Don't Feed The Dark (UPDATED 9/25/16: Episode 9-1 added) 2591
 

AT TIMES, DON’T FEED THE DARK CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, GORE, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT AND HARSH LANGUAGE THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR YOUNGER READERS. DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

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Chapter Index

PART I: DEAD OF NIGHT
Chapter 1-1: Demon Night
Chapter 1-2: Demon Night
Chapter 1-3: Demon Night
Chapter 1-4: Demon Night
Chapter 2-1: Dinner and a Movie
Chapter 2-2: Dinner and a Movie
Chapter 2-3: Dinner and a Movie
Chapter 2-4: Dinner and a Movie
Chapter 3-1: A Higher Education
Chapter 3-2: A Higher Education
Chapter 3-3: A Higher Education
Chapter 4: Happy Hour
Chapter 5: Breakdown
Chapter 6-1: Dinner and a Movie 2
Chapter 6-2: Dinner and a Movie 2
Chapter 6-3: Dinner and a Movie 2
Chapter 7-1: Demon Night 2
Chapter 7-2: Demon Night 2
Chapter 7-3: Demon Night 2
Chapter 7-4: Demon Night 2

PART II: SOUTHBOUND NIGHTMARES
Chapter 8-1: State of Emergency
Chapter 8-2: State of Emergency
Chapter 8-3: State of Emergency
Chapter 8-4: State of Emergency
Chapter 9-1: Desolate Shores

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Chapter 1-1: Demon Night

The October harvest moon ascended above the tree line; its ominous, orange lit lower half sporadically penetrated the dark clouds that slowly consumed the night sky. Like an alien eye staring down upon the dark and silent village of Kirtland Hills, Ohio, that fiery orb held its gaze upon the small downtown streets below, sensing an unsettling presence that did not belong.

Elongated shadows shifted beneath the moonlight, giving them an eerie life-like quality as they slowly paraded along Route 306 and through the heart of downtown. First, past the public hall and police station on the left, and then the small post office to the right; past the library, the dollar store, the local bank, and then beyond the public schools all nestled together across the street from Kirtland’s only apartment complex. They continued on past the small antique shops, the gas station, the family owned ice cream shop, until finally reaching the edge of downtown and passing through the Mormon historical district. A modern church and a visitor center surrounded the tallest structure, the Mormon Temple—its tall spire pointing defiantly toward that roaming eye above, like a needle hoping to pierce the moon. The shadow parade continued cautiously past the local town cemetery where horrors imagined would soon merge with tangible nightmares disguised in darkness and the illusion of eternal rest.

Beyond the sheepish downtown, the shadow parade dispersed into the darker streets that wound the spacious hillside areas of Kirtland where dim street lights gave way to dark countryside, farm lands, and long private drives, which hid the luxurious homes of Kirtland’s more fortuitous citizens… and an evil which began to stir.

The crisp night air invigorated the man dressed in black as he watched the moon flicker between the waving boughs of two enormous willow trees that hid him and the Chevy van. The narrow dirt road, covered with overgrowth, ran the entire perimeter of the old abandoned farm, providing the perfect place to approach the Schuler residence undetected from the back of the property.

He continued to lie patiently in the tall grass beneath the willow, arms folded behind his head and listening to the wind brush against the night.

“I see you,” he whispered to the moon.

The moon remained silent.

Half-an-hour later, the celestial watchman retreated behind the clouds.

Russell got up, crossed the dirt road, and jumped over a decrepit wooden fence that separated both properties.

He walked silently but purposefully through a small wooded area for ten minutes before seeing the rear porch light on the wraparound veranda, a tell-tale of the two-story Victorian Schuler residence that dominated the property.

Before exiting the wood line, he knelt behind a tall oak tree, letting his eyes readjust to the unwelcome light while he watched for anything out of the ordinary.

At the center of a well-manicured yard sat a small pond with a fountain, guarded by a tall angelic stone statue and surrounded by a luxurious garden of several types of seasonal flowers.

If nothing else, Janet loves her flowers, Russell thought.

With the exception of the rear porch light and the kitchen light on the first floor that illuminated part of the garden, the remainder of the yard had given up to darkness. Russell knew that the only other light to contend with once he was inside would be the hallway light at the top of the curved stairwell that spilled out into the foyer at the front of the house.

Satisfied, he took a moment to reflect. He often felt a mixture of excitement and sadness knowing that the end had finally come. There had been so much time invested in all the details—everything concerning the lives of Gerald and Janet Schuler. He felt like he knew them intimately.

Gerald was a big-shot defense attorney who worked out of Cleveland. He often traveled to accommodate an ever-increasing list of infamous clients. This week he was out in San Francisco interviewing the latest pond scum, or at least, that’s the story he told his gullible wife.

But we know better, don’t we, boss?

