by Jillian Rose
I pushed again, hard this time, and the plug came out with a hollow thonk as it hit the stone. Jesse grabbed my ass cheeks and spread them apart so the fine folks across the world could see my asshole gape and wink at them. With it came a torrent of the lube that he had shot up there, coming out in great crude wet noises. A deluge of fluids now dripped from my middle, but I wasn’t focused on that. As soon as I returned to baseline I saw from between my legs that Jesse was still bleeding, and with his socks off the blood now ran freely down his leg and onto the stone floor. The sex got his heart pumping, causing the blood flow to increase, enough to pool and trickle once it reached the ground, that trickle travelling where gravity took it, towards the hole.
I had a flashback to the video, of the anonymous people who cut their hands and let the blood drop into the hole, as a way of “activating” it. For a split second I was on the verge of telling Jesse to clean up the blood, for the love of god to put a fucking bandage on his leg. But then his cock was pressing against my asshole, and with the thorough lube enema he’d given me it slipped right in. He went full on beast mode now, hunching over and grabbing a fist full of my hair while his other hand snaked between my legs to take over the job of clitoral stimulation for me. My head was snapped up, and I was forced to look at the horned skull on it’s little throne.
The rapid smacking of our flesh coming together reverberated in an almost hypnotic rhythm against the strange acoustics of the temple, and with the alcohol in my system and the rush of that last orgasm I was starting to feel a little light headed. But before I could even get a chance to recover, I already felt myself approaching the next climax, my sensitive clit being hammered by Jesse’s rough strokes and that bone deep switch that I could activate when he was slamming balls deep inside my ass was officially turned on. There was no turning back now.
I could tell he was getting close himself, his cock steadily grew thicker and harder until he was like a steel rod, I could feel the muscles in his legs bunching up. The skull leered, and I rocketed towards orgasm, feeling his hands work frantic circles on my tender pearl. That sensation of charging up, of building to a mind blowing crescendo was only seconds away. Jesse went first, his first contraction powerful enough for me to feel the jet hit the inside of my colon. I clenched in response, squeezing him like a fist, and he let out a shuttering cry, his whole body trembling as he forced out his second blast. His hot expenditure once again acted as the trigger to set me off, and I felt my first contraction from deep down inside of me. As he pulled out to get ready for another ball bursting explosion, I let out a violent stream that hit the concrete with enough force to splash both of our feet.
I was screaming by that point, sounding like a ghostly banshee with all that reverberation. He slammed back home, and I could feel him erupting inside of me like a long dormant volcano, each load bringing forth searing hot magma that fueled a wave of warm bliss that washed over my body. He let go of my hair, and my head dropped down. In between the gushing bursts that erupted from me, I saw that I was washing his blood down into the hole, the small obsidian void was receiving all of our fluids. But I was still coming so hard I didn’t have the wits to comprehend what that might mean.
After four or five synchronized contractions, Jesse gave one last shuddering thrust, keeping himself buried deep inside of me. I could feel my asshole clenched hard against him even as he shrank, my orifice pulsating hard with the last of my orgasmic contractions. The floor was slippery now and Jesse almost slipped as he dismounted from me, and he took a step back.
“Show them baby. Show them all that hot nectar I just pumped inside of you.” He said, gasping. I was getting ready to squat over the hole and do just that, when we both heard a deep rumbling, like the tail of a thunder clap. “What the fuck…” I heard Jesse say. I turned around, and saw that the hole was no longer black. A deep crimson glow shot out, a vertical shaft of red light that touched the center of the ceiling above. The skull that hung from the twine began to spin even though there was no circulation of air down there. For about ten seconds I was able to convince myself that this was all an elaborate prank, trying to think like Jesse in that the farmers were just trying to have us on, simply for sanity’s sake more than anything. But then I felt the earth tremble beneath my feet.
