The Place in Between

by Reverend Steven Rage

  “What do you think?” Del asked the demon.

  “Why not?” she replied and slid the plate over to him.

  Before he could chicken out, Del snorted up two lines, one up each nostril. He stood and sniffed. Del couldn’t see what the big whoopdie-fucking-do was.

  He slid it back across the table. He watched with amazement as the girl did four of the big fuckers without a twitch. And then she sat down and began chopping and lining up some more. The demon girl obviously had way more experience with blow than Del did.

  “Why don’t you go see Luci now,” the girl advised Del. “You know, take care of some unfinished and long overdue business.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll come back in a little bit, give you two some privacy first.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And then,” she said – chop chop chop – “we will end this.”

  Del looked at her. Now he was starting to feel his maiden coke rush voyage. The girl saw him looking at the coke. Without a word, she slid the plate back over to Del. He picked up the bill and snuffled up two more, much fatter, lines of cocaine.

  She don’t lie, she don’t lie, she don’t lie…

  Del stood and stroked his plastic jaw.

  “Yeah,” he said, “Hell, yeah.”

  “I’ve got a present for you,” the girl then informed Del. As soon as she said it, the gift materialized in his hand, right out of thin air.

  Very cool.

  “Yeah,” he said once more.

  Del straightened to his full height. With an invisible grin hidden beneath his man-made face, he made their way back to the bedroom. Del was going to pay Luci a visit.

  Del laughed to himself as he trudged down the hall. He heard Luci’s lighter clicking, getting her crack going. She was going to be surprised to see Del. He was looking forward to it. He heard her as she called out for Sancho to turn up the heat, wondering where he was. That sure made Del laugh. She’s not going to believe how close the pimp piece of shit truly is.

  The irony of the whole deal was scrumptious. Del couldn’t wait to see his wife again. He’d help her get warm. No worries. Before long she was going to be a nicely pleasant 37 degrees Celsius and a sopping wet one hundred percent relative humidity. Soon Luci would be shown her new home. And home is a completely homeostatic bottle. One that is fit for a bitch-cunt genie like her.

  It’ll be all cozy, baby. You’ll see.

  Luci had been keeping such bad company lately and doing hard drugs all the time. She’d been letting strangers fuck her in every orifice she had to offer while Sancho filmed it.

  He knew the pimp was selling it. Hell, the checks came to the house. She didn’t seem to know about Sancho’s enterprising little sideline. Or, if she did, she certainly didn’t seem to mind being whored out like that. It was disgusting. It was humiliating and wrong.

  Del couldn’t wait to see his wife. He couldn’t wait to straighten her bitch-ass out.

  Luci had a lot of explaining to do.

  Payback is going to be a son of a bitch. I shit you not.

  TEN

  Luci was dreaming, but she didn’t realize it.

  In her dream she was dragged helpless down a deep, dark tunnel. She was being taken to a place that was both horrible and permanent. Luci kicked and screamed, trying her damndest to resist. She had no clue as to the where, but she did know why. It was because of Del.

  It was all her fault. She allowed Sancho to torture him as he pleased; relentless and cruel. Luci never bothered to ask Sancho why he hated her husband so much, she just knew that he did. Torturing Del was almost an obsession with Sancho. She didn’t know why, but as stoned as Luci always kept herself, she could tell it was something intensely personal.

  In the end it didn’t matter to her anyway. Del was always such a boring, wet blanket. Her husband was completely unlike her Sancho. He kept her good and high and fucked her regular and very well. The big dick bastard was so good in the sack it was almost scary. The things he did to her were amazing! Luci came so many times, her pussy almost cramped up from contracting so hard. Her cunt hurt nearly all the time. It seemed as though Sancho could come litres of spooge on her. Where did it all come from?

  If she didn’t know better, she might have thought that Sancho was bringing other men into bed with them. It was crazy. Sometimes, when she was really twisted, she would think he grew multiple cocks, each one fucking her in all holes and from all sides.

