Mutatus

by Ally Vance

  Ezra nods his head, and scurrying over to her, I kneel down in front of where she’s sitting with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

  “Hi, little one, what’s your name? Can you tell me where you’re hurt? I’m Dr. Darryn,” I quietly tell her, trying to gauge if she’s injured anywhere else that I’m currently unable to see.

  She scrambles away from me, eyes wide, and face twisted with fear and anger. I see that she’s not a child, as I initially assumed, but a young woman. Given her small stature, and the proportionate size of her body and limbs, I’d hazard a guess she has Pituitary Dwarfism, but that’s not the pressing issue. At the moment, I’m more concerned about the monstrosities on her back and discerning the full extent of her injuries.

  “Get the fuck away from me. If you touch me, I’ll rip your hands off and strangle you with them,” she snarls, eyes darting toward Ezra who’s standing by the window, watching with interest.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I reassure her, putting my hands up in an attempt to show her I’m harmless.

  “Sure, Doctor,” she sneers, “The last doctor I trusted betrayed me and mutilated my body while I was in his care. Why should I believe you’ll be any different? I bet you’re just like him,” she cries, getting to her feet. Then looking at Ezra, she shouts at him accusingly, “I came here because I thought you’d be able to help me!”

  Ezra gives her a dark look. “I would never allow someone who came here, asking for help, to be harmed. This is a sanctuary, little one, not a slaughterhouse for sick experiments. Hold your tongue, and let Darryn see to your injuries!” he booms, and she cowers, slumping back down to the floor in defeat.

  “I just need to check you over. Apart from your back, are you injured anywhere else?” I ask her, opening my bag and withdrawing gauze, wound dressings, butterfly strips, and antiseptic wipes.

  “I was a prisoner, and the sexual plaything for a sadistic madman. It doesn’t take a genius to guess where else I’m hurt.” she mumbles sarcastically, and averts her eyes.

  While quickly checking her over, I allow her the privacy of her thoughts and don’t try to engage her in further conversation about things she clearly doesn’t wish to share. Carefully, I clean what I can now see are scratch marks, and then I look more closely at her wings. There’s blood dripping slowly from the bottom of the left one, and I gently mop it up before I apply a wound dressing to stem the bleeding. I can see the faint scars on her skin outlining where the wings have been sewn to her body.

  “I’m going to feel where and how these wings are attached to your body because I don’t want to harm you when I bandage them. I just need an idea of what the situation is,” I inform her, forewarning her so she doesn’t freak out when I attempt to gently examine her unique appendages.

  She reluctantly nods her agreement, and I take the right wing in my hand near the base and use my other hand to hold her still while I prod at the seams of skin at the join where they’ve been meticulously sewn. It’s clear this doctor knew what he was doing, but it sickens me to discover they’re not only attached to her externally. He’s surgically embedded them into her body. I very slowly attempt to manipulate one in a flapping motion, and I can’t deny the morbid fascination when it unexpectedly moves as I intended. However, as I do it, the agonized squeal that rips out of her is more than enough to stop me.

  “I’m sorry,” I hastily apologize to the gasping woman.

  “Treat my wounds and then leave me the hell alone,” she growls between ragged breaths.

  I finish bandaging her injuries in silence. Most of them are superficial, only the one below her left wing needs particular attention, but once cleaned, I see that it doesn’t need stitches. Thankfully, the butterfly strips and a dressing will suffice. When I’m done, I get to my feet, and tossing the unused materials into the bag, I discard the remaining soiled items in the trash.

  “Come see me in a few days, and I’ll change the dressing on your back,” I instruct her before sharing a last questioning look with Ezra as I head out the door.

  Five

  Maia

  Tonight was incredible, but now I’ve got both feet planted firmly on the ground once again, the high doesn’t quite erase the memories. Darryn’s words are sweet, but to me they taste like bitter ash. He’s always been very kind to me, even when we first met and I didn’t trust him. I have no love or respect for doctors after Dr. Waugh obliterated both with his disturbed obsession.