I’ve lived on the New Madrid fault line all my life, so I know what tremors feel like. I once sat through a 5.8 shaker while I was college, it lasted for about 5 seconds and shook the whole class room. That’s exactly how this felt. I tried to get up and run, not caring about my clothes or that Jesse’s cum was still in my ass, just wanting to get the hell out of there, but I slipped in the puddle of my own filth, catching my ankle in the channel and falling. I fell on my side, twisting my ankle just a bit but luckily not enough to break it. I turned and saw that something was coming out of the drain.
For a moment I felt the atmosphere of the room change, take on a charged quality like a lightning bolt about to strike. The room seemed to take on several gravities, and I felt pinned to the ground as a black smoky mist unfurled from the drain, reaching up to connect with the skull. As soon as it did, the smoke took on a physical quality, outlining a form that was huge, vaguely humanoid. Then with a brilliant red flash, a being the size of a mutant grizzly bear materialized before my eyes.
It had no skin, I could see the tendons and sinew of it’s muscled body, like one of those digital rendered anatomy pictures showing human musculature. It’s hands featured three multijointed claws that ended with jagged yellow nails that could be called talons if they didn’t look ravaged by toenail fungus. I realized somewhere in a distant part of my brain that the top half of the head was made up of the skull that sat on the pedestal. Yellow blood shot eyes the size of my fist filled the once empty sockets, staring around the room, blinking rapidly as if disoriented.
Jesse started screaming hysterically, and that’s when the thing turned and pounced on him. Just before it did, I could see it throw it’s head back to roar. I tried to scream his name, but my voice was lost over the low baritone roar the thing emitted. If you’ve ever heard a fighter jet kick in it’s after boosters just before breaking the sound barrier, it was like that mixed with the piercing shriek of an eagle. I clapped my hands over my ears and tried frantically to scoot away. I saw the two massive clawed hands reach up, and then descend. There was a struggle, followed by what I thought might have been Jesse screaming, but he sounded like he was half a mile away, invisible cotton stuffing my deafened ears.
Then I saw the two halves of his body being held in each clawed hand. I saw his organs, which were many different colors and shapes and sizes splatter on the ground. I saw him looking at me, his face frozen in a rictus of agony, and I could see his spine poking out from the ragged maw of his abdomen. I would of gone on looking at him, laying there stupefied as the beast began to eat the pile of organs, discarding the two halves of his body the way I would discard an egg shell after cracking the yoke into the pan. Then I felt hands seizing me, pulling me up and away from that abomination, from that absolute horror that haunts my dreams every night despite the myriad of tranquilizers I now take.
Chapter 11.
Before I could even fully comprehend what was happening, I was being drug outside, hands hauling me out by the armpits, me kicking and screaming hysterically. I could hear a muffled voice speaking into my ear, but he too sounded like he was talking in another room. He dropped me on the ground, and I turned to see that we were some fifty feet away from the entrance to the stairs. He had on a black suit and a huge billowy black duster, dark sunglasses and I saw a black briefcase next to the entrance. Brilliant light emanated from the stairwell, as if the sun itself existed within those stone walls. I saw the man take out several cylinder shaped objects, and it was only after he lit the fuse did I realize they were pipe bombs.
He tossed them in as soon as he lit each fuse, the green slow burning kind you found on children’s fireworks. There were five in all, and just as he finished tossing
the last one in, a huge three fingered claw shot up from the ground. I tried to scream, but found I had screamed myself hoarse. The man was fast however. He approached the hole, and he reached inside the big over coat of his and produced a pistol grip shotgun. With an expressionless face he fired round after around at the claw until it was nothing but a pulpy stump, the arm attached to it retreating.
He left the suitcase, and ran towards me. We have to go now his lips said. He picked me up again, this time in a fireman’s carry. I could feel toned muscle underneath his coat, and wished I had a coat of my own, for it was dark out now, and freezing. Except it was around noon when we went in the hole. I may have been in shock and slightly drunk, but I knew we weren’t in there for longer than an hour or two.
He put me down on my feet.
