THE SOXORCIST

BY JAMIE KORT

Blue cover by Sophie Ingley

Claret cover by Anon

Copyright owned by Jamie Kort

Published by Kortrok on 18/10/2023
Thanks to Matthew Vaughn for letting me fuck with
his creation: The Sexorcist

Also by Jamie Kort

A Puppet Scorned
Brad, Unwound

Scarecrow Vodka Jesus

The Man With The Electric Cock

Coming Soon

Radge Rat
Carb Loading
The Knitwearwolf
The Synthetic Ghost
Rainbow Skelicorn Rampage
War Sock: Weaponized Knitwear
Blood Puppet: Your Sloppy Lil Buddy

You can contact Jamie on social media or email

jamiekortauthor@gmail.com

Sophie Ingley does art and shit. Her Instagram handle is

@sophieingley. Sophie is also a great writer - she published a
novella called Eeriella: Super Fiend. You can get it from Amazon.
Eeriella: Super Fiend is a fantastic read - check it out!
 Contents

The Soxorcist

***

Cover art competition submissions

 THE SOXORCIST

The Soxorcist places a mothball in his mouth and rolls it around, as if trying to
suck on it, allowing the strong chemical odor to permeate the fibers of his striped weave
and repel the stench of death that fills the attic. Stoically he stands, just inside the
threshold as the door slowly closes behind him. He has skills that few socks possess,
and he has been sent to untangle a demon from the weave of an innocent, possessed
sock. He is here to perform a soxorcism!

The Soxorcist casts his googly-eyed gaze slowly about the long since abandoned
room, quietly assessing all that he can see, which isn’t much because it’s late and the
light is off. The demon that resides here has terrorized a family of socks, and they left in
search of a Soxorcist that might be able to save their possessed kin and cleanse their
home of evil. He got the call.

The Soxorcist is tired from the long journey he took to reach this house, but he
will not rest until this attic has been purified. He takes a moment to compose himself, a
final prayer is silently spoken, then he spits out the mothball.

The hard-fiber chemical ball bounces a few times and then rolls away from him,
meandering over the rough floorboards into the darkness until the only indication of its
existence is the hollow sound it makes as it travels. He reaches up to flick off a small
piece of mothball entangled in the knitted weave around his mouth, and as the gray
fiber pirouettes into the air there is the sound of a bullet ricocheting. The Soxorcist looks
suspiciously sideways, but also forwards at the same time because he has googly eyes.
He is ready.
 There is a huge, grotesque shape directly ahead of him in the dark, maybe twice
his height and many times longer, and though he cannot make out what the shape is he
realizes it is easily big enough to be a sleeping Hoarder, and where there are Hoarders
there is danger.

Ahead in the looming blackness he hears the adversary he cannot yet see - the
sound it makes is violent and aggressive, the possessed sock grunting as it exerts itself,
then hissing with satisfied pleasure… but those exertions are slowly drowned out by the
trundling mothball which seems to grow louder until the sound is overwhelming in the
great, dark space before him, and when the ball finally comes to a halt the attic is eerily
silent. No more can the demonic exertions be heard.

After a moment of silence there is the sound of sobbing and a voice in the
darkness cries out faintly “Please, help me!” Then the silence returns. The Soxorcist
does not know if the cry for help was real or if it was demonic trickery, either way his
adversary now knows he is there.

He begins to shuffle forward, dragging the tools of his kind, a selection of knitting
needles in an ancient, threadbare case. The old case has holes allowing a few needles
to protrude, and they scrape over the hard boards as he goes. The beast can hear him
coming, and he hears it sniffing the air like a dog smelling prey. The feral sound is
ominous, it causes the fine hairs on the Soxorcist’s weave to stand on end, a primal
response that he feels deep inside, one that he has never been able to suppress
despite years of performing soxorcisms.

“You douse yourself in lavender, Soxorcist, as if you think such ancient remedies
work on me? I will fuck the stench out of your weave before I unravel you.”
 The voice is a harsh rasp, as if there were a hair caught in the speaker’s throat,
but the Soxorcist hears a choir of demons in those words, a legion of screaming hate
and the desire to inflict pain. He has heard evil hymns many times and he is compelled
to silence them. In the dark ahead of the Soxorcist there is movement, the beast
approaches.

