What The Fuck Was That?

Praise for Bridgett Nelson “Who wants a kick in the balls? If you just raised your hand and said, 'I do! I do!' I’ve got just the author for you. Once in a blue moon, a horror writer hits the scene and shakes everything up. In Extreme Horror, that writer would be Bridgett Nelson. She writes the most horrifying, outrageous, offensive, down-and-dirtiest horror I’ve ever seen. Aberrant sex, belly-emptying violence, psycho-killers with boners, zoophilia, and even a dildo shaped like a shark, all delivered with an ingenious creative glee which makes one wonder what REALLY makes the human species tick. This is BALL-BUSTING horror fiction, folks (even if you don’t HAVE balls), and it will grab you by the ears, push your face into one heaping, steaming pile of horror after another, and force you to eat. Don’t believe me? Give Bridgett Nelson a try, but don’t forget your vomit bag.” – Edward Lee, author of The Bighead and Header “Bridgett Nelson’s work is about as f**ked up as it gets. If you can handle it, you’re in for a wonderfully deranged and gruesome treat. If you can’t handle it, I totally understand.” – Jeff Strand, Bram Stoker Award-Winning author of Twentieth Anniversary Screening What the Fuck Was That? BRIDGETT NELSON Contents Getaway Scars Belong Story Notes Acknowledgments About the Author What the Fuck was That? copyright 2023 by Bridgett Nelson Cover art and interior design copyright 2023 by Lynne Hansen www.LynneHansenArt.com All rights reserved. The following stories were previously published as noted: “Getaway” previously appeared in A Pile of Bodies, A Pile of Heads (Let the Bodies Hit the Floor) Volume 1, copyright © 2021 by Bridgett Nelson. “Scars” previously appeared in A Pile of Bodies, A Pile of Heads (Let the Bodies Hit the Floor) Volume 2, copyright © 2021 by Bridgett Nelson. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author. Dedication Roses are red. I write the taboo. This book is dedicated. To you. And you. And yeah…even you! Getaway Monica rubbed her neck, like she’d pulled a muscle simply trying to see the whole house. Glancing at the others, she said wryly, “Think we’ll have enough room?” Laura laughed. “With all the shit Kelly brought? Probably not.” “Hey now, don’t be bashin’ on my packin’, ladies. I could meet my Prince Charmin’ this week, and I made damn sure I’d be prepared,” Kelly grumbled good-naturedly. “It’s November in the Outer Banks,” Autumn said. “I wouldn’t count on meeting anyone all week...except maybe the cashier at Food Lion. And why are we just standing around? I’ve been ogling this beauty on-line for months now; let’s check it out!” The beach house—named, appropriately enough, Castle in the Air—was three stories, complete with carport, game room, exercise room, wraparound decks, multiple bedrooms and baths, a gourmet kitchen, and panoramic views overlooking the sand and surf. The swimming pool was currently covered and winterized for the season, but the rest of the amenities were theirs to enjoy. “You do know,” Autumn said, fiddling with the numeric keypad, “if we’d rented this house in the summer during peak season…” “…we would have paid ten thousand dollars for only one week,” the others intoned in unison. “Yes, we’re aware, Autumn,” added Kelly, grinning. “Smart asses,” Autumn couldn’t help giggling. Her friends knew her well, as they should. They’d lived together since their freshman year of college, when they’d all been placed in the same quad dorm, and had been inseparable ever since. After resetting the code—with the owner’s permission, for added security—to a temporary one only the four of them knew, they went inside, exploring and exclaiming over various discoveries, staking out their respective rooms, unpacking, and settling in. Since it was too dark by then to hit the beach—which looked beautiful, but frigid; the water a stormy indigo, the waves aggressive—they decided to run to the grocery store down the road to stock up their pantry and fridge. With most stores and restaurants closed during the off-season, takeout and delivery weren’t really options. Driving back on the desolate, pitch-black road after doing their shopping—their headlights providing the only relief—Laura said quietly from the passenger seat, “It’s kind of creepy here this time of year. I feel like we’re the only people around for miles.” “We might be,” Kelly responded gesturing to all the enormous house lining the beach. “These places are meant for tourists. They’re probably all vacant.” “Yeah, I doubt we’ll run into anyone on the beach either… besides maybe some locals,” Autumn chimed in. “And, hopefully, the wild horses.” Her family had been coming to the Outer Banks since she was a child. Her parents, especially her father, always seemed so happy and alive while they were here…like they lived just for this week-long vacation each year. And they always reserved one day of their visit for the wild horse tour. For as long as Autumn could remember, she’d loved riding in the open-air, thirteen-seat, 4WD Hummer that would drive along on the sand…from Corolla to Carova Beach and back. Seeing the horses in their natural habitat—sleeping, playing, nursing their babies, and sometimes even fighting—was always the highlight of the trip. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the horses! I wish they were still doing those tours you mentioned,” Monica said. “It’s crazy how everything just shuts down after tourist season. Do you think the horses will be around? I read somewhere they go to the interior of the island this time of the year, where there are isolated, freshwater marshes that provide grass during the winter months.” “I’ve always seen them when I’ve been here before, so I can’t imagine any reason we