Succubi

by Edward Lee

  “Well, that’s still pretty much the case, not many children at all, especially Melanie and Rena’s age group. Lockwood’s pretty remote, but I like it better that way. It’s safer. It’s more real, don’t you think?”

  Ann shrugged. She remembered how bored she’d been in Lockwood as a child. It must be even worse for an adult. Now that she thought of it, she didn’t remember seeing many kids of any age around town, and not many established men. “What do you do for fun around here?”

  “Lockwood may seem like the sticks to you, but actually, there’s a lot for a single woman to do.”

  Ann recalled Milly’s rather militant statements about her social life, about men.

  “It’s just that Lockwood is so different for you,” Milly went on. “If you’d lived here your whole life, you’d feel different. You’re talking about sex, right?”

  The spontaneity of the question surprised her. But she supposed that’s what she meant all along. “I was just curious, that’s all. Your romantic life is none of my business.”

  “You can say it,” Milly offered. “I’m no prude. You want to know how a woman in a town like Lockwood finds sexual satisfaction.”

  “Really, Milly, I didn’t mean—”

  “We’re not that remote, you know. There are men in town, mostly transients, come here to work. It’s out there, it’s easy enough to find if you look.”

  This was getting embarrassing. Then Milly added, “But you don’t have to worry about that yourself. You have a man”

  Jesus, did everyone around here regard men as property, as prizes? Was that what love was when you got right down to it? Territorial? Nevertheless, now that they’d broken the ice, Ann couldn’t resist asking: “Tell me about Maedeen.”

  Milly offered a huge grin. “Let me guess. You and Martin met Maedeen recently, and now you’re jealous.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say jealous. She just seems—”

  “A little forward? Well, don’t worry. That’s just the way she is. She’s outgoing, friendly. She likes everybody and everybody likes her. Your mother gave her the store when the old man died. She’s done a wonderful job.”

  Is that how I seem? Ann wondered. A jealous city priss?

  “She and I go out sometimes. We have a wild time.”

  But what could Milly mean? There were no dance clubs or night spots in Lockwood. Where did they have a wild time around here?

  “A woman’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.” Milly pushed her hair back and laughed. But, “Oh, damn,” she said next. She rummaged through the medical bag. “It’s time for your father’s B-12 shot. I don’t have any left. Would you mind running to my house and getting me some? It’s just a short walk. I don’t want to leave your father alone between IVs.”

  “Sure,” Ann said. Actually, it would be a relief. She liked Milly, but her straightforwardness sometimes got too nettling. Milly gave her instructions for what to get and where. When Ann went back downstairs, she noticed her mother and friends still chatting over the photo albums. Her mother looked up suddenly, frowned, then looked back down. She scarcely even spoke to Ann anymore. I’m the prodigal daughter all right, she thought again. Ann wondered if there was anything she could ever do to win her mother’s approval.

  Forget it, she dismissed. Ann cut through the town square to Milly’s house. The town looked idle as usual. Several old men sat on the porch of Maedeen’s general store, bantering and chewing tobacco. A dog lazed in the sun. Not a single car could be seen. Ann felt obstinate; she was always too quick to criticize. Lockwood, however idle, had something the city never had. Peace. But suddenly the thought waned. At the end of the square, she saw the church, its great front door and stained-glass windows staring at her like a looming face.

  Milly lived in a little one floor house on Bathory Street. Quaint little shrubs out front. A quaint little yard. It seemed honest somehow. No luxuries, just an honest little house. Milly hadn’t given her the keys; there was no need. No one in Lockwood locked their doors. Inside was just as honest. Sparse but clean. Old but well kept furniture. A bowl of potpourri filled the living room with pleasant herbal scents. Milly had said the B-12 was in the kitchen, above the refrigerator. Ann went down the short hall, but stopped. She thought she heard something…

  It sounded like a humming noise, ever faint. But she heard something else enlaced with it. From down the hall.

  Was it Rena, Milly’s daughter? The noise bothered Ann. She hesitated, then advanced. The hall was dim. The carpet left her footfalls silent. To the left, a door stood half open.