  She vaguely recalled that happening at the big party they threw. A lot of people watched him service her with all that man-meat. Luci even imagined she was being filmed, that she was the star of a fuck-flick. There was no doubt about it, Sancho was a magic man!

  She fell hard for him.

  Luci grabbed at the hand that held onto her with an iron-tight grip. She’d never known Del to be like this. Rusty would have treated Luci this shamefully, she thought; but not Del. He was being so cruel. Del was roughly dragging Luci on the ground behind him. He pulled her as she was screaming, by her hair. His grip was rock solid. There was no chance of her squirming free. Still, she tried. They were making their painful, frightening way toward a solid iron door, down at the end of a long, swelling and contracting hallway. Putrid thick, charcoal colored mucous hung in globes above Luci as she was dragged by Del to the door. When they ripened fully, they dropped from the ceiling and fell on Luci. The mucous surrounded her legs. She could feel the intense pain as it enfolded her. It ate away at her flesh like acid. The door opened and a torture chamber of chains and hooks swung in merry circles. The half-dead corpses wriggled and moaned as they hung from the rusty hooks that were plunged yawning into their gray and bluing flesh. Del stopped before the Dungeon Master who stood with his immense arms folded across his chest. To Luci, the creature looked eight or ten feet tall and he smiled wicked and cruel at her. The Dungeon Master appeared to be constructed from the leftover parts that were obtained from the cutting room floor of a slaughterhouse. Blood and vile fluids dripped steadily from his mostly nude body. Nothing but a loin cloth covered his middle. His skin was rent in many places. His thick musculature was striated and visible. He had a dog’s snout with an exaggerated under bite. The horns on his head were gnarled and twisting and pointing every which way. Huge multi-headed carbuncles lined his thin-haired scalp. While he was staring at Luci, getting a nice erection poking like lipstick from his sheath, he popped them. One at a time, over and over, he’d squeeze them until they squirted yellow-green arcs of filth and blood and filled the palm of his hand. Using the mess as an organic lubricant, he began to pull on himself.

  The fear began to build inside of Luci, fast and sure now. It grew past the pain of being pulled by her long hair. Del let go of her hair and let her drop unforgiving to the floor.

  Luci pleaded, “No, Del! Please don’t leave me here! Take me back up with you. I’ll be good to you again, Baby! I swear!”

  “Fuck off, whore,” was all Del had to say.

  The Dungeon Master laughed. Del held out his hand to the huge monster. Payment for goods delivered was due. The Dungeon Master dropped some gold cubits into Del’s open palm.

  Looking down at Luci, Del said nothing to her. No goodbyes, no fare-thee-wells. Not one word. Instead, Del sucked back a big nose glob and spat it at her. It hit solidly and splattered like thick, warm pancake batter.

  Luci wiped the disgusting oyster from her face. She began to cry as Del showed her his back. He made his leave and the Dungeon Master reached down for her.

  “You are fresh, my lovely,” he said and quickly lifted her to her feet. He opened her mouth and stuck his foul mitt in her gob and probed her teeth. He pulled her tongue out, bending closer to enhance his inspection, before nearly ripping it out at the root. The tongue tore a bit at the base. Blood spurted out of her, crying more now. A flood of it laced down Luci’s chest. The torn tongue flopped about in her mushy, dribbling mouth. Luci’s cries and pleas for mercy, were now met with disdain by the Dungeon Master. The huge
foul hellion enforced his will with his fists. He beat her unmercifully and with glee and the greatest of delight. What fun. The Dungeon Master then mounted her. She cowed like a good subservient pit-whore should. She whimpered as he penetrated her. He fucked her with his cultivated dog cock. He moaned and pitched her profoundly; deeper and further, until she felt his dog-cock perforating something deep inside her. With growing trepidation, she looked on. Great glorious clumps of chunky blood gushed forth from between her spread legs. Scores of crying fetuses fell unimpeded from her sex, kicking and gasping for their first, last and dying breath. The miscarried babies struggled in the pool of Luci’s clotting menses, trying in vain to clutch at their mother’s feet, nursing futilely the tiny empty toe bones.

