Stanky Leg Novels & Stories

“No. Hell no. He had it coming. I’ve let him and his precious little fan club step on me for years. If anything, I was nice about it.” With a huff, I stomp my foot, spin on my heel, and march forward again. My legs are just dragging me wherever they please at this point. Maybe straight into the jaws of a rogue. Wouldn’t that be poetic? Also—I smell like death. Not like actual death, more like… the essence of it. Spoiled tomatoes, stale milk, something fruity and rotten I can’t even identify, and, what’s that? Oh yeah. Roasted chicken. What kind of disgusting buffet am I carrying on my skin right now?

There’s nothing in my bag that bites a thing with no nerves to bite. The wolf goes in low and clamps his jaws around one leg. I hear the joint give, wet, like a hand twisting a drumstick off. The thing drops to one knee and keeps coming on the stump like the leg was a suggestion it's decided to ignore. No spray. No fountain. Dead things don’t bleed. Just that revolting smell, rotten and dug-up, and a slow dark dribble of something out of the stump like the inside of a downpipe. I've opened up a lot of things in my life. Never watched one torn open and barely bleeding before.

"The son is in the hospital. He fell down the stairs at his school." "Halah, that kid is just as troublesome as you!" ***

"Caroline, what happened to you?" I parted my lips, but no sound came out. Overwhelming me was the burning, throbbing sensation in my leg. The moment Grandma pulled up my pant leg, she gasped in horror. The flesh around my ankle was blackened and badly infected. My whole foot was so swollen it looked thicker than a turnip. It was almost impossible to recognize what it had once looked like. The women of Pine Ridge survived with their hands and feet. Farming, carrying firewood, climbing mountains, working from dawn till dusk—everything depended on their legs.

Chapter Six—The Mating Ceremony(2) ~TANNER- I couldn’t dare look at the imp in my sight. She was dirty—her fair all frayed in clumps of sweat and mud, her legs ridden with sot and her body oozing the stench of a dead beast.

His left leg—God. The calf had been opened by something brutal. The wound had healed wrong. Flesh clung like melted wax to exposed sinew. The skin was raw in some places, thick and gray in others, like tree bark trying to be skin. Underneath, I could see the bone, actual bone, where the tissue had peeled away entirely. Infection had eaten part of the muscle—dark spots where rot had caved in soft tissue. A faint, sick-sweet smell clung to the air, like spoiled meat under antiseptic.

Emily’s POV The stench in the air was unbearable. It was a disgusting mix of sweat, rust, and something damp, like rotting wood and mold. The place was worse than the last. Smaller. Hotter. Dirtier. The air felt thick, suffocating, heavy with the weight of unwashed bodies and old cigarette smoke.

One little lamp in the corner and nothing else. It's dirty and stinks like urine.

He said. "I am getting the flow." I nodded, as they gate opened on it's own and we stepped in. The place stunk. "Do you kill people here?" I asked. He chuckled. "No." "Then what's this smell? God, I feel like I'm going to suffocate inhaling this." I said. He passed me his handkerchief before smirking at me. "We do kill people in her but we take out their body that very moment. What you're perceiving right now is the Stinkbug." He said.

“Come with me.” “I can’t walk, my legs are bad.” I pointed at my swollen ankle which had turned pink and infected. His tensed shoulders relaxed and he let out a few cursings under his breath and walked over to me and next I was flung over his shoulders. “You stink.” He snarled. ~