  Ann peeked in.

  A bedroom, sparse but comfortable like the rest of the house. The decor, however—bright curtains, brightly painted furniture—couldn’t possibly be an adult’s. It must be Rena’s room.

  But what was that humming noise?

  She looked in further. Sunlight slanted in, and movement caught her eye. White movement in the glare of sun. What the… Ann blinked, staring. The soft, faint hum persisted.

  She gulped when she realized what she was seeing.

  A figure squirmed on the little, neat bed. Bright white skin in the glare. It was Rena. Naked. Her back arching. Moans and hot breath escaped her throat. At first Ann thought the girl must be convulsing from some illness. But another moment’s staring showed her that it was not discomfort which sent Rena’s young body into clenching spasms. It was ecstasy.

  The hum persisted, wavering. Ann noted its source.

  Milly’s daughter manipulated a shiny white vibrator between her legs. The vibrator was huge. Tendons strained at the apex of the girl’s legs as she wielded the device with both hands. The girl’s breasts were tiny on her heaving chest. Her stomach sucked in and out; her toes dug in the sheets. The giant vibrator’s volume rose and fell each time it was inserted and withdrawn. The size of the thing, compared to Rena’s tiny sex, made Ann visibly tremor.

  Rena continued to writhe, drawing the device slowly in and out. The sensations contorted her face. Melding murmurs of words escaped her lips.

  “Doefolmon, bludmon, all the dothers give lof…”

  Each time the humming device plunged, Ann thought she could feel it herself. This disgusted her. Immediately, she felt compelled to barge into the room, to stop this.

  But would that really be within her rights? This was another woman’s daughter. What right did Ann have to discipline Milly’s child? And what would she say anyway?

  “Give lof, give lof, I give lof…”

  Lof? Ann thought. What were these words she was muttering? The vibrator hummed. Rena moaned then, her eyes rolling back in her head, when she next pushed the vibrator so deeply into herself that only the end showed. Ann grew faint.

  She retreated back down the hall, not making herself known. Quickly, quietly, she found the vial of O’Neal 50mcg B-12. As she left the house, she could still hear the vibrator’s steady hum and Rena’s anguished voice: “Doefolmon, doefolmon…”

  Ann walked briskly away from the house. God! Was she being unrealistic? She didn’t care that it was none of her business, nor did she care how sexually liberal the times had become. Fifteen year olds are not supposed to be masturbating with vibrators, she felt convinced. Did Milly know what her daughter was doing when she was out? The walk back through the town square cooled her down. True, it was none of her business, yet one point wouldn’t let go. This was the same girl who had become friends with Melanie. Ann didn’t want to contemplate her reaction if she ever caught Melanie doing the same thing.

  And what were those bizarre words Rena had been muttering?

  Ann decided to let it pass. Mentioning it to Milly might cause a misgiving, not to mention embarrassment. What could she possibly say? Hey, Milly, I saw your kid masturbating with a vibrator the size of an ear of corn. No, she couldn’t say that. Let Milly worry about her kid herself, she settled.

  Pickman Avenue remained as idle as before. The big steepled church reflected bright white in the sun. Ann crossed at the walk, then
stopped. A car was pulling away from Nale’s, the general store.

  Ann stood in the street, staring back.

  It was a blue Mustang GT. My car, she realized.

  Though she couldn’t be positive, there appeared to be two people riding in it. The one on the left appeared to be Martin.

  The one on the right appeared to be Maedeen.

  «« — »»

  The glass tube measured eight inches in length, three eighths of an inch wide. The dother liberally lubricated it with petroleum jelly. She paused, grinning. Then she began to slide the tube into the tiny hole at the end of Zack’s penis.

  “Do it slowly, dear,” advised the wifford. “We don’t want it to break…yet.”

  Terror gushed in Zack’s mind. The two wreccans had tied him down to the table with thick hemp. One of the wreccans was new, the other was the brëowor. They stood aside now, behind Maedeen and Wendlyn. Zack fought against his restraints, but only abraded himself for his efforts. They’re sticking a glass tube up my cock, came the base fact in thought. And they’re going to break it. This was his punishment.