  “Oh, no…please god help me…,” Luci managed, the words barely escaping passed her blood filling, tongue flapping maw.

  “You will not use his name!” the Dungeon Master howled at Luci. He pulled out of her and turned her around. He seized her by her throat, shouting, “There is no god here, Sow. You are bought and paid for. You are nothing, Trench-whore. You are my slave,” he added before striking her repeatedly with both of his mammoth fists.

  It was poor, pitiful, pretty little Luci, now. She was pretty no more. Hearing her jaw crack, loud and wet, was the pitiful, powerless Luci’s last memory before she surrendered to the bitter darkness of her very own dreadful tale of woe. Only to awake to something much worse than just a mere bad dream…

  * * * * *

  A bad feeling crowded her heart like a squeezing fist. Luci was sitting straight up in bed. She was clutching the covers and bed sheets to her naked breasts. She was breathing heavily and her eyes were wide. The deep chill she’d felt when signing Rusty’s paper work clenched her taut like a frozen python. Her back began to spasm. It was horrible.

  Luci had woken from one fucked up dream. This surprised her in and of itself. She ate sleeping pills like candy and they all but washed away any dreams. This one felt so real and close to the surface. Even after she awoke, it was still right there with her. Luci’s head hurt and her mouth was desert dry. A bottle of sports drink – the cokehead’s favorite form of nourishment – sat on the night stand. She reached for it, twisting off the top and chugging most of it down. She belched and used the sheet to wipe her mouth. The dream was fading fast. Good. But the cold spasms remained.

  Run, Luci!

  Luci picked up her glass pipe and loaded a rock in the end. She clicked the lighter and touched the pipe with flame. Luci pulled in the thin wisps of smoke. She leaned back against the headboard and held it in. She stretched long, releasing the built up tension in her neck and back. She wondered where Sancho was. It’s cold in here.

  Save yourself! He’s coming!

  Luci called out for Sancho to turn up the fucking heat, but he didn’t answer. And then, as surreal as her realistically rotten nightmare had been, she saw him. Del stood in the doorway.

  “Hi honey,” Del told Luci. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  ELEVEN

  The demon girl sat at the table. She was snuffling up Sancho’s cocaine like a Hoover. The rush was peaking like a freight train off its rails. She started bouncing her heel off the carpet and humming sweet and gentle nonsense. She sniffed deep into her sinuses, treasuring the drip that was draining down the back of her throat. Her esophagus recoiled as the tissue swelling made it feel as though something was stuck down there. She did another line anyway. The demon girl put her head back and gently shook it from side to side, coaxing the cocaine to soak into her mucosa. This was getting fun. In various forms and incarnations throughout the millennia, the ancient demon had dallied with humans whenever he grew weary of his own kind. The Damned were so fucking boring. They were always bitching and bemoaning their eternal plight. Languishing in their own despair those fools failed to realize that satan has dominion over the Earth and its creatures. It takes a great deal of concentration and effort to consort on terra firma, and few of them ever tried. It was simply too much god damned work for them. It was much easier to wait for the damned to arrive and fuck with them then instead.

  Boring!

  Fuck that lame-ass shit. Those lazy bastards could have them. It was about as challenging messing with the new arrivals as it was to force-fuck a nymphomaniac with her knees pinned by her ears. Where’s the test in that?

  Fortunately for said demon, sightings and possessions were rare enough to be considered mere myths and he was certainly glad of that. It allowed him to move about the planet freely. Even so, it took him centuries of human time to become adept at playing with the Bright White Father’s favorite creations.

  There were, naturally, certain rules one must follow to avoid complications and confrontations with those strong enough to shit in the demon’s bowl of mead. After a few early and unfortunate encounters, the demon learned why the rules were the rules. They were written for a reason: you get your pee-pee slapped hard if you break them. It’s just not worth the irritation.

  Since then, the demon always sought to fly 50 feet below the radar, as Del’s Navy friends liked to say. It was very sound advice.

  The basic principle went something like this: unless you were given irrefutable permission from Upstairs, the pious were absolutely off-limits. Those that follow Downstairs are protected under the Dark Wing and can only be played with their own personally granted permission.