A faint shaft of moonlight sneaks in through the attic window. It glints off a needle
in the dark ahead of the Soxorcist. There is a crimson tinge to the steel, a portent of
pain and suffering that indicates the monster has moved beyond knitting fabrics.

Steadfastly, the Soxorcist lays down his toolbag and selects a pair of heavy
gauge needles. As he unsheathes them the clouds in the night sky clear, allowing the
moon to shine bright, the attic is lit in full, but the Soxorcist is focused only on the leering
monster that is revealed before him, the beast cut out of the black shadows by silver
moonlight before darkness returns as the moon clouds over again.

The fading light seems to linger on the Soxorcist’s needles, a remnant of celestial
glow, and on the tips of the needles there are elegant engravings of a pair of crossed
needles. The monster growls as the holy emblems shine bright in the gloom, whether it
is through fear or arousal the Soxorcist cannot tell, but it does not matter to him. Fear
and arousal are the same to his kind.

The Soxorcist feels the eyes of the demon sock on his long, sharp needles. He
begins stroking them until the needles twitch and pulse as if alive, becoming longer and
thicker with each caress. He rubs his weave against the needle shafts, moaning slightly
as he enjoys the heat from the throbbing steel, then he wraps his body around them and
begins a serpentine, moonlit dance for the beast, sliding up and down their length,
spreading them apart to stretch his weave tight between the shafts. As he dances he
slowly shuffles toward the demon, expressing his desire to love-knit through smooth
twirls, looping himself around the needles in a manner resembling an arousing 3 + 2
eyelet stitch. He ends his seductive dance close to the possessed sock, with his
needles in his mouth, exposed, vulnerable, inviting the possessed sock to take him.

There is a low growl from the beast he faces, but it does not take the bait. The
Soxorcist ignores the dismissal and takes his needles from his mouth. He begins to
deftly knit himself for the beast. He pierces his own weave, widening stitches one after
the other. His wool spreads apart easily as he slides his splayed yarn expertly onto the
thick shafts of throbbing metal. As he works his yarn the sound of another set of
needles starts to click-clack in the dark. His adversary is enjoying his crafty seduction
and has joined him in self-gratification.

He continues to disentangle his yarn, looping it onto his tools, un-purling,

unhooking, his weave beginning to crackle with static electricity that spreads waves of
pleasure through his yarn, a pleasure sweetened with a touch of pain as the girth of his
tools almost tear his threads. The sight of his weave stretched to the limit of its elasticity
is an alluring temptation for the demonic sock. He senses the depraved lust of the filthy
sock, hears it panting, its carnal desire to dishevel the smoothness of his laundered
fabric oh so clear. The foul creature exists only to hurt, tear and violate all that it comes
into contact with, but he knows he must give his body willingly, he must use himself to
cleanse evil from the possessed fabric. The physical pain and degradation he will
endure are his penance for the pleasure he takes from the act of soxorcising, as are the
scars he has received. He has been wounded many times, though not as yet beyond
repair. He shows the beast his scars, exposing darned wounds to the leering monster.
The new threads he has been stitched with are vibrant, shiny and fresh. He presses the
tip of a needle into one of those new, sensitive spots, and as he stretches his once torn
fabric he hears the monster panting lustfully.

“I see the Reapers have tasted your sullied weave… but there will not be enough
of you left to repair when my diseased children feed on your soft, torn threads, my
sweet cock-warmer.”

The Soxorcist ignores the lascivious taunting and continues to work the weave of
his wounds until it is bunched up tightly around the length of his pulsing needles. He
tugs them hard, grunting with effort, until his yarn tears, his weave bursting open,
spilling onto the floor as the intense pleasure of tightly wound yarn being released
courses through his fibers. His googly eyes spin out of control, and he shudders, his
body flopping about uncontrollably. He fights to stay upright, aware that the demon will
be on him if he drops to the floor.

His momentary vulnerability tempts the adversary out of the shadows, a

malevolent specter that draws blackness in around itself. The monster floats forward
until it looms over the Soxorcist. It is big, much bigger than the Soxorcist, at least a size
11.5 USA / 45.0 EU / 10.5 UK, but the Soxorcist is not intimidated.