  “You were going to fuck her, weren’t you?” asked Maedeen, the wifford. Her voice was as stony and cold as her face.

  “No,” Zack groaned. “I swear. We made out a little, that’s all. I wasn’t gonna do anything more.”

  “No?”

  “I swear!”

  “He’s lying, Mom,” remarked Wendlyn, the dother. She held his flaccid penis gently in one hand, and the end of the glass tube with the other. Very slowly, she slid the tube in another inch.

  “Please,” Zack’s voice tremored.

  The wifford crossed her arms, appraising him. “If you had fucked her, you would’ve tainted her. You would’ve tainted the holy fulluht, ruined it.”

  “But I didn’t!” Zack shouted. “I didn’t!”

  “He would’ve, Mom. He’s a pig. He’s a peow.”

  “I know, dear.”

  Zack felt the hemp burn his wrists as he squirmed.

  “Nis woh fo gast be mek a peow?” said the wifford. “Give lof, no? Be folclagu, ur godspellere, iesprece.”

  “We should do it, Mom,” the dother persuaded.

  “Voelian thus wer, thus peow?”

  “Please,” Zack groaned. “I would never disgrace you in the eyes of—”

  “Shut your mouth!” the wifford exploded. “Never, never, speak her name, you unworthy piece of shit! Never!”

  Zack shuddered, but he better not shudder much, or else he might break the tube himself. The other two wreccans seemed to strain against an inner anguish but remained out of the way. They wouldn’t help, Zack knew. They couldn’t.

  Now the wifford smiled. Her gaze moved from Zack’s face to his genitals. The dother pushed the tube in another inch.

  “Aw, Mom, let me do it.”

  “Well…”

  “Mom, pleeeeeease?”

  Zack’s body felt coursing with high tension current. The young dother licked her lips in steady concentration as she deftly slid the glass tube still deeper into his urethra.

  “You’ve been a bad boy, Zack. But this will make you good.”

  Zack’s terror made him feel stretched over a bed of nails. He fought not to shake. The tube had now been inserted over four inches into his penis.

  “Zackie, Zackie,” chanted the dother. She was swaying the tube back and forth and spinning it between her fingers. “Can I break it now, Mom? Can I?”

  “Put it in a little deeper first, dear.”

  The dother did so. How much further could the tube go?

  “Please, please don’t,” Zack murmured.

  “Now, Mom?”

  “All right, dear, but let’s make it suspenseful. On the count of three, break the tube.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah, Mom.”

  Sweat popped out of Zack’s brow. Every joint in his body felt fused.

  “One,” said the wifford.

  Zack’s teeth ground.

  “Zackie, Zackie,” sang the dother.

  “Two.”

  Aw no holy Christ please…

  “Two and a half…”

  Zack could feel the tube embedded down the entire length of his limp penis…

  “Three!” shouted the wifford.

  Zack screamed.

  Laughter raced ’round the room like mad animals. In one quick movement, the dother—

  Nooooooooooooooo!

  —withdrew the tube without breaking it.

  Zack turned to putty. The wreccans cut his bonds and pushed him off the table. Zack, wheezing, fumbled to pull up his pants.

  “Thank you thank you,” he gibbered.

  They were walking away, but the wifford turned at the door. “Melanie is special,” she said. “Very special. Remember that, or next time we’ll break that tube into so many pieces you’ll be pissing glass for a year.”

  —

  Chapter 20

  Ann waited up late. What would she say? And could she be sure that it was Maedeen she’d seen in the car with Martin? But she didn’t worry about such reasonable considerations. Ann was mad, and she let her anger sit up with her.

  Furthermore, Melanie hadn’t come home yet either, which made Ann madder. The grandfather clock in the foyer ticked past 10 pm. Where could she be at this hour? What was she doing?

  That afternoon she brought the B-12 to Milly and hadn’t mentioned what she’d witnessed Rena doing on the bed, as she’d previously decided. By then she was too mad to care anyway.

  She couldn’t imagine Martin’s fascination with Maedeen. The little scrub. Ann had seen how Martin was looking at her the time they went to the store, and was well aware of her tendency to misinterpret certain things. Was she just being paranoid?

