Thanks a Lot

by Jake Rivers

Copyright© 2010 by Jake Rivers

Horror Story: When his wife, Solange runs around on him, he carefully waits his revenge at a Halloween party at a replica of the Bates Motel (from Psycho). What happens to Solange is horrifying! This is a repost from several years ago.

Caution: This Horror Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Horror   Cheating   Sadistic   .

Authors note:

Not my usual sort of story, but hey! I'm reposting this because many readers accuse me of having only happy endings.

This was written for a Halloween writing contest a couple of years ago.

(Note: there are tons of intentional errors in this! It's not easy to be crazy! Give me a break!)


Solange looked at the box that came in the mail. There was no return address, just the box. Opening it she found an old 45 record. "Shit," she thought, "I haven't seen one of these for years." The title was "Thanks a Lot" and squinting she could see it was done by Ernest Tubb. It didn't mean anything to her ... she wasn't sure she had even seen a 45 vinyl before!

After staring at it for a while, she figured "What the hell!" and put it on the record player (which she hadn't used since her asshole husband had finally got the word and left). She looked at the settings, saw the 33-rpm, and yes; there was one for 45-rpm. Playing the record she heard a somewhat whiney, somewhat scratchy voice (a nice voice she decided) singing:

I got a broken heart and that's all I got

You made me cry and I cried a lot.

Then you were gone, honey, thanks a lot.

You told my friends as I was passin' by

That you're not sorry that you made me cry.

You said I deserved everything I got.

If that's the way you feel, honey, thanks a lot.

You wanted a fool and I played the part.

All I got is a broken heart.

We loved a little and you laughed a lot.

I just needed your love,

Honey, thanks a lot.

Damn! It was from her ex. This being October 31st, she figured it must be his (as always) strange sense of humor. Asshole!

She took the record, broke it over her knee, and threw it in the trash.

And ... forgot about it.


i was messed up again — damn pills shit I was tryin' to 'member somthin' what what shit! oh yeah that bitch that bitch sent her the damn thanks a lot song yeah thanks a lot a lot shit what oh yeah I was gonna git that damn bitch yeah thanks a lot


Solange forgot about the record and started thinking about the party that night. With some friends, she had been invited to this party that sounded really wild! This bed and breakfast inn was going to be torn down so a winery could be built. The bar where she partied was renting the place; it had been empty for a year.

The theme was "Psycho", the Hitchcock thriller. The B&B was being decorated to look like "Bates Motel" even down to the sign. Everyone drew a piece a paper telling them their role, and how they were to dress. Since there were really just a few parts, they had multiple persons assigned to each role. The fun would be to see how each person adapted their part!

What made it really sound like fun was the bar promised some surprises!

Solange had drawn the role of Marion Crane, the embezzler. She was excited about this and had some great ideas, both for the outfit and the role. Oh, yeah! This was going to be fun.

She went upstairs to take her shower. Standing in the tub she pulled the shower curtain closed. Adjusting the water temp she started thinking of Juan, Juan Alejandro, a guy she had met at the bar, but had not fucked yet. But she would! Forgetting about the shower she started rubbing her breasts then put her hand between her legs, images of Juan in her mind.

A noise, faint, almost intruded in her mind. A shadow, maybe a shadow, oh! Her climax! The shadow, what was it. Oh, my god! Shit! Panicking, she flung the curtain open and saw ... shit! Her roommate Miranda.

"Jesus Christ, Mira, you scared the shit out of me!"

Laughing, Miranda said, "Yeah, I noticed you were somewhat preoccupied! Whose cock were you thinking about this time? Anyway, hurry up! I have to get ready too."


ah fuckin' pills anyway grass was better pot, grass, weed, maryjane, acapulcogold, reefer grass oh yeah oh that bitch oh thanks a lot a lot a lot oh this is good yeah I got plans for her oh yeah thanks a lot she'll get it yeah this is good shit o yeah I know about the party oh yeah good shit oh what's in the bottle get that bitch thanks a lot bates I am I am yeah norman oh stormin' norman nah norman the knife guy thanks a lot


Solange and Miranda took a cab to the party. Neither expected to sleep in their beds that night. Solange had decided on the sweet innocent look, a vulnerable look. Miranda was obviously Norma Bates, the mother. She had found a really old black gown, dusty, with cobwebs, and dowdy in an antique (junk) store. She wore it, as it was, no cleaning, to get more atmosphere.

The cab pulled in front of the "Bates Motel". There were no lights. The darkness was so complete you could almost feel the texture. There was an ominous sense of threat in the cold, blustery night.

The cab driver said "Ladies, you sure this is the right place?"

Miranda answered, "Fuck, yeah! Just let us off."

They looked at the somber building, quiet for a moment. Approaching the front door they looked at each other, a question in their eyes. Pulling the old fashioned ringer they waited for a response, and waited some more. Nothing!

Shrugging their shoulders, they walked around the side of the house. There was no hint of light on the cloudy night. It was dark, very dark.

There was a path, of sorts! Stumbling towards the back, Solange slipped on the grass ... slipped and... eeieeieh! A blood curdling scream, dying in a throttling breath as Miranda dived into the mud with Solange. Solange grabbed Mira's hand and, scuttling to the side, tried to get away ... as an over bright flashlight came on.

Jimmy, the owner of the bar laughed "Gotcha!"

Taking their hands he lifted them and walked to the back of the house. Putting his hand on their ripe buttocks, he helped them up the stairs.

"Open the door," he directed.

Solange took the door handle and twisted it open. As she pulled the door, there was a godawful sound, a creeaakk followed by a blinding light shining on a skeleton hanging from the ceiling, blood dripping down its arms.


yeah she laughed at him she did did thanks a lot but he knew he knew the party he did she there yeah she would be laughed at him she did with her friends she did my broken heart yeah thanks a lot all I needed was love thanks a lot get her I will damn her I will the party yeah the party yeah damn she the bitch a broken heart yeah not sorry no needed love thanks a lot


Jimmy was laughing like hell at Miranda and Solange ... he kept saying gotcha! Gotcha! Over and over, almost cackling.

"Come on, ladies, the booze is in the lobby."

They walked into the front of the old house and were immersed in a cacophony of sound. Everyone seemed to be there already. Two, three and even four of Norman Bates, his mother Norma, Marion Crane, the sheriff and highway patrol officers, even the hardware store customer. Clearly they were into the booze, and apparently had been for some time.

Jimmy had done a good job. Every few minutes the lights would dim and a ghostly voice would spout some dialogue from the film. The characters for that part would parade in front of the bar and people would clap for their choice of the most authentic.

Every once in a while the lights would stay off and there would be strange noises rattling around the house, punctuated at times by an eerie scream from upstairs.

When this happened, Solange would feel the hairs at the back of her neck rise, and she would shudder. "Shit!" she thought, this is almost too real!"

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