by James Crow
Bob propped himself on one elbow and, swallowing a few sequins in the process, did as asked. Carol squirmed and gasped and used her hands to pull him tighter as he sucked. After a while he came up for air and showed Carol his artwork. Purple flower petals surrounded her nipple. ‘How’s that?’
‘Fucking amazing! It throbs like crazy and my cunt’s on fire. Do the other one.’
Bob did and Carol squirmed some more.
When he’d finished, she hunched to the edge of the bed and examined herself in the wall mirror. ‘Two perfect purple flowers.’
‘You like?’
‘Like? I want more, Bobby. Lie down. Head on the pillow. Get yourself comfy.’
Bob puffed the pillows, got himself comfy. Carol stood up on the bed, and with her back against the wall and her hands gripping the headboard, lowered herself onto his face. ‘Same again, Bobby. Hard as you can.’ She pressed her cunt against his teeth and brought his hands up to her breasts. ‘Suck, Bobby, suck!’
Bobby could barely breathe but he sucked so hard he tasted the tang of blood. Carol groaned, fell forward, took him into her mouth, and her ferocious sucking matched his until soon he was coming and she followed suit, a quivering wet mess. She collapsed onto the bed at his side, her head coming to rest by his thigh. She kissed his damp skin and ran her fingernails down it. ‘I love you, Bobby.’
Bob didn’t get chance to respond. Despite the buzz, despite the feeling of muscle-packed power, Bob screamed as blue-hot pain seared through his thigh. He saw his body jumping from the bed and the blood running down his leg. On the bed, Carol had something in her mouth. She pushed it out with her tongue and a scrap of bloodied flesh hit the sheets. She grinned, his blood on her teeth. A small hole in his thigh nipped at him like a little mouth. He clamped a hand to it. ‘Jesus fucking Christ.’
The purple flowers on her breasts glistened with sweaty sequins. ‘Can you feel it, Bobby?’ She smiled a bloody smile.
‘Feel it? What the fuck did you do?’
‘Got a taste for it, Bobby, that’s what the fuck I did.’
‘A taste?’
Carol nodded. ‘It’s your turn.’
5
Through the door at the bottom of the steps is what appears to be a large storeroom. The curly black wheelchair is very dusty. Naked Elizabeth is stroking lines in the dust on the armrest.
‘I do love that chair,’ the wood spirit says.
‘One of your favourite ornaments,’ Beth utters words she hadn’t thought of. The wood spirit looks pleased.
‘Yes, it is, Bethy.’
A number of strange tools adorn the walls of this room: twisted black metal in all shapes and sizes. Master and Elizabeth touch each tool in turn, some they stroke with what might be affection. They move off through another door and Beth immediately recognises the workroom from the smell of meat and sawdust.
Master and Elizabeth walk around the benches admiring and stroking the stuffed birds. They stop at a colourful parrot. It’s yellow and blue, its head is tilted back and its beak is wide open.
‘Oh, the poor parrot,’ Beth says.
‘The very last thing I stuffed. Master said it probably escaped from someone’s home.’
‘How did you catch it?’
‘Same way I caught all the others . . . with a box and a stick and a piece of string and some crumbs for bait.’
‘And then?’
Elizabeth looks at her. ‘A dab of Master’s bottle onto cloth and the bird dies. Gut it, scrape it out, dry it, stuff it. It’s easy, once you know how.’
Master and Elizabeth move to the back of the room. Beth knows what’s back there, in the shadows. She doesn’t want to look but the wood spirit pulls her along by the hand.
‘Don’t fret, Bethy, the egg thief died long before this day. Master always had someone new to play with.’
Master and Elizabeth, with their backs to Beth and the wood spirit, appear to be stroking something – someone. A thought comes to Beth – a thought she runs through quickly and tries to cover up with images of the yellow and blue parrot – that perhaps, if she reaches out and touches Master, or Elizabeth, or even both of them at the same time, she might upset the memory and somehow enable an escape opportunity.
‘We can’t meld just yet,’ says the wood spirit. ‘Please watch and appreciate.’ She tugs Beth to one side and now she sees what they’re stroking. The girl is young, ten or eleven. She has no arms or legs, just blackened stumps. Her chubby body is roped to a chair. She has tiny slanted eyes and short black hair and her mouth opens and closes but no words come out.
‘Master found her wandering the valley. She must have strayed from a group. Never spoke a word. Master said she was a freak of nature.’
Beth’s heart is beating loud once again. She hopes they move on soon.
