by Charity B.
Ingvar only says two- and three-word sentences. I’m not sure what’s wrong with him, but what he lacks in brains, he more than makes up for in brawn. I don’t think he’s actually that much older than me, he’s just large.
“That’s right, Ingvar. Sarah was a very naughty girl again. I want you to make it hurt, okay?”
Spreading my legs, I rest my heels on the edge of the mattress. Ingvar nods, lowering his pants and stalking toward me with his unsettling grin stretched across his face. He’s not an attractive person. At least not to me. Definitely less so than Fink. Licking his lips, he reaches between my legs, rubbing his fat fingers over my entrance. Maybe it’s his scent I find so sickening. All I can smell are the dog treats. Suddenly, his giant palm wraps around my throat to push me on my back. The mattress is hard, and as he kneels next to my head, he slaps his erection against my lips. I open my mouth like I’m expected to, immediately feeling the intrusion of him forcing himself down my throat. Gagging around the loose skin of his shaft, I’m stripped of the rest of my oxygen when he squeezes my nostrils closed.
“Sarah suck cock,” he moans through heavy breathing.
My lungs are on fire, and just when I think they will explode in my chest, he releases my nose to pull out of my mouth. His hand stays around my neck, though, his grip is mild, allowing me to gasp for air. The oxygen burns my throat, and all I can think about is breathing normally again.
His heavy body weighs down on mine, pushing it deeper into the mattress. Strangled cries fight their way from my mouth when he forces himself into me, stretching and tearing his way inside.
Since sex with Ingvar is a punishment, I’m never allowed to be prepared first. He’s entered me dry countless times. When me and Fink are alone, however, he’s affectionate and always makes sure I’m aroused.
Ingvar’s rancid breath is a hot cloud beneath my nose, making me queasy. He bucks harder into me, grunting while Fink limps to the side of my bed.
Leaning down to kiss me, he brushes the hair from my face. “I don’t like doing this, Sarah, but you have to understand. What kind of parent would I be if I didn’t give you consequences for your actions?”
I scoff, and his eyes narrow, so I refrain from telling him how sad it is that he truly believes his own lies. With one hand on his cane, he uses his other to undo his slacks and lift my head to meet the tip of his cock. Fink slides slowly between my lips while Ingvar impales me so hard, I’m certain I’ll be bruised tomorrow.
Ingvar shudders, his fat belly pushing against me as he empties himself. “Wet. Warm.” I’m grateful for the tee shirt he’s wearing because I despise the sensation of his skin touching mine.
I’ve known Ingvar for almost eight years. One day, completely out of the blue, Fink brought him home, saying he was his new apprentice and would be staying with us indefinitely. I tried to be his friend at first, until Fink began using him to punish me. I’ve always wondered what he really thinks of me. Obviously, he doesn’t say much, and he’s clearly loyal to Fink. It’s just that sometimes I get the notion he hates me.
“Clean her up,” Fink orders, pumping his hips a few times before removing himself from between my lips and backing away to sit in the chair.
Every time Ingvar fucks me, Fink makes him eat me out afterward and won’t have sex with me until he does. Ingvar’s hands squeeze my waist, lifting me into the air before tossing my legs over his shoulders. My bare butt touches his T-shirt as my thighs rub against his ears.
He lifts up my ass, forcing me to hold on to his head for balance. Smashing my clit against his mouth, he licks and slurps, tasting me inside and out.
It confuses me why Fink allows this. Ingvar knows my body and can make me orgasm almost as quickly as Fink can. I don’t know why he would let me have the pleasure. I look over at Fink’s darkened expression, bucking my hips as I forfeit to the building arousal. If he truly hates seeing me with Ingvar as he claims, then I will have a hand in his torment. Without looking away from him, I ride Ingvar’s tongue, pulling his hair until the tightness spreads over my skin, about to snap like a rubber band.
I move faster and faster. The liquid is coming. I break eye contact with Fink the same moment I’m shoved over the brink. It floods out of me, filling Ingvar’s mouth and rolling over his cheeks. I can’t stop my moans while it sprays down his neck, drenching his shirt.