“Can you walk?” He shouted at me, or at least I think he did, he still wasn’t very loud. I nodded, and shakily walked with him. We approached the gate, where I saw the black sedan had ran right through the gate, it’s front end scratched up and dented in some places. “Get in!” He yelled, but I didn’t, I only stood there, looking at the hole, where light still shone like the brilliant beacon of some divine destination.
“Jesse!” I tried to yell, but the man was already opening the door and shoving me in.
“That guy in there? He’s dead now, and probably rotting in hell, literally. We need to go.” He said as he crammed me into the passenger seat. As soon as he was in the car, he threw it in reverse, metal squalling faintly as his car reversed through the jagged hole it had made previously. He whipped the car around in a two point turn, and floored it, flying down the gravel road we had previously walked down. I felt a series of percussive thumps that buffeted the car, and looked back to see a great cloud of dirt and smoke where the hole once was.
We kept driving, racing past the Taurus, which had the remainder of our worldly belongings in it. I sat in the car, holding myself, from the cold and from the shame of being stark naked, and the man dug around in the back seat until his hand came out with a wind breaker. He handed it to me. I gladly accepted it and slipped it on. I looked down at the lapel, which read AGENT CRAWFORD. I stared at it for a very long time, trying to remember where I’d seen the name Crawford recently. Then it came to me, when I was perusing the old sector 5 website. The picture of Mobley standing next to two men, posing for a picture outside of the Dupo breaking-ground ceremony. I remember the caption underneath the image. Wolf, with founding sector 5 members Martin Crawford and Daniel Lasik, on the day of the founding of Dupo.
The man had removed his glasses. For awhile he didn’t look at me, and despite the cold bite outside, I could see a few trickles of sweat running down his scalp, his thinning brown hair plastered to his skull. Eventually we came to the junction where the gravel road met the state highway, and I saw a line of old farm trucks and cars lined up on either side, folks standing by the road, some of them had torches, honest to god torches. They tried to surround the car as Crawford approached, but when they saw he wasn’t slowing down, they reluctantly got out of the way. One of the farm folk threw their torch at the car as it passed, hitting my side of the window, where it bounced off with a shower of sparks.
“Fucking locals. They knew the deal, no reason to get pissy about it.” The man said as he pulled out onto the highway. For awhile we kept driving, and the farther away we got from Dupo, the more the sky lightened up, as if a huge nimbus cloud had decided to perch over the little township and nowhere else.
Just before we got onto the interstate, he pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. I saw his hands were shaking now, and he reached into his coat to retrieve a flask, which he took a long pull from. Then he turned to offer it to me, and for the first time I saw his face clearly. A scar ran from his hair line down to his left cheek. His eyes were blue, except the left one didn’t quite match the right, the pupil’s aimed in slightly different directions. He had a glass eye I realized. I also noted that his cheeks and nose were ruddy with broken blood vessels, and in my daze noted the man probably was an alcoholic, the shakes in his hands not coming from the chilly climate. After staring at him for a moment, I took the flask. Without speaking I took a swig, found my aching throat first scorched and then pleasantly numbed from some kind of high end scotch.
“Who are you?” I asked, my own voice muffled sounding, feeling the resonance of my vocal chords more than hearing it. I put my hands up to my ears and found crusted blood formed around each of my ear lobes. Crawford reached over, popping open the glove box and pulled out a box of Cleanex, motioning for me to clean my ears out with them. After removing a disgusting amount of dried blood and wax, I found I could hear slightly better, but everything still sounded thin and tinny.
“Can you hear me, Miss Conover?” He asked, talking in a normal conversational tone. I found if I looked at his mouth while he talked, I could make out most of what he was saying, and I nodded. He sighed, and finished the remainder of the scotch before depositing his flask back in the duster, which seemed to have unlimited space for anything.