  That’s no fun at all. However – and this was what the demon lived for – all others that were on the spiritual sidelines were considered fair game. And this visage of a young girl; man, it was such a hoot. The demon couldn’t wait to see where it took him.

  She heard Del laugh and Luci scream. The demon girl bent to the plate and did just one more big, fat rail of blow. Then she rose with a smile and walked on down the hall. It was time for her to join the program.

  Apparently, it was already in progress.

  TWELVE

  I’m sorry, baby.

  Del came into the bedroom. He was wearing nothing but the filthy cotton house pants that Sancho and Luci kept him in. His head was full of coke and hate and his heart was full of pain. He stared at the woman who was staring right back at him with her mouth open in shock. He hated her so much. Mostly it was because he had loved her so much. His right hand held the demon’s gift. Del hid it behind his back.

  “Where’s Sancho?” Luci asked, pulling the bedding up to cover her shameful nakedness.

  Del could not believe it. There was no how are you standing, or I’m sorry, just where’s Sancho?

  “You don’t need to concern yourself with that derelict piece of pimp shit,” Del told her as he entered the bedroom. She cringed up against the headboard. “He’s nearby.”

  “Is he okay?” Luci asked with concern. “Is he hurt? Did you hurt him, Del?”

  Del considered that. “Good question,” he told her.

  I don’t know. Not really. He isn’t moving around much, though.

  “What did you do to him?” she asked and, “How are you able to walk?”

  Finally!

  “You should really start worrying more about what I’m going to do to you, to answer your first question,” Del replied. “As to your next question, never you fucking mind, you skanky whore.”

  Luci’s jaw dropped open when Del showed her the demon’s gift. He put the target loaded .45 to her temple. With his free hand Del pulled Luci off the bed by her hair. She landed on the floor with a satisfying thud.

  “Ow, Del,” Luci cried out. “Stop it, you’re hurting me.”

  “If you like that, just you wait, honey,” Del promised her. “I’m just getting warmed up. I can’t wait for you to see what I’ve got planned. You’re going to get a real kick out of it, Doll.”

  Del tugged his knotted urine catheter out of his penis. His bloated over loaded bladder released in a pressured spray of urine, blood and infection all over the front of Luci. She began to cry.

  “I want you to remove my shit bag,” he ordered. Whe
n Luci did not comply with Del’s wishes fast enough, he wiped the disgusted look off her face. Del smacked her a good one, using his heavy gun hand for emphasis. The blood that ran thick from her face made sure Luci had gotten the message. Still crying, but complying, Luci removed the colostomy bag from Del’s bloated belly. Shit splattered Del’s midsection as the back-up became unplugged. The smell was offensive.

  “Now douse yourself with it.” She looked to her husband with horror. Del pressed the gun into her eye socket. He wasn’t kidding around. “Do it,” he said.

  Luci took the full bag and anointed her crown with the foul perfume. The satanic baptism ran into her eyes, nose and her mouth. It made her projectile vomit the contents of her stomach. Much of the sports drink drenched Del’s middle.

  Del laughed uproariously and Luci screamed in disgust.

  * * * * *

  Rusty was hanging on Luci’s back. The ghost knew his step-daughter was in more trouble than she knew. If Luci thought it was bad enough what Del was doing to her, just wait until that dreadlocked little bitch came in. Then the whole house of cards was going to crumble.

  Oh, fuck, here she comes.

  The demon came into the bedroom. She was sniffing back the coke and she was smiling, pleased. Del noticed her, but Luci didn’t. She was too far gone now to care. Her tears were mixing with the feces and vomit that covered her like a confirmation gown. The curdled, multi-hued mess ran lava-slow until it curled around Luci’s knees. The demon girl smiled grandly at Luci’s speedy capitulation.

  Maybe, if I plead with her.

  The demon saw the ghost that had Luci wrapped in a death-grip. Now that’s interesting, she thought, not a problem. But worth noting. The demon hadn’t seen Rusty since Vietnam, almost twenty years ago.