“Yes,” Russell whispered in response, slightly annoyed. “We certainly do.”

Gerald’s new client was actually the young and voluptuous Miss Sarah Turner, Gerald’s secretary and secret mistress.

Gone off to ‘Frisco for their quarterly fuck-fest. That dumb whore bitch of his thinks Gerald’s gonna divorce Mrs. Pathetic any day now. Thinks she’s next in line for the great Schuler fortune, I’d wager. What ‘cha think, boss?

Russell ignored him. What mattered was that Gerald would not be home.

And Janet… alone.

~~~

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“I am Deliverance,” Russell declared from behind the oak tree.

You sure are, boss. Fuckin’ FedEx can’t touch your rapid delivery time to the other side. Question is… how many pieces are we shipping?

Russell felt the old annoyance rising up within him.

You gonna place that mean ole’ knife right up against her throat and take all the pain away, aren’t you, boss?

“Yes,” he whispered. He hated acknowledging what he generically called, ‘the other one’, but sometimes it was persistent. The other one always tried to cheapen what he did and turn his cause into something perverse and primal. But Russell knew better—he was better than that.

And right before you slit her throat and watch the light go out in those ‘too good for this fucking world’ eyes, you gonna stick something else to her, right, boss? Give her all the lovin’ Gerald’s been holding out on her.

“Shut up.” Russell dismissed the savage. He turned to look back at where the moon had once been, removed his large hunting knife from the sheath he wore on his belt, and then held it up like a twisted talisman and proclaimed, “I am the angel of freedom, here to save the just from the darkness that comes. For the sake of the righteous ones suppressed by this perishing world, I will deliver them from the long night-”

And spill their fucking blood until we’re swimmin’ in it! Split ‘em right down the center and turn ‘em inside out! Can you say fucking hall-e-lu-hah. Amen!
The thought rose up in Russell like a violent storm:

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

And the other one fell silent. Can you say, Amen.

Russell placed the six-inch blade, the instrument of his calling, back into his sheath. He looked toward the quiet house. It was time.

After putting on his black leather gloves, Russell moved cautiously from shadow to shadow until he reached the veranda steps. He quickly unscrewed the porch light bulb, bringing back some of the familiar darkness he craved.

Russell let his eyes adjust and then moved toward the sliding glass door that led into the den. He knew the door would be unlocked. Russell also knew that Janet never ventured into the den, for that was Gerald’s private place and off-limits to lowly housewives. Of course, Russell knew all about Gerald’s online porn collection. His office computer was loaded with the filth, making Russell want to wash his hands after he’d discovered it.

Are you sure you don’t wanna come back and gut this pig too, boss?

Russell had to admit, it was awfully tempting.

The glass door slid open with ease. He was about to enter the dark den, but stopped when he heard an unknown sound.

Something’s changed. Something felt… different.

He quickly spun on the ball of his left foot, performing an ‘about face’ while drawing the hunting knife simultaneously. Russell crouched before the open glass door with his weapon retracted like a viper ready to strike.

It’s the fuckin’ wind, boss. Something’s sittin’ foul on it.

Not only that, but Russell was certain he heard something in the darkness, something muffled by the wind.

A strong gust had blown by, causing the dark curtains within the den to dance before the open door. Russell reached behind and slowly closed it. He scanned the dark yard for movement but all he saw were the waving skeletal remains of trees stripped of their fall garments.

That was a scream, boss. You know it. I know it. We be experts in that regard, don’t you think?

Russell ignored him. Even if the other one was correct, the scream was coming from elsewhere. Sound did funny things when it met the wind. “Could have been a coyote or a raccoon,” he reasoned.

Anything you say, boss. I still don’t like it.

For once they were in agreement.

Russell decided to proceed. He opened the sliding glass door and entered the darkness of the den.

Fear was not a sensation Russell was capable of anymore, but he was still relieved to be indoors and out of the strange night. Once within the den, he forgot all else, turning his attention to the task. The digital clock in the den displayed 3:15 in bright, blood-red.

She would be asleep by now; Janet was seldom up past midnight. She often retired early and woke up before dawn. Janet loved to sit out back on the porch swing with her morning coffee and enjoy the solace her gardening efforts provided. Russell had watched her on three different occasions in this way and was convinced that at these times, Janet was the most herself, which also meant, the most vulnerable.

He remembered the last morning he’d watched her from the woods—her unkempt, long, blond hair dancing in a soft breeze over the shoulders of her long, white nightgown. He remembered the way she folded her legs up toward her chest, resting her arms and coffee cup between her knees as she seemed to savor each sip and just absorb the morning with those sharp, blue eyes. Those eyes—it was always the eyes—that told him everything he needed to know. And then there was her secret smile, only released in moments such as these when both woman and child surfaced to fuse as one while the illusion of life renewed had not yet faded to the harsh realities of the pending day.

Russell had almost screwed up that final morning as he’d nearly stepped out from the cover of the trees, wanting to take her then, before the day could become cruel and steal that perfect moment from them.

It had been his reflection in the knife blade that he’d unconsciously drawn that brought him back to his senses. One look into those two black holes upon a face made stone by years of calculated coldness made Russell aware that he had overstayed his welcome, and that the morning would reveal too much if he didn’t depart and retreat back into the dark, where everyone was equally ugly and shadows were no respecter of persons.

Are you still there, boss?

“Yes,” he whispered, returning from the time machine of memory.

Russell moved quickly to the right and slowly opened the door. The expected kitchen light poured in through the crack, momentarily exposing Gerald’s ‘I love me’ room of walls littered with certificates and treasured sports memorabilia. Gerald’s sacred world of porn and pompous man were soon forgotten as Russell entered the kitchen, closed the den door behind him, and quickly turned off the kitchen light.

He paused a few moments to ensure there were no sounds coming from the house (not even a mouse), and then he followed the last of the light coming from his left, which led into the massive foyer. He flipped both light switches off near the foot of the large curved staircase and one more by the elaborately decorated oak double front doors, which killed the remaining light coming from the front porch and upper hallway.

The moon had returned. Ambient light poured in through the large stained-glass window overlooking the foyer, but not enough light to expose Russell in the darkness.

From his vantage point near the front door, Russell looked up at Janet’s bedroom on the second floor. The door was open. If she’d been awake, there would’ve been movement when he’d turned out the foyer light. All remained quiet, as expected.

Russell waited ten more minutes, preparing his mind for the dark deed of deliverance, and then began to ascend the curved staircase.

The other one could no longer remain silent:

Here piggy, piggy, piggy… it’s time for a bloodbath.