Now that the beast is close the Soxorcist is subjected to the rank perfume it
carries, sweaty feet, feces and cheesy foot-fungus are but a few of the smells
emanating from the monster, and there is also the sharp tang of a stench he recognises
as Hoarder menstrual blood, and another fragrance… a smell that stirs old memories of
a… a cold, hard place… the smell of urine, feces… and a monster that tortured him.
The Demon’s eyes glow yellow in the dark, inside them the black plastic pupils are
gone, replaced by a spider and a fly.
 “I see your past, Soxorcist. You are well acquainted with filth and depravity.” It
laughs cruelly when it sees the Soxorcist is shaken, but those nightmarish memories
are quickly driven away as the beast nears, brandishing its needles. Up close its stench
is violently repugnant, like smelling salts overpowering the Soxorcist’s rattled senses.
He feels the urge to soak himself in warm, soapy water, to cleanse his fibers with
fragrant detergent, and it allows him to slam the door on those horrific memories. He
breathes in the foul stench, the reekfeel, allowing it to penetrate fully into his weave,
bringing him back to Now! He is a Soxorcist, and he exists to soxorcise demons.

The Soxorcist slides beneath the needles of the beast as it is about to strike, the
sadistic thirst of the creature is waylaid by surprise as he expertly begins purling its ratty
weave, tugging enthusiastically at the filthy yarn, twisting it with practiced ease. He pulls
the yarn confidently, drawing out thread after thread. The beast moans as the Soxorcist
ties steamy knots, his thick needles penetrating deep into the greasy weave. The
monster is gripped by a desperate frustration as it succumbs to the desire to be knitted
hard, it yearns for the rhythmic plunging of the Soxorcist’s hot needles to burst its
aching weave. It quivers with pleasure as the throbbing steel slips smoothly in and out
of its yarn, pulling threads up and through and over the pulsing tips of those purifying
shafts. The sanctified tools singe its weave as they are driven deep again and again, it
feels pain, but the pain delivered by the holy needles is like a burning aphrodisiac to the
demon and it starts to trying roughly knit the Soxorcist in riposte, but the Soxorcist is not
distracted by the monster’s thrusting and tearing of his yarn and he redoubles his
efforts, pulling more thread from the demon sock until he is able to create a cable-knit
pattern on its weave, sending the demon into a spasm of ecstasy.

As the monster thrashes about in the grips of the Soxorcist’s unrelenting sensual
purling a bubbling liquid starts to spill from the corners of its mouth. The thick drool
oozes down its fetid weave, creeping as if it is alive. It spreads to the shafts of the
needles it holds until they are heavy with the viscous fluid and it drips onto the floor, the
globules stretching out like mucosal spiderwebs. The beast lifts its wet, gloopy tools to
the Soxorcist’s face, then slowly, almost tenderly, it caresses the Soxorcist with the
dripping needles. Strings of the thick fluid shine beautifully in the moonlight as they
stretch across the Soxorcist’s mouth then over his face, coating his weave, soaking in
and wetting his fibers through. The goopy muck stings the Soxorcist's eyes, distracting
him, interrupting his knitting. Released from the hypnotic rhythm of the Soxorcist’s
love-knitting, the monster snarls angrily and wipes the fetid muck aggressively about the
Soxorcist’s face and body.

The Soxorcist bends to lick the sticky filth that is dribbling down his weave, the
taste sour, bitter, and it clings like a wet glue to his fuzzy, knitted lips, but before he can
clean it all up the monster begins pushing a needle sideways through his head, behind
his eyes, and out the other side. Though his weave tears where the needle penetrates
the pain is not excessive, but he knows the beast is demonstrating its power, so he
continues to lick and suck submissively at the vile liquid that is soaking into his yarn.
The beast pulls at his head with the needle behind his eyes and then stabs the other
needle into the Soxorcist’s mouth, ramming it down his throat, and spits large globules
of the mucosal liquid over his face. The Soxorcist tries to turn away as he is bathed in
the cum-like substance, but he can't escape the monster's grip. He thrusts desperately
with his needles, trying to knit an erogenous zone, but the monster’s weave has
tightened around the thick tools and he is weakening as it squeezes him.