  I’d still like to drag her little ass down the street.

  She sat in the quiet library off the foyer. The silence and dim lamplight made her feel watched. Earlier her mother had been seen going down to the basement with the photo albums. She’d unlocked the basement door, entered and exited, then locked the door and headed back upstairs. She’d said nothing to Ann as she’d crossed the landing, which was typical. But why lock the basement door?

  Again, at this moment, Ann didn’t care. All she could think about was how bad she was going to grill Martin’s ass when he had the nerve to come home.

  She thought she’d pass time watching TV, then remembered her mother didn’t approve of television. There were no TVs, in other words, in the house. She hadn’t noticed one in Milly’s house either. Did Lockwood consider anything modern to be a corrupt influence? She wandered about the quiet house, each journey bringing her back to the front window where she’d peek outside to see if the car was in the driveway yet. But what was she really thinking? That Martin and Maedeen had something going? Even Ann knew that was ridiculous. She just didn’t like Maedeen, for her own womanly reasons, and she didn’t care what Milly said. Sometimes a woman could just tell, could sense a woman who was trouble. The little flirt, she dismissed. Silly earth-mother-looking hippie. And Martin didn’t have to be so quick to assert that Maedeen was “nice.” I’ll show her nice, Ann mused. Maybe I’ll shove one of her homemade ice cream cones up her scrawny ass. See how nice she is then.

  By 11 pm, Martin and Melanie still had not returned. Ann’s mother had long since gone to bed. Bored now in her anger, Ann went upstairs to talk to Milly but instead found Dr. Heyd in her father’s room.

  “Ah, hello, Ann. You’re up late, aren’t you?”

  “I’m waiting for Martin. He went out a while ago.”

  Dr. Heyd made some nameless adjustment to the cardiac monitor. “I think I saw him going into the Crossroads earlier. I understand he’s getting along well with some of Lockwood’s men.”

  And some of Lockwood’s women too. But was that where he was? At the bar? “He mentioned some of them yesterday,” she said.

  “Fine fellows, all of them. If you’re looking for Mil
ly, she’s asleep in the next room right now. The poor girl hasn’t gotten much rest these past few days. I sent her to bed. I’ll be looking after your father tonight myself.”

  The monitor beeped on. Her father looked pallid as a wax dummy in the bed.

  “But would you watch him a few minutes?” Dr. Heyd asked. He wore baggy slacks and suspenders, his bald pate shining. “I’d like to go down and fix myself a sandwich.”

  “Sure,” Ann said.

  Dr. Heyd left her to her own unease. She didn’t like to look at her father, because her mind could not associate the vision she had of him with the sunken form in the bed. She sat down and flipped through one of Milly’s romance novels. A random page revealed a rather explicit sex scene. She remembered when romance fiction was innocuously tame. Not anymore, she thought now. Nothing is. She hadn’t read a complete novel herself, though, in years.

  Milly’s purse lay opened on the floor, and inside a large woman’s wallet hung similarly open. Ann noticed pictures. What was the harm? She took the wallet out and looked through it. No credit cards or the like, of course not. But there were several snapshots in the string of clear plastic envelopes, all either of Rena at different ages, or Rena and Milly smiling together. Ann looked closely at one school portrait of Rena, probably at around age six. The picture made Ann clench. It was almost impossible to believe that the adorable little girl in this snapshot was the same girl she’d seen today masturbating with a vibrator.

  Toward the end were some baby pictures, even more adorable. But the last picture caused her to stare.

  A baby, days old, lying atop a quilt. But the tiny pudenda left no doubt. It was a baby boy.

  Milly had never referred to a son. Ann immediately feared why that might be. Did the baby die?

  She put the wallet back in the purse. What an awful thing. She could be wrong, of course, but why else would Milly have never mentioned a son? Or perhaps it was a relative’s child.

  Ann glanced up. The beeps of the heart monitor seemed to change their rhythm a moment, then increase in pitch. Ann was about to call for Dr. Heyd, but her gaze was quickly overwhelmed.