  I never knew my parents. When they realized I was never going to grow up the way they wanted, they gave me away. I was adopted by Camden Waugh, a kind man and a doctor. He took me in and nurtured me. He told me I was his special, pretty little doll, and I felt cherished…I felt safe. He became my family, and I believed he loved me like a daughter. I couldn’t have been more wrong about his love, though, it was nothing more than an illusion.

  I remember once, when I was very young, he told me I reminded him of Thumbelina. I didn’t know then that he planned to turn me into his own real-life version of her. Spoiler alert: this is the reason why I have a pair of fucking wings surgically implanted into my back. He couldn’t just get me to strap on a pair of wings like a normal psychopath; no, they had to be the real fucking deal…he doped me up, strapped me down, and while I was fully conscious, he embedded them into my body.

  I wake up, slowly opening my eyes. The room is spinning and I feel sluggish. What’s going on? I’m lying face down, and I can’t seem to shift my position. I try to move my hands, but I can’t feel my arms. I can’t even flex my fingers, and a strange numbness makes my digits tingle. I’m cold.

  Somehow I manage to make my lips co-operate and silently mouth the words, “Help me.”

  After a few minutes, my vision begins to clear and a sense of awareness kicks in even though I’m still frozen in place. I realize I’ve been placed…no, I’ve been strapped to a gurney, similar to the kind used on patients who’ve had spinal injuries and have to stay rigid and completely still. Did I have an accident? Am I in the hospital? Dread settles in my stomach as I run through what led me here. The last thing I remember is having dinner with Camden. The wine was off, so maybe I fell ill. It doesn't explain the gurney, though.

  I spot a flash of white in the corner of my eye and let out a shallow sigh of relief. It’s Camden. As long as I’m with him, I’ll be fine. My body feels strange, heavy and numb, but I can’t figure out why. Am I paralyzed?

  “You’re awake.” Camden’s smooth low voice washes over me.

  He crouches in front of my face, observing me staring back at him while I bask in the safety his tone and presence always offer me.

  I blink at him, and moving my lips, I manage to rasp out a slurred, “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing to worry about, my little beauty,” he croons, and I smile blearily up at him, relaxing as much as my prone body will allow.

  My stomach begins to settle, and I feel at ease.

  He moves out of my line of sight, his movements precise and professional. At the moment, he’s not Camden, he’s Dr. Waugh. I let out a soft sigh, closing my eyes while I listen to the sound of him working. I feel a slight pressure on my back and try to crane my neck around to take a look, but I’m still frozen in place.

  “What’s happening?” I ask, wondering what he’s doing.

  “Nothing to worry about, Maia. Just a little procedure to help you later. It’ll all be fine. Try to stay still and relax, and it won’t hurt. The anesthetic will take care of the pain” he soothes, but his voice sounds off.

  Whatever he’s doing, this doesn’t seem right. I’ve never had any problems with my body or suffered any discomfort due to my size. Well, nothing beyond self-consciousness when people stare or assume I’m a young child. At sixteen I’m barely over three feet tall, but while I understand how people could assume I’m much younger, it doesn’t mean I like their comments or being called ‘little girl’.

  “Stop! What are you doing?” I cry out weakly when I see the
flash of steel in his hand.

  I nearly black out at the sound of my flesh parting beneath the scalpel, and I know the only thing keeping me from sinking into the blissful darkness of unconsciousness is the adrenaline coursing through me. While I pray silently for him to stop, all I’m thankful for, right now, is that whatever was in the shit he gave me has meant I can’t feel any of the pain. The pressure on my back doesn’t ease, and the unnerving numbness is my only savior in these terror-filled moments while he works on me. Eventually, he stops operating, and I hear him clear away his surgical instruments. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he meticulously washes his hands before he crosses the room, climbs the basement steps, and exits out the door.