"Have you tasted sluts-wool? It is delicious,” the demon sock rasps, and then
starts to cough and gag, hacking up a huge clump of wiry hair from the back of its
throat. The beast forces him down, dribbling vomit on him as it places its mouth over his
in a grotesque parody of kissing. It rubs its filthy weave, crackling with static electricity,
against the Soxorocist. He cannot resist as it retches directly into his mouth, until the
large clump of wiry muck is fully expelled. The thick hairs of the stinking clump are like
fine wire hooks, scratching at the delicate woolen weave in the Soxorcist’s throat. The
putrid lump is too big and becomes stuck, but the beast is unrelenting and forces it
down with a thick, muscular tongue that whips about wildly. The putrid filth is almost
more than the Soxorcist can take, but he does, though the wretched feeling it causes
him immediately makes him want to vomit the hairball out.

"I harvested that treat from the cunt of the Hoarder’s fuck–toy,” the beast says as
it raises itself up. "Before I unstitch you I will show you my boudoir, I carved it out of the
dead whore’s putrefying slit." The demonic sock lifts its needles above the Soxorcist’s
head as he lies on the ground recovering from the disgusting meal, then the monster
savagely strikes him across the head again and again until blackness takes him and he
flops down unconscious. The beast continues to thrash at the limp fabric a few
moments more, stabbing at the Soxorcist's face until one eye is completely destroyed.

***
 He wants to escape. He wants to shuffle away as fast as he can, but he can’t. He
is trapped. He is pinned by a needle stabbed into the rotting floorboards of the decrepit
bathroom, a needle driven in by a sadistic monster. There is a dog. It is sniffing, coming
closer! It smells him and it likes that he smells of Hoarder seed. The monster made him
lick the cum from the bathroom floor and now he reeks of it. The dog is coming! It will rip
him to shreds! He pulls against the needle with all his strength and his weave tears! He
is free! He shuffles as fast as he can away from the dog, behind the toilet, but there is
nowhere to go and the dog is coming! He climbs up the back of the toilet, he has to
escape before the dog tears him to pieces. He reaches the lip of the toilet and looks
down into the yellow water - he has to escape! The dog is almost on him! He leaps into
the toilet bowl, into the urine, the wetness soaking him… “Wakey, wakey, Soxorcist…”

He is torn from his nightmare as stinking liquid splashes over him. He is

disorientated and it takes a moment for him to realize the liquid is a fermented urine,
poured from a jar. He is drenched by the foul, hoarder excretion, by the beast that
towers over him.

“Do you like this perfume, Soxocist? La fragrance est magnifique! Much better
than your stinking lavender cologne. I milk it from the dead fuck-toys before the hoarder
feeds them to his dogs, I have learned where to squeeze their soft insides to make them
spray their delicious juices.”

The first hint of the sun creeping toward the horizon has begun and it allows the
Soxorcist to make out the monster. He can see his needles still embedded in its weave.
As he lies flat on the floor he realizes he can only see in one direction and he rubs at his
eye to clear whatever is covering it. It is then he feels the torn threads dangling from
where his eye should be, his vocation is taking a heavy toll.
 “Do you like my boudoir?” asks the beast, gesturing expansively with its needles.

The Soxorcist looks slowly around with his only remaining eye. They are between
the legs of a dead Hoarder stripped naked. The hair around the outer labia has been
plucked, the roots torn and scabbed where it bled. The inner labia has been pierced
with needles and threaded with yarn that pulls the soft flesh apart, partially covering the
scabbed outer labia as the threads are stitched to the inner thighs of the Hoarder’s legs,
thighs that have been cut and slashed into yarn-like strips of loose skin tied in
criss-cross patterns over the devastated vulva. The bloody strips of flesh are entangled
in needles of all sizes that in turn have been stabbed deep in the flesh of the dead
creature. The stripped skin, both on the legs and around the vagina, has begun to
suppurate, and lumpy, milky fluids have puddled on the boards below, congealing
around the edges in a sickly, brown crust. Scavenging insects crawl about the ragged
wound, tightrope walking the carved, carrion flesh bunting that hangs from above, and
gluttonous flies feast on the gore and fluids that have seeped from every hack and
slash.

“This is where I was born, Soxorcist! As the Hoarder fucked his toy with his meat
needle he covered himself with this warm, fuzzy sock you see before you.” The demon
pauses to stroke the length of its disgusting weave admiringly. “The mind of this
cowering bitch retreated inside itself in terror, and I was able to take this woolen whore’s
body for my own! There is no sweeter way to be born than inside the cunt of a creature
being fucked to death.”