My chest heaves, and my legs shake against his shoulders. While I hate that this is how I have to achieve it, orgasms are easily the best feeling I’ve ever experienced. Ingvar throws me on the bed, sucking my nipples with his wet lips.
“You can go, Ingvar. We’ll meet in the lab later.” Without even getting dressed, he obeys, picking up his pants and leaving my room. I take in deep breaths, preparing myself for the second part of my punishment.
Fink sees it as us ‘making up’ after I’ve gotten in trouble. His cane taps against the concrete on his way back to my bed. Sitting next to me, he sighs as he unbuttons his lab coat. “I know you want more freedom, Sarah.” His shoes and socks are dropped to the floor before he reaches out to brush his fingers across my cheek. “If anything happened to you, I don’t know if I could deal with it. I’m simply trying to protect you.”
He’s always more lenient on me during these moments. I think he truly believes these times between us are special. When I was younger, I thought they were too. As scary as it was, it made him so happy, and I wanted nothing more than to please him.
“I feel like I’m losing my mind locked up in here all the time! You always say that I’m not ready…will I ever be ready?”
After he’s fully undressed, he settles between my legs, pressing gentle kisses all over my face. “I need you to trust me. All I’m doing is keeping you safe.” He slides into me with ease, each thrust slow and gentle. He whispers, “Daddy loves his rag doll.”
Oddly, his words strike up the memory of when I first learned that this was how babies were made. When I read about it in one of his books, the very idea had been so exciting to me. I would finally have someone to play with.
“Dad! Dad! Am I going to have a baby? Look!” I run into his lab, holding my hand against my chest because it’s still healing from the reattachment procedure. Showing the book to him, I read the sentence that got me excited. “During sexual intercourse, semen is ejaculated from the penis into the woman’s vagina where it is then possible for the sperm to fertilize the woman’s egg.” He doesn’t look up from his telescope. “So? How long until I have one?” Is he even paying attention? “Dad!”
Dropping his head back, he groans as he removes his glasses. “You won’t ever have babies, Sarah. I took care of that the first year you were here. You’re as empty as a Russian doll at a thrift store.” He waves me off, holding his hand out for the slide Ingvar is holding. “Now go to your room. I have work to do.”
His response pulls tears from my eyes. “What do you mean, ‘took care of it?’”
Narrowing his eyebrows, he pushes up on shaky legs. “I cut it all out. I brought you here for you only. I have no desire to have more children. You are the only child I need.”
I’ve been angry and hurt by him many times, but this feels different. It was unfair of him to take that chance away from me. And then for him to act as if what he did was okay. Ingvar smirks as the book gets heavy in my hand with the urge to throw it at my dad’s head. I stop myself, though, because if I do that, he’ll lock me up for days.
On my way back to my bedroom, I look out the window seeing the garden in the backyard. He’s only showed it to me once, telling me which plants I should never touch. He said the pretty ones that look like purple bells and black marbles could make me very sick or even kill me. Looking over my shoulder to make sure they’re both still in the lab, I sneak outside.
There are big scissors and garden gloves in the greenhouse so I grab them both before kneeling in front of the plant I’m looking for. Belladonna. It’s such a pretty name for something that could do such terrible things. I don’
t know how much I need, so I cut off three black orbs, sliding them into the pocket of my dress. The next time he asks me to make his tea, I will make him pay for what he did.
I got scared of what would happen to me if he died, so in the end, I only ended up using one berry. He was messed up for days, having convulsions and hallucinations that terrified me. When he regained his strength, he knew what I had done and was more furious with me than he had ever been before. That was the first time he let Ingvar fuck me.
Fink moans my name as he quickens his thrusts, moments later filling me up and panting into my neck. We’re both covered in sweat by the time it’s finally over. As he gets dressed, he says, “Take a shower, and then make me some breakfast. If you’re good, I’ll let you stay up with Ingvar tonight to watch the fireworks.” Every year I beg to go to the Halloween Games, and every year he says ‘no.’
I ask anyway. “Can’t I go this year? Please?”