“Well, judging from the search history we wiped from your laptop, you already know a good amount about Mobley. Not the full story, of course, but a good amount. The only reason I’m about to tell you all this confidential, sensitive information is that you’ve already compromised a shitload. We’d been following you, listening in on your laptop when you guys talked about going to Dupo. Of course, I had to use the pretext that you all were potential terrorist suspects in order to do this, convince my boss that you all were a splinter cell of religious extremists trying to enact Theron’s legacy just to plant the backdoor taps and hack into your phones. Really though, I knew you all were just some thrill seeking perverts. I just didn’t think you’d actually succeed in awakening the old boy. You’re in it up to your neck, as we say at the agency, so I’m sure you’ll be getting debriefed by someone like me anyway. So, where to begin?” he said. He produced a pack of cigarettes, offered me one, but I declined. He pulled one out, lit up, and stared in the rear view mirror, watching the black cloud over Dupo as it slowly dissipated.
“I first infiltrated sector 5 in 2001, when we received the tip about Theron being spotted in Ohio. We figured he would go somewhere like Ohio, or Idaho, Montana, one of those places where a man could focus on his work undisturbed. You see, he didn’t have a break down, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. When he left the agency, he was a man more determined than ever to continue his work. But he didn’t want to abide by the agencies rules, scant though they were. Tell me, you are familiar with MK Ultra correct? I’m assuming you do, it’s our most well known work, silly and pointless as it all was.” He said, bemused. I nodded, still replaying what he said about my laptop being swiped.
“Well, MK ultra was only the tip of the iceberg, at least for Theron. You see, we had several other operational wings all devoted to subjugation and control in the 1980s. Russia was scaring the shit out of us, and we were desperate to find ways in which we could deal death and destruction to them without actually pulling the trigger or pushing the button leading to mutually assured destruction. Well, Theron had always had an interest in the occult. He thought that some of these radicalist splinter groups we’d targeted were onto something. Specifically a sect of Russian Satanists who’d been hiding out in the Ural mountains during the collapse of the USSR. Several high ranking colonels in the red military had ties to this sect, who believed that Hell was just another dimension of existence, not a place one went to repent for their sins, not a final destination, but an alternate one. One of the shaman’s, as they were called, managed to escape from Russia and fled to America seeking asylum. We gave it to him, but on the condition that he spilled everything he knew. He wouldn’t budge at first, said the information was too dangerous, especially for us foolish Americans.”
“…And that’s where Theron came in…” I said, dazed. He nodded his head.
“Correct. Theron pursued anything that interested or bothered h
im like a blood hound on the scent of a freshly killed buck. When we told him that the Russian refused to speak, he whipped up one of his famous truth serums, which today one of you kids would probably take before going out to a fucking rave, but anyway, he drugged the Russian, made him watch a series of videos and listen to a series of noises until the poor old bastard was wrapped around his finger. And boy, did he talk. And Theron listened.” He said, taking a long drag off his cigarette. He paused in his talking as four state troopers pulled in off the highway, rushing towards Dupo with their Sirens on.
“The original transcripts of the interview were burned, and I didn’t get into the agency until after Mobley went AWOL. But that day was infamous in the agency. One of my first assignments in the field was tracking down Mobley, finding out what he was up to. You see, that Russian infected him with tales of alternate dimensions, higher consciousness and supposed super natural beings that would do your dirty work for the right price, usually a price paid in full with blood. They all thought the old bastard was crazy of course, his sect being a bunch of inbred mountain folk worshipping an ancient form of satanism that hadn’t been seen in hundreds of years. But Theron… He thought it was the next big thing, the way we could beat the Ruskies. Summon demons to terrorize the countryside, put the fear of god into those people. That was when Theron went completely off the reservation, wasting agency funds on research for this stuff. Eventually we fired him, sent him on his way with a headful of his own mind scrambling truth serum that we thought would put him out of commission. It didn’t. It wasn’t until after I had gone undercover and been accepted into the sector 5 ranks, and saw my first chaos ritual, that I saw we were all wrong about him, and that he was right. More right than we could of guessed.”