The Soxorcist can only stare, barely able to comprehend the horrors before him.

“It was not only I that was born in this cunt, I have a non-identical twin. Would
you like to meet him?”

The monster does not wait for an answer. Instead it turns and reaches deep into
the savaged vagina.
 “Kevin? Are you awake? Come out, little brother,” the demon says in a playful
voice, pulling on a white string until a blood soaked tampon is freed from the destroyed
cavity, and a blast of stinking fluid sprays out under pressure, showering them all in
rancid filth. The possessed sock laughs with insane delight as the soiled, cotton cylinder
rolls about in the congealing, milky puddle, screaming and vomiting brown blood from a
hole roughly gouged into the tip of its head.

“Do you like his singing? I fucked him a little baby mouth with my needles so that
he can express himself, but I think he needs friends to sing with. That would be good for
a child, yes? His song is as sweet as when the hoarder bitch was needled to death.”

A look of sick delight spreads across the demon’s face.

“Maybe I should stitch him to me - it would please me to fuck a creature to death

with my own screaming penis singing in harmony with its victim! Would you like to be
the first to duet with Kevin, Soxorcist? He would be so excited if you would!”

The beast yanks three needles from the thighs of the hoarder and drags the
Soxorcist through the stinking puddle of filth, dropping him into the gore filled crevasse
at the mouth of the vaginal cavity, then it pushes needles through the Soxorcist’s weave,
deep into the meat of the vaginal walls, delighting in the grim work. The Soxorcist does
not try to resist, despite the pain, he is spent.

“Still after all this you do not cower in terror, Soxorcist? Perhaps if you see my
offspring coming to consume you, perhaps then you might appreciate and fear my
unholy artistry.” The beast stares into the dark, as if deep in thought, then it turns away
from the Soxorcist and shuffles off, sniffing the air as it goes, searching like a mad bull
in a china shop.
 Kevin screams loudly, incessantly, but despite his howling he can still hear the
demon thrashing about, furiously hunting for something until there is a pleased growl. A
sharp click echos from where the wall might be and a tiny red light appears in the
distance. That light steadily grows, coming closer…

“I will show you my diseased children, Soxorcist,” says the demon, its voice
slowly growing louder as it draws nearer. “You will see them as I orgasm relentlessly
over the threads they will tear from your weave. I am aching to unstitch you from cuff to
toe, I yearn to hear you sing along with my brother… I can feel my weave tightening,
squeezing sweet filth out just thinking about it. You are making me excited, Soxorcist!”

The savaged vagina is bathed in a red glow as the beast returns, the crimson
light from a glue gun that is not yet hot enough to use. It carries the blade from a rusty
crafting knife, a blade coated in dried blood. It looks at him sideways, with an
expression of mock seriousness.

“I’m not irresponsible! I don’t let Kevin play with sharps unsupervised. I don’t
want him to hurt himself, only other creatures.”

The light on the glue gun changes color.

“Green means go!” says the demon, delighted.

It turns to the screaming tampon and sets to work fixing the blade into the thick,
cotton cylinder that is Kevin, forcing the blunt end in deep under Kevin’s mouth-hole
before squeezing hot glue out and spreading it around the base of the blade, soaking it
into Kevin’s bloody head. Kevin wriggles about in pain as his sister works, then the
possessed sock wraps a length of yarn about Kevin’s head, squeezing the soaked
tampon tight around the embedded blade, making Kevin scream even louder, before
tying it off and blowing on the glue to dry it hard. “It is lucky you are such a big Super
Plus blood pluggy wuggy, Kevvy-wevvy! If you were just a widdle ickle tooter the sharpy
sharp-sharp would be toooo big and fall out, and that would be no fun! No fun at
aaaalll!” Kevin keeps screaming, apparently not soothed or amused at all by his big
sister. The demon sock laughs at her screeching sibling as she begins to stitch the base
of the tampon to her midriff with a darning needle and extra strong thread, singing Wind
The Bobbin Up to Kevin as she works.

The Soxorcist is silent. There is nothing he can do, staked as he is to the inside
of the vagina. He wonders if he has anything left to give, he hopes he does. He will give
the last fiber of his being to purge the demon from the innocent sock if given the
chance, he is a Soxorcist, so he does the only thing he can, he waits and he watches as
the sick scene unfolds.