His head drops back in frustration as he turns on my music box. He knows the angelic tune relaxes me. The porcelain couple dance in a circle while he says, “Why do you keep asking questions that make me the bad guy? I just told you, you’re not ready yet.”
Even as I nod, I decide I’m not missing it again this year. He won’t expect me to push my luck by sneaking out again so soon, plus it’s been a while since I resorted to using Belladonna, since I don’t have much left. He hid the plant, so all I have is what I’ve stockpiled in my room and in the kitchen.
I do as he says, taking a shower and putting on the T-shirt he has me wear when my dress is being cleaned. As I toss my dress into the washing machine, I notice a rip in the fabric. I’ll need to add another patch to it. After I throw in some of Fink and Ingvar’s clothes, I go to the kitchen to make his oatmeal. In the very back of the cabinet behind the canned food and dried rice, sits the jar hiding the Belladonna. My heart races with excitement as I cut off a small portion of the berry.
Happy Halloween to me.
Halloween Games
John Skelver
October 31st ~ Evening
“You’re so damn tight.”
My fingers dig into the dead flesh of her ass cheeks as I thrust into her small hole. The room is bright with the mid-day sun which allows me to see every mark and blemish on her ashen skin. She’s on her stomach, arm dangling off the side of the bed while her hair curls across the pillow. Her white eyes look vacantly toward my dresser and I try not to breathe too deeply. Her smell is getting stronger and will be worse by the time I get back. She’ll need another bath.
I buck my hips harder, feeling the dense pressure rising. My moan is loud in the quiet room as my come spurts into her corpse.
Shuddering with the final jolts of my orgasm, I slide out of her cadaver and leave her in my bed. I never showered last night, so I walk to the bathroom to wash off the cemetery dirt and face paint. Just knowing she’ll be here waiting for me tonight will make the games less tedious. Not that they aren’t entertaining, they’ve just become a tiresome affair.
Shortly after I first came here, my habits were simply preferences, and people found them charming. I loved their enthusiasm at first. I was a teenage outcast, and their acceptance helped patch up my self-esteem and nurture my confidence. I will always owe this town for that. I’d made friends with the residents fairly easily. I had wanted so badly to be liked, I did anything and everything asked of me. Mostly simple things, like helping the Zeldamine sisters mend their roof, or watching the Bognar triplets as toddlers. Even now, if I’m asked a favor, I’ll usually do it.
It wasn’t until Fink asked me to dig up a body for him that I suddenly became the town’s main source of body parts. Before me, they all had to fend for themselves to find what they needed. I went from just digging up girlfriends to digging up inventory, morphing me into a god.
It’s actually quite interesting how many uses there are for a human corpse. Wanda and Willow Zeldamine, the old sisters two streets over, use the skin to make curtains and bed skirts, the bones to make furniture and tableware, and almost everything else for their apothecary business. Sometimes, Bone Daddy, a local jazz musician, will buy teeth from me because his wife makes jewelry or grinds them up, adding dyes to create makeup. There’s Kline Mitchem, an acquaintance of mine who works as a traveling performer in a gothic clown show. He’ll sometimes purchase face skin to turn into masks. The town’s fortune teller, Madame Emerald, prefers the arm, leg, and rib bones because she transforms them into sex toys that she sells at craft fairs around the state.
Those are some of my regular clients, though, I get quite a few random orders too. Regardless of the customer, they pay well for what they buy, plus I also make a fairly steady income from my taxidermy business. I get decent exposure from the ads I put in newspapers, but word of mouth is my best source of advertising.
I’m tired, though. There’s a need inside me that I can’t meet because I don’t know what it is. Every year that passes, the mass of emptiness in my soul seems to burrow deeper. I’ve always felt there was something separating me from everyone else. I had thought that ‘something’ was my necro-romanticism, but the longer the clock of time ticks away, I become more aware that there’s something else I’m missing.
Nothing sleeps on my bed next to Natasha while I pull on my black and white pin-striped pants. “Did you eat your food?” I ask, sitting next to him to tug on my black boots. “We slept all day. We’ll be leaving for the games soon, and I won’t give you a single pig in a blanket if your food isn’t gone.” As if sulking, he releases a soft growl and slowly leaves my room.