‘Despite her not speaking, I did get a feeling about her, as if she knew how fortunate she was.’
Beth doesn’t get that feeling at all, the poor girl looks horrified and shocked all in one. ‘I need the toilet,’ she lies, to cover her thoughts.
The wood spirit giggles. ‘You can’t toilet in a memory, Bethy.’
‘Of course not. Sorry.’
Master and Elizabeth leave the room; Master’s arm is across Elizabeth’s bare shoulders. The wood spirit places her arm across Beth’s shoulders and they follow up some steps. The door at the top opens to the black and white tiled hallway, where the stained glass paints a pretty picture on the naked pair as they head up a curved staircase.
Now they’re in Master’s bedroom. The bed is one of those with posts and a roof and purple curtains hanging around it, and the furniture is old and dusty. The naked pair walk around the room, making marks in the dust and stroking the oddest of things – an old cracked saucer and a stuffed badger that looks flea-ridden. This room smells of men – of sweat.
Master opens a door on the other side of the bed and there’s the bath with the lion head feet and the grimy black and green tiles on the floor.
The wood spirit pulls Beth forward. ‘Master’s about to bathe me for the very last time, which means it’s time to meld, Bethy. We are so fortunate, don’t you think?’ The wood spirit’s eyes are bright.
‘We are,’ Beth says. But what she really thinks is she needs to escape, make a run for it, and as quickly as possible. Then she thinks: there’s no present like the time, and realises she’s mixed the words up but they sound good anyway. Did she do that on a purpose to fox the wood spirit?
‘Fox me?’ The wood spirit seizes Beth’s hand.
6
Pete almost loses it on the way down the hill to cabin 1. Sasha’s hugeness, the added fur coat and her bulky bag hanging over one bulky arm, does not easily navigate the hill’s thinly-cut steps with only torchlight to show the way. He imagines taking the craft knife from his pocket, slitting her throat and watching her tumble all the way to the bottom. But he needs her alive before he can kill her. Pete laughs at this.
‘It’s not funny,’ Sasha says. ‘More bloody steps.’ She grips his arm awkwardly and almost pulls him over. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to get back up.’
Don’t fucking worry, you won’t be going back up Pete almost says aloud, then wonders how the fuck he’ll get her down the pit without first chopping her into manageable pieces. ‘Gotta own you, first.’
‘What?’
Sasha’s feet begin to slide. Pete’s reactions are slick, he steadies her. ‘I’ve got you.’
Sasha blows out a breath that fogs the night air and stinks of cheese. ‘Own me?’
Pete nods her on, flashes the torchlight ahead. ‘Aye. I felt a spot of rain, get a move on.’
Sasha moves on.
At cabin 1’s door, she takes his face in her hands and kisses him on the lips. Pete returns the cheesy kiss for as few seconds as possible. Hands on her shoulders, he eases her away. ‘I want you,’ he says and Sasha giggles. He pushes her inside, follows her in, closes the door and slides the bolt home before flic
king the light on.
Sasha’s squeal of delight makes him want to slice her tongue out. She gushes about him being prepared, strokes the bed, the pillows, strokes the foot-scoops and closes and opens the Velcro straps over and over before opening a whisky bottle along with a can of lager and chasing one down with the other. She opens a bag of nuts and munches on a mouthful while removing her coat.
‘Gonna tie me up, Petey?’ she throws her coat on the chair and strokes the scoops again.
Pete’s thinking of his quad bike. Once she’s his, he can fetch the tarp and the quad and transport her to the pit that way. He’ll also need the chainsaw, of course. Thirty seconds and she’ll be in pieces.
‘Pete?’
‘Aye?’
‘Is that what you meant by own me, tie me up? I like a bit of pain. Did I tell you that?’ She takes a long swig of whisky.
‘Pain?’
She comes to him, places her hands on his chest. ‘Pain. I’ve got scars on my arse from where Daddy canes me. Want to scar me, Pete? I want you to scar me.’ She takes hold of the zipper on his jacket and slides it halfway down.
Pete grabs her hand. ‘I’m going to own you. You will be mine.’
Sasha flutters false eyelashes. ‘I’m already yours, hon.’
He grabs her by the throat. ‘No, you stupid freak. Your will. You will give it to me.’ He pushes her to the bed and makes for the door. ‘I’ll be five minutes. Get your will ready.’
‘Is this that role-play shit? I know I said I’d do anything, but I don’t really do that, hon. Role-play’s for hippies and geeks.’
Pete frees the bolt. ‘Five minutes.’
‘We only just got here, where the fuck you going?’
