by Glenn Rolfe
“But he said Alison was there…and they…” Carrie didn’t finish. James didn’t blame her.
“Yeah, but he wants you out of the house for another night,” Kevin said. “What if he’s got her tied up or something? What if that demon has him and he really is possessed?”
We’ve been working the demons out of each other…
“What do I do? He even has the place locked up, so if I wanted to barge in I’d have to sneak through my window.”
James needed time to think but wondered just how much time he had. How much time did his dad or Alison have? Kevin hurried across the street and grabbed his brother’s bike.
They watched as he stashed it in a thicket of bushes by the old Burke house. The Burke’s had moved to their summer house out on Sebago Lake.
He rejoined them, and said, “Its outta gas and I ain’t pushing it all the way home. I’ll just grab it later.”
A few minutes later, they stopped over on Henderson Street and sat down on the curb in front of the old bicycle shop, Mathieu’s. The place went out of business last summer. Mathieu Ricker moved back home to Germany. The guys used to frequent his place on a weekly basis. A fancier outdoor shop, Tinkham’s Outdoor Supply, opened that year down the street from the theater and stole most of Mr. Ricker’s business.
James stared at the dusty front window. He could still make out the black eye Hank gave him. He wished Hank and his goon squad were the worst thing he had to worry about right now. Hell, they should be the only problem the last month of summer presented. This demon-thing, the supernatural aspect of whatever was happening…it was all too much. He suddenly wanted to be twelve again. Just to rewind one year and have things back to normal. He, Kevin, and Eric cruising around on their bikes, hanging out at the record shop, swinging through Boynton’s Market for Swedish Fish and Sour Patch Kids, checking out the high school girls waiting at the concession line at the movies, talking with Mr. Ricker about anything just to hear his cool accent. James stood up and kicked some rocks into the street.
“Listen, man, let’s just go back to my house and I don’t know, make a plan or figure this shit out there. We can grab something to eat and…”
“And what Kevin? What the fuck can we do? This can’t be fucking happening. This can’t be real. Right?”
“Maybe you should just call the police and have them go over and check on things.” Carrie said.
“Dude, your dad’s not like this. Something is wrong with him. Maybe Carrie’s right. Maybe you should call the cops and make them swing by. I don’t see how it can hurt.”
James stared back toward his dad’s. Demonic possession was for the movies. Maybe his dad was having a nervous breakdown or a mid-life crisis. Whatever it was he would never hurt Alison. “I’m not calling the cops. Demons? They’d think we were pranking them. If I can get in through my bedroom, I can try to see what’s going on. If anything is going on.”
“But you heard him,” Kevin said. “He spazzed out because you wanted to come in. He’s got you locked out. I don’t think he’s going to be too happy if you go back in there tonight.”
James knew he was right. “I don’t know if you guys could see it or not, but the carpeting was torn up.”
“Didn’t he say something about having projects to finish?” Carrie said.
“Yeah, he did, but…” James remembered that Edna had said her grandson went with Alison. “We need to talk to Alison’s friend from work.”
“Who?” Carrie asked. “Oh yeah, Edna’s grandson. She went to your dad’s with that guy.” Carrie stood.
“Right,” James said. “Maybe he can at least tell us if Alison was okay when he left.”
“Dude, Alison has a cell phone. Why don’t you just call her and ask her yourself?”
James pulled his phone out from his pocket, pulled up his contacts list and hit the green call button next to her name.
“She’s not answering,” he said, chewing his thumb nail as he waited.
“Hi, you’ve reach Alison. I’m not…”
“It went to voicemail.” He waited for the beep. “Hey Alison, uh, just wanted to see how things were with you. I’m staying at Kevin’s again tonight. Can you just give me a call when you get this? Thanks.”
“What do we do now?” Carrie said.
“We go back to our house,” Kevin said, “We get some food, and figure out our next move. C’mon”
James wasn’t hungry, but a little food couldn’t hurt. As Carrie took his hand and they followed Kevin, he hoped Alison would get the message and call him sooner than later.
We’re working the demons out of each other.
He shivered at his father’s odd phrase. Demonic possession. Was it really possible? He shivered again.
“Are you all right?” Carrie asked.
He kissed her temple. The scent of her raspberry shampoo seemed like a gateway to another world. One he wished he could run away to. “I will be.” He didn’t know if he said it to reassure her or himself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Beyond the fog of pleasure, a call beckoned her. She wanted to go to it, needed to, but something held her in place. A hand— his hand. Jason. Finally, a man, a real man, who took her where she stood, and in ways she’d never willingly allowed and brought her to orgasm again and again. His power surrounded her, protected her. She felt safe. Except…she knew it was all wrong.
Jason’s dead….
A knocking brought her up from the deep end of the dream or trance.
“Baby, can I come in?” A voice like Richie’s had asked.
Alison opened her eyes. Shame rushed over her. She sat up from her spot on the floor next to the tub and pulled her panties up.
“I’m coming in,” he said. Before she could protest, the door eased open and Richie’s shit-eating grin appeared. “How do you feel?”
“I’m…okay.” Alison was pretty fucking far from okay. She wanted to smash him in the face, bend him over, and shove something up his ass. Then ask him how he felt.