“Crazy-ass dog,” I laugh toward the direction of Natasha who obviously doesn’t respond.
After grabbing a white T-shirt from my top drawer, I walk to the kitchen to make coffee. Nothing is chomping on the meat I skimmed for him from my last body. I mix it with peas which he’s not a fan of, but I try to balance his diet.
Boiling a couple of eggs, I make toast and pour my coffee before carrying it all back to the bedroom, relaxing beside Natasha while reading my newest book.
The games have become exhausting the last few years. Everyone wants something from me, even if it’s only my time. There are days when I fantasize about leaving and starting over elsewhere, left alone in solitude. I could never leave here, though. It’s my home, plus there’s not a single place I know of where I could live this freely.
Maybe I’m just in a rut.
Lighting a joint, I kiss Natasha before walking to the bathroom to get ready. I clip back the strands around my hairline to protect it from the greasepaint. While it may seem somewhat cliché, painting my face like a skull not only hides my identity while grave robbing, it also makes me feel safe and has become a staple of how people see me.
With a white eyeliner pencil, I outline the circles around my eyes and accentuate the bones on my cheeks, nose, and forehead. Right on schedule, Nothing walks in, lying on the rug to watch me as I use black grease paint to shape the skull, darkening the space next to the hairline.
When I put on the paint, it’s as if I become someone else. The moment the skull is on my face, I transform from John Skelver to Skeleton King.
I finish with the highlights and details, setting it all by covering a velour puff with translucent powder and dabbing it on top of the paint. Waiting a few minutes to allow it to dry, I sweep off the excess powder with the human hair bristle brush Kline gave me and begin styling my hair.
I choose a white button-down shirt and roll up the sleeves as I look for my signature, black bow tie.
“Where is that fucking thing?” Nothing whines behind me, making me shake my head with a laugh when I see he’s carrying it in his mouth. “Thanks, boy.” I toss on a vest and lean over the bed, kissing Natasha. “I’ll see you tonight.” Patting my leg, I call over my shoulder. “Come on, Nothing. It’s time to go.”
He rushes past me, tail wagging as he waits by the door. Ogier Bognar’s house is only a couple streets over, and it isn’t too cold tonight, s
o I opt to walk. Even though the games don’t officially start for forty-five minutes, I always have to come early for photographs.
The mayor has already arrived when I reach Ogier’s tall, three-story house at the corner of the intersection. Honestly, I’m annoyed by him half of the time, but Mayor Greer’s family is the reason this place exists. His great-great grandfather founded Hallows Grove. As the story goes, he got a thrill from hunting humans for sport, but when he had a close call with the authorities, he began to draw up the plans for Hallows Grove. He ran with a rough crowd which consisted of those who are now known as the founding families. Together, they purchased the land that Hallows Grove sits on, and over the past one hundred years, this place has grown into a mostly self-sufficient community.
We have our own way of doing things here. There was never an election for Mayor Greer; he simply took over when his father passed, like he had done after his father before him. The Hallows Grove police are more like the mayor’s henchman than actual law enforcement. As residents, we’re all able to voice our opinions and speak freely, though, ultimately, Mayor Greer and the town council have the last word. There aren’t many laws, however, those that are in place are there to protect us all and are strictly enforced. Truthfully, it’s what works for us.
Walking into the multi-use building behind Ogier’s house, I’m somehow still in awe at the level of detail in the décor. I swear, it gets better every year. Coffin shaped tables and spider web streamers stretch across the dining area. Drinks are served in cauldrons, and lit jack-o’-lanterns hang from the ceiling. I scan the blackjack, poker, and craps tables lined up in front of the slot machines. Game and food booths are set up along the walls with merchant tables scrunched in between. The Halloween Games are run like a mix between a festival and a casino, which isn’t surprising since that’s what Ogier does for a living. He owns DarkSide, a casino located in the Mundane World, making him the richest man in Hallows Grove.