‘I forgot to lock reception.’
‘Nobody’s going to call this time of night.’
‘You did.’
The bitch tuts at him. Pete feels his lip curl as he opens the door.
‘Don’t be long, Pete. I’ve got a lovely surprise for you,’ she says as he steps outside.
‘Aye, me too.’
Pete pulls the door to and sets off on the path towards the hill. He walks a few feet past the cabin and looks back to ensure Sasha isn’t curtain-twitching. She isn’t. He can hear her singing some god-awful shit. A spot of rain pricks his nose. It’ll be light soon enough. He needs to get a move on. He skirts round the back of the cabin and onto the deer trail, moving swiftly through the undergrowth, past cabin 2, then 3, then he’s at cabin 4, where the writer woman will be fast asleep. Slowly now, he creeps through the trees and to the cabin’s side, where the writer woman’s car is parked. He pulls the knife from his pocket, notices there’s a light on in the bedroom. He goes to the window but can’t find a chink to look in. He closes his eyes and listens. Not a sound.
Back at the car he slides the blade into the rear offside tyre, pulls it out slowly. There’s a quiet hiss. Not enough to wake the bitch. Front tyre, same quiet hiss. He straightens up, decides to use the main path to return to Sasha. He steps out of the darkness at the side of the cabin and towards the path, but stops dead when he notices the cabin’s front door is wide open. Without a sound he’s at the bottom of the porch steps and looking through the open doorway. At the rear of the living area the bedroom door is open. The bedside lamp is on. The woman with no tits is curled up asleep. She’s wearing a dressing gown.
Pete feels a twitch in his pants. Another gift. Take her here? Tempting but no. Take her back to Sasha and double the fun? No. Why not take her here? Need the scoops . . . got to be stretched to be split. What? Split, Pete. Own the fucker. Mine? Yes. Their will, Pete. Will? Own it. Own it? Own it. She’s weak, easy. Weak. Yes. Your slave. My slave. You are Supreme. I am? You are. Take her now, Pete.
Whispers lick at Pete’s ears and tingles flourish in his balls.
Now, Pete. She’s yours. Easy. Easy? Easy.
This is fortunate. Maybe she hoped he would pass by and left the door open as an invitation. He knew from the moment they met that she wanted him. She’s probably naked beneath the dressing gown, all ready for action. Yes, he would give her a nice surprise, whip her dressing gown open and spread her legs before she even wakes up. With his dick straining in his pants, Pete lifts a foot to the first step. A flutter above his head makes him stop and look up. A crow on the guttering, big bastard, head cocked, black eye staring at him. Pete feels his lip curl. The crow lifts its head and caws. And caws. And caws.
The woman on the bed stirs. Pete darts to the side and slips back to the deer trail.
7
‘Wait!’ Beth tugs her hands from the wood spirit’s grip. ‘What if she – you – sense us, won’t it spoil your final day?’
The wood spirit’s eyes narrow, only slightly.
‘We might start off one of those loop things and ruin everything,’ Beth explains.
‘You know,’ the wood spirit’s shoulders drop, ‘you may have a point. But I so wanted to be bathed again. Being bathed by Master’s hands is just so . . . so divine.’ She looks like she might cry.
A lightbulb pings in Beth’s head. ‘You still can! You can meld, and I’ll watch from outside.’
The naked Elizabeth steps into the bath and a smile grows on the wood spirit’s lips. ‘I would barely sense myself, you’re right, Bethy. If anything, I’ll be invigorated by my very presence. Perhaps you’re not so dumb, after all.’
In her mind, Beth sees her pink rucksack at the bottom of the steps, and the morning light from outside shines down on it. She quickly replaces the image with that of a giant mushroom. Unfortunately the suited puppet is sitting crosslegged on top of it.
‘Are you sure you don’t feel sick?’
Beth swallows. ‘I’m good. Top dog!’ She’s no idea where that came from.
‘Top dog?’
Beth nods. ‘Top banana!’ Or that.
‘I can hear your heart again, Bethy.’
‘You can?’ Beth can feel it behind her breast. ‘I’m excited, yes. I’m fortunate.’
‘Bethany.’ The wood spirit grabs Beth by the wrists and grips them tightly. ‘You are not fortunate. You are so fortunate. You must get it right.’
‘That hurts!’
‘Say it! I am so fortunate!’
‘I am so fortunate. I knew that.’
‘Or maybe you’re a liar?’
‘You’re hurting me.’