Do it.
“What?” Alison asked.
“I asked you how you feel,” Richie said. He stepped in front of the bathroom sink and mussed his hair in the mirror.
The mirror.
Alison suddenly imagined herself kneeing him in the back and smashing the vanity with his face. Shock swept over her at the sudden tickle between her legs.
Do it. Give him something good to think about.
The voice…where was that coming from?
I’m here.
Alison looked over Richie’s shoulder and saw her in the mirror. Richie saw her, as well. He turned to Alison.
“Are you ready for another round?” He licked his lips and unbuttoned his pants.
No. No, this isn’t right. Alison knew she had to run.
Stay. I’ll help you get him back for what he’s done.
Jason…he-murdered…. Jason.
After he’s taken care of, we can finish what we started. Stay and we can play until your cunt explodes.
Despite the reflection’s promise to help, Alison turned to flee. Richie’s hand wrenched into her hair and hauled her backwards. Her feet flew out from beneath her and she dropped flat on her back. Then the wind was knocked from her lungs. She gasped and noticed Richie was not looking at her. He stared into the mirror instead.
“I will,” he said as if in response. He leaned down next to her face. Able to breathe again, she brought her shoulders up off the ground.
“I don’t think so, dear,” he said. Richie’s hand came down on her chest like a bag of cement. The back of her head thudded against the floor and brought glowing dots, like lightening bugs on a summer night, to her vision. A thousand crimson stars twinkled in and out of her sight, shifting in and out of constellations of pleasure and pain. His hands went to her hips, and she cried out as he tore the panties from her body and tossed them aside. She couldn’t let this happen. Not this way. Not right now. She thought of the reflection and its promise.
No. She would do this on her own. Richie crawled down her body, fondling himself in preparation. Alison glanced around the floor for anything that she could use against him. There was nothing. She tightened her lips to keep them from showing her weakness. Hopelessness tapped her shoulder, but she took a deep breath and focused on Richie. She needed to distract him. Slowly, she reached down and grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt. He sat back on her, clenched together his thighs, and eyed her.
“What’s this?”
She lifted her shirt up, revealing the tender, tight flesh beneath as if unveiling a brand-new Mustang. He licked his lips and followed the shirt’s march north as if hypnotized by her offering. His hands found her protruding hip bones and slid upward meeting her breasts just as she brought the shirt up over the two humble mounds. Her nipples betrayed her but helped keep his eyes and mouth preoccupied as she waited for her opening. He sucked on the hardened protrusions, alternating from the left one to the right one. She clenched her teeth and bit back the urge to scream as his tongue traced her areolas.
“Told you you’d like this.” Richie closed his mouth over her right nipple. She felt the pinch of his teeth gently gnawing on the sensitive nub. Then he bit down hard. She gasped.
“Ohhh, yeah. You liked that didn’t you, you little witch. Huh?”
Her eyes saw the little droplets of crimson on his lips. Blood. Her blood. Before she could assess the damage, he barreled his face back to her breast and bit down on the protrusion again. This time she screamed and writhed beneath him as he clamped down and through her nipple. His face came back up with more blood dribbling from his mouth. She gazed in horror and reached her hand up to cover the bleeding wound. Richie smiled and then spit the blood covered nub at her face. She felt it hit her cheek and roll down the side of her head to the floor.
“Now that we’ve got you all worked up, let’s get down to the really good stuff. She felt his hand between her legs, his fingers probing. She waited. After a few uncomfortable seconds of his digits invading her, he lifted his ass up from her legs to get himself in position. Now, she thought, or at least she was pretty sure the thought was her own. Her bony knee shot up and drove into his balls, once, twice, and again for good measure.
“Ohhh, you fuckin’ bitch,” he wheezed.
His face came toward her, his eyes filled with hurt and rage. She drew her arm back and planted her fist, a good hard strike, straight into his nose.
He cried out. His hands flew up to the bloody geyser on his face as he rolled off from her and onto his back on the floor beside her. Alison scrambled to her feet and out through the bathroom door.
Her t-shirt fell back over her injured breast and rubbed over the tender opening. Tears rolled from her eyes, but she managed to maintain her focus as she crashed against the back door. She grasped the silver door knob and twisted. It was locked. She turned the lock to the left and tried again. This time the knob turned but the door did not budge. The bolt locked. She clasped it between her fingers.
“You’re not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere.”
She ducked at the sound of Richie’s voice and fled down the hall. The living room was torn apart and bare. The carpet was gone. Her eyes found it rolled up against the far wall in front of the door. She ran across the linoleum floor and ran to the door. She held the knob and pawed at the rolled-up carpet barricading her with her sneakered foot. She removed it from the doorway and shoved it behind her. The door pulled open but slammed to a halt. The chain, pulled taught, mocked her and laughed at her failure. She leaned her forehead against it.
Richie threw his arms around her like a bear, pulled her against his chest, and flung her over like a wrestler. Her ankles and knees slapped against the hard floor. Bursts of sharp pains lit up under her skin. She broke down in a full-fledged cry. She couldn’t help it. The toughness dam broke and gave way to her defeat.