~~~

(If you want more of The Dark, I'll keep posting on this thread. If you want to read on ahead, please feel free to visit my Webpage in the link below and keep on reading. Thanks for stopping by.)

~~~

Chapter 1-2: Demon Night

~~~

Janet Schuler went to bed earlier that evening with a heavy heart.

Since the big blow out with Gerald a few weeks prior, a deep and long-suppressed depression had surfaced, threatening to overwhelm her after accumulative years of trying to stay afloat in her shipwrecked marriage. Janet had first sought professional help and was given a prescription for anti-depressant medication. She never took a single pill, but kept them at the ready right beside the .38 Special revolver she’d recently acquired through a friend.

Two nights ago, the gun began to beckon, as she started placing it beside the pills in her night stand each evening as matters continued to get worse.

On the surface, she’d always played her part: a well-to-do accessory wife of a successful lawyer and cheating husband. Janet had attended all of Gerald’s dinner functions, laughing at all his jokes and entertaining potential clients’ wives. She’d always been the perfect little hostess/servant when Gerald’s self-important friends all got together in her home and drank too much over-priced whiskey and smoked those horrid imported cigars. They had always carried on late into the evenings, sharing exaggerated stories of war in the courtroom, or the conquests of esteemed virgins from younger days, and of course, Janet’s favorite: stories of the lives they had ruined to climb a little higher on their corporate pedestals of power and corruption. They were always loud, obnoxious and disgusting. Those pigs hit on her whenever Gerald’s back was turned.

She had tolerated all of this and the affairs that came later. She’d long suspected them, although she never confronted him or pushed the matter. A woman knows that something is wrong when her husband stops touching her… she just knows.

Gerald never really loved her. Janet knew that now. He was in love with the idea of making the ‘hot blond’ his wife, like a stamp of ownership allowing him bragging rights among his peers. Perhaps Gerald was simply incapable of real love. Whatever the case, she no longer cared.

The final straw was when Gerald refused to give her children. He had been stalling for years with worn-out lies: “I’m not ready for fatherhood,” or “I just need a little more time,” or “Let me get my career off the ground and then I’ll be ready to focus on having a family.”

Three weeks ago, Gerald had come home after losing an important case in the courtroom (something Janet wished she had not been home for). Gerald had been violently drunk, got into a bar fight, and somehow managed to get his precious Corvette home in one piece.

All she had asked was, “What happened?”

From there, he’d exploded on her.

Gerald was too smart to ever strike her physically. As a lawyer, he knew too well where that would land him. That night, Janet saw the anger and loathing in his eyes. Just before it looked like he would strike her, Gerald took a deep breath, smiled and said, “Bitch, you and I are never going to have kids. So stop waiting around for me with those hope-filled doe eyes of yours and wake the fuck up!”

Janet had never understood where his rage came from. It just came. She honestly thought a punch across the mouth more preferable.

Before she could get a word in, Gerald had continued his verbal assault, striking her where it hurt the most. “I got a vasectomy over a year ago. It hurt like a mother fucker but you never knew because I found you too repulsive by then to want to have sex with you. How do you like them apples?”

