aftertaste

Once they're in...they stay in. And that little bitch invited that evil into herself like a hard dick on prom night.

I'm guessing you're tits deep in a horror novel. Something by Laymon, or Ketchum, or one of those sick fucks you read.

Revenge is Always Sweet, it's the Aftertaste that's Bitter.

Then the crying started. First one child, a little girl called Jen from across the street, then another, then another, until the June afternoon sounded like a vacation in hell.