“Go on. Cry for me, baby. C’mon,” he said. He didn’t even stop as he walked next to her and took her by the hair and marched back toward the hallway.
“Richie, please.” Alison hated the sound of her voice. The feebleness. The uselessness. She had zero choice but to rise and follow him. He would have dragged her by her hair. She limped along behind him with fresh new pains in her knees joining the gash in her thigh and the gnawed off nipple scraping against the cotton shirt. The fabric of our lives felt more like a piece of sandpaper rubbing back and forth on her torn tit.
“Come on, baby.” He led her back down to the bathroom and shoved her into the room before him. Watch and participate. And you’ll grow to fuckin’ like it, or I’ll fucking break your goddam neck and do what I want to you anyway.”
He pushed her across the room. Her shins smacked against the side of the tub as she crumbled forward. Richie’s hand found her hair again and lifted her back to her feet. He clamped his other hand around her arm, which would have made her wince under any other circumstance, but considering all the damage done so far, she was just grateful for its work in relieving some of the pain in her scalp.
“Take a long hard look, honey. This is your new–
Our new
–our new look.”
Alison screamed against the horrible abominations gazing into her from the mirror. Eyes, like burning coals, yet vacant of any true sense of warmth. Tattered strands of flesh and gore hung from the two half-skeletal faces. From the neck down, were two flawless nude bodies–one male, one female. Two sets of hands reached forward and caressed her face, her neck, and pulled her toward the mirror. The draw to these two things was at once overwhelming and undeniable. She wanted this. She wanted to give herself to them.
Yes. That’s it. Come to us child.
There were hands on her hips. Richie. He was penetrating her from behind, but it felt good. She wanted it. She wanted it harder.
No.
Yes.
Her body continued its betrayal. She closed her eyes and found herself slamming her ass into Richie. He groaned and grunted, his breaths coming in short blasts. His fingers digging into her sides. Her own moans joined his.
No.
Let go.
No.
Alison opened her eyes. The black eyes and hanging flesh monstrosities were gone. In their place, she saw her and Richie in the throes of ecstasy. The 0 face she was making in the reflection did not mirror her own. She bit down hard on her lips, tasting the coppery reality. Suddenly, the reflection’s eyes met hers and winked. Involuntarily, her arm flew back. Her elbow drove into Richie’s already broken nose. He went flailing backward stumbling against the toilet and falling awkwardly to the floor. Freed from whatever possessed her, Alison spun and reached for the heavy porcelain topper at the back of the toilet. She hefted it off and raised it over her head. Richie’s eyes shot up at her. Gone were his brown eyes and in their place sat two smoldering black holes surrounded by glowing orange embers.
“Do it,” he said, his voice deeper, and gravelly.
She swung the porcelain to the side and came across his face connecting with his cheekbone rather than down over his skull as she had first intended. He toppled onto his face on the floor as she followed all the way through. The porcelain weapon hit the floor and broke in two with a loud thud.
Alison’s reflection in the mirror shook with rage.
“Fuck you,” Alison seethed. She stepped over Richie’s motionless body.
She had one foot out the door when his hand grasped her ankle. She cried in shock and pain. His vice-like grip continued to close around her until she felt the bones break. Alison fell forward. The side of her head bounced off the door frame. She landed on her ear in the hallway, consciousness slipping away.
The thing in Richie’s body crawled over her, lapped the side of her face, and whispered in her ear, “Richie’s dead and so is your new boyfriend, Jason…and it’s all your fault.”
“No,” she whimpered.
But she knew it was. She left Richie with this thing and then brought Jason to it. It was all her fault. The room
began to fade from her vision.
“That’s it, give in, it’s time you got just what you deserve.”
Alison gasped at the cold sensation invading her body.
Then, she was gone.
The demon gazed into her eyes. “My love,” Domineus said.
Sanikus stared back from the woman’s eyes, and replied, “Hello, my dear.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Armed with Hot Pockets and Cokes for each of them, James followed Carrie and Kevin up the stairs.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Mrs. H said from behind them. “Eric called. He wants you to call him.”
“Thanks, mom.” Kevin sat his plate on the bottom bunk.
“I’m going to grab my bean bag. I’ll be right back.” Carrie slipped from the room.
James picked up a Hot Pocket and took a bite. A mouthful of pizza sauce squirted the inside of his mouth.
Kevin popped open a soda, took a sip, and set it down next to his laptop. “I bookmarked that shit I found earlier,” he said, clicking open a browser and scrolling down through the long list of saved pages until he found the one on German folklore and opened it. “Here it is.”
James stepped up to Kevin and nodded at the screen. “May I?”
“Sure, man.” Kevin grabbed his soda and gave James his seat.
Carrie came back in with her pink bean bag. She grabbed her food and drink and plopped down a few feet from James.
It was the Creepy Pasta website. Not the most legit place to get your information, but there were always great stories which James was convinced held slivers of truth, if you believed in such things.
The German folklore page opened.
If he didn’t believe before, what he was looking at now was all the proof he needed.
James stared at the face of the thing he’d seen in the window. The thing with the burning eyes. The thing after his father.