the fuck is this Serge?” asks Vizarro.

“Shut up and listen!”

“I’m not sure if this is authentic.”

“Both of you shut up!”

“…when I came to I was still lying in the same place but everything was quiet, the air had a feel of calm about it. I touched my head then looked at my hand, I was bleeding and my vision was blurred. Then the pain started, it rose in my bowels like a fire. It felt like I had hot coals in my rectum…my god the pain. I looked over at my colleague and he stared back at me with cold dead eyes. I managed to stand by gripping the trunk of a tree, I wrapped a ripped piece of cloth around my waist, I think it was a part of my trousers and stumbled in the direction of our camp. When I finally got to the tents I radioed for help then collapsed. I awoke and several people were stood over me, they looked menacing and one held a machete. They asked what I was doing there and I told them the truth and of what had happened. They gave me two choices, to live a cursed life or to die like a man with pride. I chose to live. They took me to a village and nursed me back to health over a time period I cannot fathom. Then they told me to go, gave me directions on how to get to town and wished me good luck in my new life. When I reached the town I got a cab straight for the airport and took the first plane back to New York. I never told anybody about what happened. I lied and said that Dr Hendrickson had become lost in his work and may be gone for a long time. I locked myself in my lab to reflect upon what had happened and to try to come to terms with losing a dear friend.

Then on October 16 I got out of bed and felt nauseous, light headed and weak. I managed to get to the bathroom where I became violently sick. I looked into the toilet bowl and saw four of my teeth floating in bloody vomit. Over the next two days my body began to fall apart, my index finger and thumb fell off leaving small black stumps that seemed to grow and take on a life of their own. My jaw dislocated and hung low for hours then the muscles in my face took control over the operation of my now large gaping mouth; thick black fur began to sprout over areas of my body. My penis fell off yet has been replaced by an animal-like member and my backside has become a chapped mess of red veins and broken flesh. I sit here now recording this in the hope that it can be used for scientific purposes and these horrible effects to my body may one day be reversed. I fear I am in the final stages of transformation. Oh my god…I feel it moving inside of me…I…I…it hurts so bad…ahh..ahh..oooahah oo oooo ahh ooooo ahhhhh eee ooh ooh…”

The recording stops and the three officers stand in silence for a few seconds.

“Serge”

“Yes Vizarro?”

“We had to break in here didn’t we?!”

A loud smash near a large cabinet turned on its side echoes through the lab, and then from behind it a massive Baboon launches itself into the air. He claws onto Peatman’s chest then sinks his fangs into his face, blood squirts all over Vizarro who pulls his gun and starts firing hysterically; emptying his clip in a split second without hitting a thing. The Baboon wrenches Peatman’s face off with his white tusk-like teeth then thunders over to Vizarro and beats him to the ground with his humongous paws. He takes hold of his legs and splits him in half like a wishbone. His intestines and stomach spill over the floor followed by a thick gush of blood and bile.

Serge aims his gun but drops it from his trembling hands. The Baboon pounds over to him and smashes his face with one giant swipe of his paw, causing teeth to chink across the floor. He pushes his right paw hard on the Sergeant’s back and with his left frantically rips at his trousers.

“No…No…get off of me you fucking Baboon!” he screams.

“That’s DOCTOR Baboon!” Debello roars.

He begins thrusting into Serge who looks up for a split second and through the tears in his eyes he sees – the door is open. The door is open…

There are over 8 million people in New York. It would take a year for a deadly virus to wipe out humanity. It will take only six months to spread the Debello virus, turning us all into:

Fuck Baboons of Doom!

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