When Kevin has been firmly stitched onto the demon’s weave he hangs limply,
still screaming. The possessed sock seems satisfied with its needlework. Dropping the
darning needle it turns quickly towards the glue gun as the green light flickers to red and
green unpredictably. Kevin is spun about and swings from side to side a few times
under the red and green strobing until he returns to dangling, like a flaccid penis on a
naked disco dancer striking a pose. The light on the gun stops flickering as Kevin’s limp
swinging ends, and it stays on red, the demon rages in anger under the red glow
causing Kevin to be shaken about, drops of brown blood flying from his howling orifice
as the beast screams at the cheap, electronic crafting tool. The monster angrily
squeezes the trigger to see if it is hot enough to melt the glue stick - and it is, and the
beast cackles as it keeps pulling the trigger and laughing. Clear, liquid glue is forced out
of the end of the device and flies about until the beast calms as it returns its attention to
its intended victim, holding the glue gun more steadily as it appraises the Soxorcist.
Then the demon lifts the glue gun like a weapon and shuffles toward the Soxorcist,
Kevin screaming the whole time. As the beast approaches it tears off one of its own
googly eyes.
 “Now you will see the truth of all things, Soxorcist, and you will see my children,
my reapers, tear your soul from your fibers and consume it even as I rip your threads to
pieces.”

The beast leans over him and squeezes hot glue onto the spot where the
Soxorcist’s destroyed eye was once fixed. The pain is searing but the Soxorcist barely
moves, his ability to endure pain an essential requirement for his kind. The beast
presses the new eye down hard, the burning glue squeezing out from under it. The
Soxorcist almost gasps in pain, and is forced to curb the urge to flop away.

As the burning fades the Soxorcist begins to experience a new sensation. He

feels scratching in his eye, an alien movement. Light comes to him through a spiderweb
of darkness that darkly filters his vision, and he sees a pulsing mass of blackened
insectoid filth churning before him. Tiny, rotten wings flutter as the oozing tower of
moths and their vomiting larvae creep and crawl over themselves in an orgy of
cannibalistic consumption and defecation. They creep over the faint form of a curled up
hoarder baby, asleep and unable to open its eyes even though it is troubled by night
terrors, and the Soxorcist realizes he can see Kevin.

The repugnant mass of filth develops a cavity and speaks, and it is horrific. The
Soxorcist hears the sound as a spider would, the vibration of the noise transmitted
through the sensitive hairs on the legs of the arachnid trapped in his new googly eye,
and it is amplified a thousandfold by the tiny creature’s sensitivity, it is like a hurricane of
sadistic violence screaming into his very soul.

“Do you see me now, Soxorcist? Do you see my diseased children aching to feed
on your 100% natural wool fibers? It would give them so much pleasure - for them
eating is fucking, and you came here to soxorcise me out of this body, did you not?”

The Soxorcist merely nods at the abhorrent sight filling his vision.
 “You better fuck me good, or I’ll fuck you, Demon” he says defiantly.

The demon drops the glue gun and lifts the string coming from Kevin’s base. It
wraps it around the stinking cylinder just below where a head might be if the bladed
tampon had a face, then it pulls it tight, choking the younger sibling with its own cord.
The savage creature grunts and snarls as Kevin screams in between the cord being
yanked hard and released, until finally Kevin projectile vomits brown muck over the
Soxorcist. Kevin coughs and splutters as his spurting ejaculation ends, the rusty crafting
blade set beneath his mouth receiving the final expulsion of bloody filth. The muck drips
from the blade as the beast wields Kevin like a weapon, a monstrous, screaming,
blood-soaked penis-knife! Kevin howls as he is plunged into the weave of the Soxorcist,
his bladed head slicing and tearing at the Soxorcist’s soft yarn.

The demon growls as it thrusts rhythmically with the screaming penis.

“Sing, Soxorcist… Sing with Kevin…” It whispers encouragingly as it tugs a pair

of needles free from the thigh of the dead hoarder and begins to tug at the weave of the
Soxorcist’s face.