  I’m left bound to this hellish gurney, helpless and immobile, for what feels like an eternity. Gradually, sensations begin to return to my body, and by the time Dr. Waugh steps down into the room again, a painful throbbing has started in my back. He has something in his hands, but I can’t quite fathom out what he’s carrying. He moves in front of me and lowers himself to meet my terrified stare. When I see the hollow darkness in his cold eyes, I’m struck silent with a fear beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before. He raises his hands, and with the reverence of a doctor handling a human organ, he reveals his precious cargo to me…wings. He’s holding a set of grotesque wings made from what looks like human bones and skin.

  “My little Thumbelina will soon come to life,” he whispers, a maniacal gleam flashing in his eyes as his lips twist up with a smile that bleeds insanity.

  He sets the wings down on a table and picks up his surgical tools. I’m in hell, and the devil is about to torture me with his implements of repair, tearing me apart instead of making me better. I finally find my voice, and when I do, I refuse to stop until my screams reach a deafening pitch, and I check out of reality.

  When I come back to my senses, I’m still lying on my front, but I’m no longer bound. My body feels heavy, and I know he’s given me a drug to numb the pain while my mind was absent. I attempt to tune out the sound of his voice as he insists upon relaying the entire process to me: how he’s carefully slicing open the skin of my back and inserting the pins and rods between my ribs in order to fix them to my skeleton.

  He tells me how he’s fashioned the pair of macabre, human wings just for me, using the bones, skin, tissue, and blood vessels from a donated body. Then he goes on to explain how he’s made them so they won’t dry out and rot while attached to my body. He’s achieved this by implementing a similar technique to the one employed when toes are surgically amputated and transplanted onto a hand to replace missing digits.

  When the pain meds finally begin to wear off, the acute agony I’m in is insurmountable. I can hardly move as a result. Dr. Waugh cradles my body to his, like a mother with a newborn, as he gently carries me up to my bedroom. Over the next few days, he pushes me to move when all I want is to die in my sleep. Every morning when I wake up, the tears start anew, falling because I have to live another cursed day with these things and with him. The extra weight on my body, focused solely on my back, makes walking almost impossible, so he has a special support bandage created for me to wear in order to help me move more easily.

  After weeks of slow healing and adjusting to the despicable act he performed on my body with this monstrous surgery, I finally gather up the courage to ask him if I could see them. To my surprise he happily obliges, and escorts me to his bedroom where there’s a full length mirror fitted to the wall. As I gaze at my reflection, I feel the vestiges of insanity threaten to sweep me away. A large part of me longs to sink into the madness, so I’ll no longer be subject to the mental anguish of knowing what he’s done and how I now look.

  “What have you done to me?!” I scream at him, twisting my body to get a better look at the horror he’s inflicted upon me.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he croons, stepping toward me.

  “No. No! You’ve ruined me. I’m a fucking monster! Look what you’ve done to me!” I shriek.

  Gritting my teeth, I grab hold of one of the disgusting appendages and attempt to rip it from my body. Ignoring the blinding pain shooting white-hot through my body, I tug until I feel the skin tearing under the pressure.

  “Stop!” he bellows, and rushing forward, he removes my hand and pins me against the mirror.

  I can feel the blood leaking from the damage I’ve inflicted and trickling down my bare legs. My back and these hideous wings he’s given me are pressed firmly against the cold glass and shooting sparks of pain surge through me.

  I stare at him, the man who cared for me, who I believed loved me, and who now has ruined me. I’d looked up to him as the only parent I’ve ever known, and he’d doted on me like I was his daughter. I don’t know who this man is anymore. I loved Camden, and I would have done anything for him, but he’s gone now, and in his place is a vile and insane monster.

  My tears fall freely, and my heart feels barren of anything other than pure and desolate loathing for him. He’s violated and brutalized me so thoroughly with what he’s done there’s barely enough of my heart and soul left for him to decimate further...until he lowers himself to my level, and sliding his large hands down my small body, he moves closer to kiss me, all the time whispering how much he loves me and how beautiful I am.

  I can hear the pride in his voice as he takes my innocence, and it makes my heart twist and stomach swirl rebelliously. I don’t feel honored or special that he chose to do this to me…I want to die.

