Relentless Heat by Ed the Editor

Part of the Seven Holy Paths to Hell, Vicious Valentine Anthology

Artwork by Hylia Corvidae

This flash fiction story was written by Ed the Editor for the Seven Holy Paths to Hell Anthology, 2/14/26. View the entire collection here.

⚠️Content warning¹

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Something hit Jacob. He awoke to an arm crawling across his chest. It lifted and came back down with a thwack.

"Get up—I heard something outside."

"What? It's probably just coyotes howling at the moon."

"Jacob, act like a man and get your ass out of bed and see what's out there."

Jacob sighed. If he didn't get up now, she'd keep poking him until he did. He was already regretting his choice to stay. His bare feet lowered onto wood plank flooring. He fumbled for the matchbox on his side table, found it, then struck a match. The oil lamp flared and he picked it up as he got out of bed.

It was a hot and humid night, promising rain. Jacob had worn only a nightshirt to bed, but it clung to him. With sticky heat like this, he'd rather be sleeping naked. But Bethanne wouldn't have it. The long hem brushed against his knees as he walked to his cabin door.

He opened the door and walked out onto the porch, holding his lamp up as if it would help him see into the pine forest that surrounded the cabin. The lantern light was drowned out by the full moon barely above the trees, casting a silver glow across the valley. The damp summer breeze licked at his face. Dark clouds came from the west, lightning flickering in their pillowy folds. They would soon be upon him.

Jacob heard a howl at the edge of the tree line near the path to the cabin. He stepped back, reached inside the door, and grabbed the shotgun standing by the frame. The moon was bright enough, so he left the lantern. Holding the shotgun with both hands, not pointing it in any particular direction, he walked towards the woods.

In front of him, an orange flash was followed by the distinct scrape of a match strike. Not a coyote—worse. In the small flame's glow, he could see the face of a man lighting a pipe. The man’s boots were dirty from the trail, and he still wore the sleeveless work shirt he had on at the saloon.

"What the hell are you doing here, Hank?"

"Jacob, we didn't finish our business."

Business. Jacob snorted. Hank was fuming from an argument he himself started. Jacob had backed out of their deal at the last moment, wanting nothing to do with him anymore. Hank had staked everything on the deal. The argument had escalated quickly and almost came to blows before the proprietor threw them out. Jacob walked away. Hank said it wasn't over.

"Hank, I said you were dead to me. I made my choice."

Hank stared at him with fire in his eyes. Jacob hadn't raised his gun. He wanted to, but the intensity of the stare froze him in place.

"Jacob, put that gun away."

"I don't think so. Turn around and leave."

"I'm not going anywhere without you."

For the first time, Jacob noticed that Hank was holding a shovel. The intruder was much taller than he was, arms thick as the surrounding pines.

"What are you doing with that shovel?"

"Bethanne in there? I bet she's sleeping real nice tonight since you chickened out."

With shaky hands, Jacob raised the shotgun. Hank swung, knocking the gun away and cracking the shovel against the side of a tree. The shaft broke in two, and the metal spade flew off into the darkness. He held the remaining handle, sharp end pointing towards Jacob.

Jacob turned to run, but the bigger man lunged and wrapped a thick, hairy arm around his throat. He pulled Jacob into a tight embrace, filling his nostrils with musky sweat from the day's work. The intruder whispered into Jacob’s ear, the curls of his mustache tickling.

"I will make you disappear."

"No. My wife—"

"Your wife doesn't care about you. She won't even look for you when you're gone."

Rain began to trickle onto both men, leaving dark circles on their shirts. Jacob breathed in while he considered breaking free. The smell of fresh rain soaking dry earth mixed with sweet tobacco from the breath against his neck. The massive arm across his throat pinned him against the attacker's broad chest. Hank's heart beat like a drum against his spine.

The man behind Jacob used the broken handle of the shovel to lift his night shirt, exposing the small of his back. Despite the rain, the air remained thick with moisture, offering no reprieve from the night's heat. Rivulets of sweat mixed with the rain, running down his bare ass, tracing down his thighs, behind his knees—warming, suffocating, pooling into mud at his feet. The tip of the makeshift spear probed his skin, searching for a tender spot.

"Hank, please." Was it a plea for escape or quick death? Neither man knew.

Thunder answered for them as lightning struck in the distance, then the clouds opened up, letting loose fat raindrops. Jacob shivered against the hard body pressed against him. Hank pushed the point of his weapon into Jacob, causing him to cry out. The arm shifted to clamp a hand over his mouth.

"I'm going to split you in two," he said through gritted teeth.

The newly opened hole seeped. As the point pushed deeper, Jacob bucked, but Hank's hold on him was strong.

"Not too fast, I want to enjoy this."

For Jacob, the thought of what Hank could do with him had already been an eternity of torment. The end could not come fast enough. He grabbed the muscular arm with both hands, pulling down, causing it to slip—but only for a second as two fingers hooked into his mouth. He bit into the fingers, but this only made the big man push harder.

The rain had saturated the soil, brewing a slick mud all along the path. Hank's grip began to falter. He repositioned his footing and slipped, slamming against the smaller man. Jacob fell to his knees as his intruder collapsed on top of him. The sharp end of the splintered wood sank into the mud beside them.

Jacob reached for the wood, but a meaty hand squeezed his shoulder, taking control away from him. Hank plunged his weapon into him again with a squelch. Jacob moaned, the rain drowning the sound.

Before he could finish with him, Jacob went prone, pulling away from the shaft. He rolled over, looking up at the kneeling man who still towered over him. Shirt buttons had popped away, and the rain dripped off his chest but did nothing to quench the fire in his eyes. Jacob finally realized the inevitability of this moment. There was no escaping Hank.

The big man grabbed his ankle with one hand and yanked, sliding him easily across the mud. With this opening, Jacob grabbed the handle before it penetrated him again. He pulled and Hank yelped. Both men fought for control, jerking back and forth, but Jacob's wet grip slipped free.

Hank was done with foreplay. He bent over the small man, using one hand to pin his throat. Jacob could resist no longer. The shaft jammed in, piercing anew. Jacob screamed, but no one would hear him over the downpour. The big man pulled it out and rammed it back in over and over, grunting with each thrust. When he was done, he slid off Jacob's limp body.

A flash of lightning revealed the two bodies covered in filth and mud. The rain continued while Hank caught his breath. No one would come looking for them in this weather—no need to hurry. Finally, he stood, lifted the smaller man in his arms, and walked into the woods.

At sunrise, Bethanne noticed Jacob hadn't returned to bed. She walked to the path in the woods, looking for any sign of him, but the rain had already washed the stains of the night. She shrugged and went back into the cabin.

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Artwork by Hylia Corvidae

1. Violence or graphic sex (relentless brutal murder or hesitant aggressive sex) depending on the view of the reader