The pain the Soxorcist feels with each thrust of Kevin is crippling, but he
endures, the sacrifice he makes of his body is arousing - if it was not he could not be a
Soxorcist. He moans with pleasure as his yarn is torn and ripped with each screaming
penetration into his weave. He can feel himself coming undone, it will not be long now,
and the monster can see the damage it is doing and is becoming more enthusiastic by
the moment.

He whispers as if begging, but the beast cannot hear…

It leans closer to him as it knits his face, it wants to understand his pain, it wants
to hear him beg or scream, and when it is close enough he speaks.
 “Thankyou…” he says.

The beast is confused, but then it feels a tug from its lower body and it realizes
the Soxorcist is free! Kevin’s bladed head has sliced through much of the Soxorcist’s
weave and released him from the staked needles. The Soxorcist pulls free his own
needles and uses them to quickly and sensuously knit the weave of the depraved beast
into the strips of hoarder meat that hang either side of the rotting labia. The demon is
trapped, like a wool panty liner stretched wide, the screaming penis howling in
frustration into the destroyed void that is the dead hoarder’s vagina. The Soxorcist
slides beneath the possessed sock and begins to knit more of the hanging meat around
the monster’s head, choking the now trapped demon, which, with nothing left to lose
drops its own needles and wraps Kevin’s cord around where his neck might be and
begins to throttle the screaming penis with all its strength. The Soxorcist continues his
pattern, unaffected by pain he hears in Kevin’s choked screaming echoing back at him
from the vaginal chasm. As he unstitches the depraved creature’s weave all the way
down to the cuff, he sees the shining light of the innocent soul trapped within the
possessed fabric. He begins to knit upward again, his needles expertly purling the
soiled weave in an alluring, but technically challenging pattern that allows the yarn to
begin to slip free of the skin strips woven into it. His rhythm is smooth and his
needlework precise as he lustfully creates beautiful stockinette stitching, causing the
masturbating beast to shudder with overwhelming pleasure even as it knows its end is
near. As he reaches the toe the demon finally chokes Kevin to death, orgasming at the
last moment, its evil expelled through the screaming penis in a final, horrendous burst of
bloody ejaculate. He collapses, exhausted, flopping to the floor as the newly knitted,
knee length juniper sock floats down and settles softly on top of him, like the kiss of an
angel.

They lie there for a moment, pressed silently together, before the reborn sock
begins to cry, but her sobbing is interrupted by a voice calling out…

“Help me, Please…”

 The Soxorcist rises, lifting his beautiful companion as best he can. He picks up
his needles and leads her along the length of the hoarder’s bruised and cut leg, then
along the outside of it, climbing over empty medication bottles, knives and a filthy
syringe, until they reach the head of the giant.

Its eyes are open. It sees them. But there is no threat or surprise there, the giant
is barely alive despite losing blood from a deep, ugly wound in its neck.

The Soxorcist does not know how to darn hoarder flesh together again - but he
knows how they die, he has seen it many times in cold, dark rooms where depraved
hoarders carry out their sick compulsions, inadvertently calling malevolent spirits to this
realm, an eternal battle... He looks to his one eyed companion and she is crying, but not
for herself.

There is the sound of thudding footsteps from below getting louder, climbing
stairs - another hoarder is coming! The one that lies before them draws in a haggard
breath and begs again…

“Help me… Please…” It is asked so softly he cannot refuse.

The Soxorcist presses a concealed button on the end of one of his needles and a
sharp blade flicks out from the tip. He looks at the ruined creature through his demonic
eye and he can see only shining light emanating from the giant, she is an innocent. He
opens her neck expertly, the blade so sharp she feels almost nothing, then the socks
turn and shuffle away as fast as they can.

The End
There was a competition to design a cover for The Soxorcist. The entries are on
the following pages. Enjoy!
Aiden E Messer, author of Pet, a splatterpunk novella. I love it!
A Winning Entry! By Sophie Ingley, author of Eeriella: Super Fiend!
 CoHo devotee Tabitha Nunnally!
Check out Tab’s book reviews on Instagram @mytobereadstash
The creator of this piece wishes to remain anonymous. Thanks for the cool cover!
This shares winning place with the Sophie Ingley piece.
Matthew Vaughn artfully overlaid some puppets onto the cover he used for his
story, The Sexorcist. I like his style!
Thanks very much to everyone that entered the competition. I love them all!