The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

By the time the BMW reached its destination the sun had already ducked itself behind the dark clouds for the evening. A brutally cold, stiff wind blew past the valley in which the driver's brown and white ranch-style home was located.

The driver pulled the eight-track from out of the deck before tossing it in the backseat. He then got out, slammed his door behind him and made his way around to the other side. His warm, fidgety hands could hardly grab a hold of the door's handle. The second he was able to take a hold of the knob he flung open the door with such a force that it caused Isaac's lifeless body to fall out of the car and onto the snowy ground.

The driver closed the door and picked the young man up into his burly arms as though he were an infant. From there, he carried him from the curved driveway and on to the house, a total twenty-two feet. Somehow, with Isaac in his arms, the man managed to reach into his right pants pocket and pull out his house key.

The man opened the door, but before even shutting it behind him, he carried Isaac over to a black leather couch and carefully laid him down, allowing his head to softly hit the pillow at the foot of the sofa. Then, like the rush of the wind, the driver ran back over, shut the front door and clicked on the lamp light next to the television before feverishly tearing off his clothes and tossing them to the floor in reckless abandon.

His soft, multicolored carpet felt squishy and smooth in between his feet as he shuffled across the floor to a glass table where a Panasonic stereo rested. From underneath there was a small drawer. Before reaching inside, the driver raced across the floor and retrieved his pants. He rooted around the pockets until he found his Taser gun. He then went back to the drawer, placed the gun inside and pulled out a record which he promptly placed on the stereo's turn style. Right beside the stereo was placed a tape recorder. With one finger the driver hit the record button.

Just like that, Chicago's, 'If you leave me now', began to play on the stereo, filling the entire living room with Peter Cetera's light, harmonious voice. The man then reached over and began to pull off Isaac's clothing. From his coat, shirt and tie, all the way down to his Fruit of the Loom underwear and socks. Once he was through, he raised up and shut all the blinds in the front window before stretching behind the couch and pulling up a half empty canister of Vaseline. He twisted open the metal container and with his two right fingers scooped out a glob and proceeded to lubricate Isaac's rectum with the gel.

After he was done, the driver just happened to look up at all the pictures that were placed on the mantle above the fireplace of a white man that resembled a younger version of himself. His pain stricken eyes didn't want to even catch a mere glimpse of the man's face. He ducked his head down and kissed Isaac on the cheek before spreading his butt cheeks and entering. The event lasted no more than two and a half minutes.

The sweaty, out of breath man slowly pulled out and stood up, jerking from side to side while semen oozed from his penis and onto the carpet. The song that was playing on the stereo ended right on time.

With sweat lacing his forehead and hairy chest, the gasping man looked back at Isaac's body that was dangling off of the sofa. There were drops of blood that emanated from the young man's rear.

The man, in all his unbridled nakedness, stepped over and turned off the stereo. He then began to pace the floor back and forth in the quiet living room, trying his hardest not to look at the young person that he had brought home with him. It was a cross-like burden that seemed to weigh him down. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more to do with the individual that was lying helplessly on his brand new couch. To him, the young man was nothing more than a piece of trash that needed to be discarded and forgotten. Without warning, Isaac's teetering body fell off the couch and onto the carpet.

With semen still streaming from his penis the man walked over, picked Isaac up and carried him from the living room to the kitchen. Within the spacious kitchen was a door.

cookie jar was a blue and white electric knife sharpener. With

his house was newly built, there was never any problem of sorts with such a thing, but all of the sudden, the lights

a slight bit, paused for a few moments before resuming his

blood soaked, brown cloth sacks, each one with its own bulge. The cement floor was layered from one end to the other with blood. It looked as though someone had spilled red paint and didn't bother to clean up after

a lonesome young woman who was dangling inside her own special brown, cloth sack. With a tiny hole that she herself had carved open, she looked down upon Isaac's body in utter dismay, realizing that with yet another victim added to

was reluctantly gathered amongst. The more she prayed, that was all the longer time seemed to stretch out for her. Every so often she would take quick glances down at the

Isaac grunted aloud with

an attentive dog at what she hoped she

and get up." She gasped with

watched in fervent exultation as the man's hands slapped the bloody floor all while repeating the words he

strongly whispered, "don't talk too loud

woman in the sack saw two eyes, but there was something different.

out as though he were fighting for air. To the shock of the captive woman above, Isaac began to growl an unearthly noise. The woman's entire body clinched itself as she watched the

out from Isaac's fingernails while thick, black fur protracted from