‘Cry if you want, retard. I think you’re a liar. I believed you might be the perfect child but you’re no better than all the rest. Just a stinking rotten common liar.’
Beth blinks back tears. ‘I never lie. Never ever.’
‘An actor, then. Full of pretend.’
‘Please stop.’
‘You’ve upset me.’ The wood spirit glances behind at Master sponging her memory-self down. ‘I’m not missing this, and neither are you!’
Beth’s pulled into a bony embrace. The wood spirit’s face shrivels, and flaking lips are touching hers. Beth tries to pull away, but the wood spirit pulls back and falls through the side of the bathtub, taking Beth with her.
Beth thinks she might be on her way to Heaven. She’s drifting in a soft warm mist. Birds chirrup, a stream gurgles, and there’s a feeling of floaty happiness that Beth really, really likes. A feeling so nice it needs a new word like super-cooly-dooly. No. Uber. Yes. Uber-cooly-dooly. Or even uber-dooly-dooly-wooly. Giggles now. She can’t stop them.
But the wood spirit’s voice does. ‘Snap out of it, freak!’ The mist shrinks away and the word freak writes itself again and again on the walls. The wood spirit takes her hand and gives her a shake. ‘You need to pay absolute attention. Can you manage that, retard?’
Beth nods.
Blue sky paints the roof of this stuffy little dome. There’s even a hazy sun. Beth feels its warmth. The curved wall is made up of patches of greens in various shades, and dozens of tiny wooden pegs poke out from the wall like branches. On each peg sits a sparrow, tied with string to a leg, and each sparrow chirrups and cheep
s.
Outside the two circular windows a sudden waterfall is followed by gurgling beneath their feet. When the windows clear, the mouth below sends the water back out in a spurt. This might have been amusing if it wasn’t for Master’s touch. Right now Beth feels a warm sponge on her legs, feels water trickle down them. She looks down, but of course there’s nothing there, only painted grass beneath her feet.
‘Sheer paradise . . .’ the wood spirit sighs. ‘Can you feel it, Bethany?’
‘Yes. Yes I can.’
The noise from the sparrows rises and falls, rises and falls. Beth feels . . .
‘Bethany?’
‘Yes.’
‘It gets better. Master gives me drugs soon.’
Drugs? ‘Drugs?’
‘Drugs to numb the pain.’
Pain? ‘What pain?’
‘Horse powders. Master says they put horses to sleep but send humans to a higher plane, where there is no pain.’
‘Plane?’ Beth recalls the long flight to Florida and the kid that never stopped crying the whole time and the man who shouted to the mother asking her to shut her bloody kid up. But the mother shouted back that she couldn’t, because her bloody kid was disabled. The soft sponge touches to Beth’s stomach and invisible water oozes warmly from it.
‘Bethy?’
Sparrows. Noise. Not music, just noise.
Bethy?
The cheeps become shrieks and join the pounding pulse in her ears and the feeling of falling comes easy, a swoon, a thump into dewy grass, a hazy sun in the sky above.
Bethy?
8
Rose knows it’s a dream. Lucid? Is that what you call it? She’s never had a lucid dream, not that she can remember.
She can smell the sharp scent of the pine trees that surround her. Can one experience the sense of smell in a dream? She feels she should know this place, but the darkness isn’t helping. An ache in the wrist. Rubbing her copper bangle eases the ache. A gust of wind, flecks of cold rain. ‘Great,’ she says as the rain starts to hit her. ‘A wet dream,’ she laughs and her laugh echoes round her head. She tightens her dressing gown, hugs herself. A feeling of being watched now. Below the soft sighing wind another soft sound, a rustle of undergrowth. Rose realises she’s moving, taking backward steps. Someone behind? A presence, a breath on her neck, a whisper in her ear. She bumps into . . . spins round . . . a silver birch. The silver birch. Whittle’s cabin is on fire. The flames warm her face. That sound again, rustling. It’s close. Too close. She moves away. Away from the burning cabin, away from the silver birch and into the shadow of the pines. Bird shapes flit through branches. Sparrows. She can’t make them out in any detail but knows they’re sparrows. Many sparrows, they’re becoming frantic. She twirls round and sees why. Crows dart through the branches, attacking the sparrows. The rustling sound is at her feet. Rose takes off. As she runs she glances over her shoulder. It’s the badger, the fast fucking badger, teeth snapping. Branches whip by, rain comes heavier, the noise of the sparrows, a dying sound, a sound of despair. Snap, snap, snap comes the badger. Too close, snapping at her fingers, snapping at her toes. Rose trips, falls, bangs her head.