Estratto dal primo capitolo del romanzo 'The BigHead' di Edward Lee, che sarà pubblicato in esclusiva, in lingua Italiana, nel 2018, da Independent Legions, in formato cartaceo ed eBook. Da uno dei più grandi maestri dello Splatterpunk e dell'Extreme-Horror, The BigHead, pubblicato per la prima volta da Overlook Connection Press nel 2000, è considerata una delle opere più disturbanti di tutti i tempi, dalla quale è stato tratto il film 'BigHead', sopra potete vedere il trailer.
Ecco cosa scrivono Jack Ketchum, John Skipp e Douglas Clegg di Edward Lee e del romanzo The BigHead:
"Edward Lee is to horror novels what Spain and S. Clay Wilson were to Underground Comics over twenty-five years ago --funny, evil, perverse as it is humanly possible to get...and gleefully outrageous about it. I'd say we got us a whole new sub-genre goin' here, boys and girls -- splatterspunk!
-- Jack Ketchum, Award-Winning author of Off Season, The Girl Next Door, and Red
Never have I been so ashamed of myself for laughing so hard at something so utterly depraved!
-- John Mason Skipp, co-author of Light at the End, The Bridge, and Animals.
A demented Henry Miller of horror. Sexually revolting, outrageous, disgusting, THE BIGHEAD is the sickest piece of fiction I've ever read!
-- Douglas Clegg, author of Goat Dance, Children's Hour, and The Halloween Man.
The BigHead di Edward Lee
The Bighead licked his chops and tasted the dandy things: blood and fat, pussystink, the salt-slime of his own semen that he’d just slurped out’a the dead girl’s bellybutton. His bone had split her pussy right open; weren’t no fun humpin’ redneck pussy when yer rod were going in an’ out of a busted cervix an’ posterior wall. No sir. Girls ’round these parts, purdy as they was an’ few of ’em as he’d seed, they was just never big enough. No one were big enough fer The Bighead.
They called him The Bighead, on account of the congenital hydrocephaly, not that The Bighead hisself would ever know what fuckin’ congenital hydrocephaly was, nor, a’corse, would he know what a cervix ’er posterior wall was. His head were about the size and shape of a watermelon, big an’ bald, with big lopsided ears like squashed potato buns. Rumor was Bighead’s mama had up and died right off when she’d dropped him, and further rumor attested that The Bighead’s crooked awl-sharp teeth had et hisself the rest of the way out when the goin’s got tough. Bighead believed it. ’Corse, they coulda called him Bighead fer another reason too, that reason bein’ the 14-inch pecker ’tween his legs. Fourteen inchers, no lie, and wider than a reglar fella’s forearm. Rumor had it he’d been hard whiles bein’ born. Yessir, poppin’ a big stiffer ’fore he’d even et his way outa his mama’s cunt.
Bighead believed it.
He squeezed out the last’a his cocksnot, hauled up his overalls, and finished ettin’ the dead gal’s brain. Human brains, by the way, tasted kinda like warm salty scrambled eggs, fer those’a ya who didn’t know. The Bighead liked ’em just fine, he did, and he liked the liver too. Good eats they was. He also liked chewin’ on a little tittie-meat whiles he was lopin’ around the woods, the way a reglar fella chawed backer.
But it weren’t just poon that Bighead was searchin’ fer. He hadn’t had much, n’fact, just a stray here’n there back when he’n his grandpap had lived all those years back in The Lower Woods. The Lower Woods, Grandpap had called ’em. Livin’ back here, Bighead, in The Lower Woods, we ain’ts gotta worry ’bout The World Outside.
The World Outside?
The Bighead had always wondered ’bout that, ’bout what it was, ’cos he never knowed. He always wanted ta, though, but Grandpap told him The World Outside were just an evil place fulla bad folks, an’ they was far better off here. But now Grandpap was dead…
And The Bighead figgurt it were high time he gotta move on, got out’a the darkness’a The Lower Woods and inta this Outside World. See, after Grandpap had up’n died, Bighead got this itchin’ in his soul, an’ he couldn’t quite figger it, he couldn’t. It were almost like he was bein’ summoned by this here Outside World, same way trout were summoned up the lake durin’ breedin’ time, same way a starling were summoned by the call of another starling, like that. So it seemed ta Bighead, though he weren’t too smart in a lotta ways, that it was The World Outside that were callin’ ta him, that were summonin’ him.
Yes indeedy, somethin’ were callin’ The Bighead, fer shore. Maybe it were the voice’a God, or the whisper of his predesterination. He didn’t rightly know.
But The Bighead knowed this:
Whatever it was, he were shorely gonna find out.
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