  Six

  Camden

  I’ve been separated from my sweet Maia for far too long, and every day has dragged arduously by. Toward the end of her time with me, she was extremely unhappy, so I allowed her to escape. I permitted her to leave, hoping that when she returned to me she’d be full of the spirit she once had before it was crushed beneath the weight of her depression. I didn’t mean to lose track of her whereabouts, though. She ran, and never looking back, she dropped off the map.

  I’ve tracked down and stalked every possible place she could have hidden herself away. I have visited every Freak Show in the country, but until very recently, the Carnaval des Ténèbres had somehow eluded me. After eight long years of searching, I've located her, and imagine my pleasure to discover my beautiful Thumbelina has finally found joy in the wings I bestowed upon her.

  I was delighted when I saw her photo on the program. I stared hungrily at the picture of Maia, ‘The Human Fairy,’ drinking in her delicate features. Even though they were partially obscured by the Venetian mask she was wearing, I knew it was her. I’d recognize the soft curve of her jaw, her dainty lips I’ve sampled more than once, and the magnificent forest green of her eyes anywhere. Maia thought she could escape me, but I always knew I’d find her and bring her back home in the end. As soon as I saw her image on the program, I hopped in my car and drove through the night to Santa Monica, where her little band of freaks is currently residing, and booked into a hotel for the duration of my stay.

  Tonight, I’ll get to watch the show I’ve been longing to see, and I’ll be reunited with Maia, The Human Fairy…my Thumbelina. I spend the day wandering the city, but as it draws closer to the time the show is due to start, I return to my hotel room to get ready. I pull on a t-shirt, a plain gray hoodie, and a pair of black jeans. I need to blend in, so I’m hoping my nondescript clothing and the dim lights in the tent where she’s performing will be enough to disguise my appearance.

  The entire walk there, I soak in the sights and smells of the sand and seafront while following the promenade toward the year-round fun-fair on the pier. The sounds of delighted screams on the rides cut through the peaceful silence of the early evening as I move closer. Colored lights flash through the encroaching darkness, replacing the fading light as night prepares to settle in, and my heart starts to pound with anticipation. Soon I’ll be seeing Maia, laying my eyes on my beautiful creation.

  Thumbelina was just a character in a fairy story, but I brought her to life,
and she’s more heavenly than I ever could have imagined. There’ll never be another like her, no other young woman so breathtakingly perfect, not like Maia.

  I hand my ticket to the man at the entrance, and I can’t stop myself from eyeing him up and down, searching for what makes him a part of this carnival of freaks. Seeing nothing, I mentally shrug and move toward the back row. I’m one of the first to arrive, so I’m lucky enough to get my choice of seat. The tent gradually fills up with people; they’re all here to see The Human Fairy, to lay their unworthy eyes on her.

  The show is interesting, more so than I expected, with my particular favorites being Yager, The Man Who Can’t Feel, and Wren, the Dog-Man. I’d very much like to bring Wren home with me. I’m sure his strange mix of beast and man would make for some interesting insights. Is he more man, or more canine? My mind burns with questions. But I didn’t come here for him or any of the others in this sideshow of freaks, I came for Maia, and I’ll not leave until I’m satisfied.

  Her name is announced by the ringleader, whose horn in the center of his forehead only adds to his imposing presence. Soft notes from a piano trickle over the crowd, and I straighten in my seat as Maia’s favorite song reaches my ears. I’m so anxious to see her again that I can barely stop myself from interrupting her performance.

  Her proximity renders me unable to look away. Her grace and the way she moves so energetically without faltering takes my breath. In the eight years we’ve been apart, she’s accepted who she is and finally embraced her true nature.

  The next evening, I return once again to watch the show. Last night, I went back to my empty hotel room, and jerked off to fantasies of Maia moving on my cock as beautifully as she did through the air. Tonight, though, is going to end very differently. I have a plan, and I'm not going to fail. This time tomorrow, we’ll both be back in my home, and I’ll be able to show Maia exactly how much I’ve missed her.