Gerald was fond of saying that when he knew the argument was his or after the verbal dagger was firmly inserted into a vital area.

At the time, Janet had wished he had simply put a bullet in the side of her head.

He had gone on to say more hurtful things, unloading his true heart for the first time about how he saw her as weak and pathetic—everything he’d been holding back for years.

In the end, it was Gerald’s confession of how much he despised her that prompted Janet to fly to her family’s home in Phoenix to meet up with an old college boyfriend who had been emailing her for months to come down and run away with him. After one impulsive night, Janet had slept with the boyfriend and then left him high and dry the next morning, taking the earliest flight back to Cleveland.

The nights to follow became a struggle for her to find the will to keep on living, to keep on surviving.

After a long battle with her guilt for committing adultery, but silently praying she would end up pregnant, Janet had her period followed by a mental breakdown. It would seem that sleeping with a man in the desperate hope that she would be impregnated would also leave her barren. By then, Janet wanted it all to end.

Now, it simply came down to choice: a bullet or the pills.

In one of many haunted dreams, Janet struggled to stay afloat in a sea of little white pills while Gerald held her ankle and tried to pull her beneath. In one arm she desperately tried to save a crying infant who simply smiled, held up the gun in its little hands and shot her in the face.

How do you like them apples?

~~~

He stood at the foot of her bed like the Reaper pausing to measure dead time between breaths. Russell’s hand went nearly numb around the hilt of the knife before relaxing his grip. Then, he repeated this ritual again… and again. The long-awaited moment had arrived. His blood boiled with feverish anticipation. If he couldn’t steady himself, Russell would be messy, unable to keep himself from stabbing her in the chest repeatedly.

Like the last time.

Bathe in that bitch, boss! Drown in her blood!

Janet lay partially exposed by moonlight and a discarded blanket. She was drenched in cold sweat, tossing and turning to escape the nightmares that would not let her go. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, revealing the curves of her breasts as nipples attempted to penetrate a transparent cream-colored silk gown.

Why are you fighting it, boss? Bang the shit out of her dying, bloody flesh. Stop resisting me! Do it… NOW!

It was all Russell could do to ignore the other one and resist that black hunger that drove at him to ravage her like a savage beast. He began slicing blindly at the air as if that demon within were something tangible he might slay once and for all. Stop pushing me you filthy animal!

No. Russell would not give the other one an ounce of gratification. It would be clean and quick; one deep cut across the jugular and Janet would be free. He would see it in her eyes—the moment the pain was no more, the moment the fear was no more, the moment of salvation.

She deserves to be tortured, boss. You know what she did! Fucked that old boyfriend, and now she ain’t no better. She’s tainted meat. You hear? Tainted unrighteous fucking meat!

Russell ignored him. He silently moved along the bed, dodging patches of moonlit space, until his shadow fell menacingly across Janet’s face.

With one gloved hand, Russell slowly moved to cover her mouth, holding her down firmly long enough to cut her throat open. The act would be quick, precise… liberating. Then he would simply watch that look of fear and shock fade as the life slowly left those deep, blue eyes forever, never to be enslaved by this world again. He could already envision that warm fluid of life running freely down the front of her gown as she briefly tried to yell out, tried to breathe, tried to struggle… and then, she would be gone. Janet would be free.

Just before his hand reached her mouth, Russell froze. His ears were like finely tuned radars honing in on the faint and muffled sounds coming from the direction of the foyer.

Russell knew what it was immediately.

There was an intruder in the house.

~~~

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(...Continued from previous reply)

~~~

He quickly retreated from the bed and crept back toward the hallway, blending into the darkness. It wasn’t until Russell reached the curved staircase at the top of the large open foyer that he had his immediate questions answered.

Gerald?

No.

There were several intruders.

Cops, then?

No.

There would be lights by now—voices.

The sounds seemed less… human.

He heard what sounded like paw nails striking and sliding across the kitchen linoleum floor.

Rat-a-tat-a-tat

It reminded him of the sound large clumsy dogs make when they get excited and try to maneuver too quickly around corners.

Did Janet buy a dog recently? Wild animals?

No.

That didn’t sound quite right either. There were no sounds of wrappers being ripped open, trash cans being tipped, tables being bumped—all the erratic sounds one would expect when animals were foraging in the dark.

No. Animals aren’t concerned with stealth.

There was just that frantic… Rat-a-tat-a-tat.

Whatever was making those sounds seemed content at the moment to remain in the kitchen. Russell had to get out before he was discovered.

Did I leave the sliding glass door open? he wondered.

No way, boss. You shut that behind you.

The other one was right.

And then the dreaded realization surfaced: Someone opened the sliding glass door and let something inside.

That reasoning came from a strange and dark place that led to all sorts of imaginative possibilities, but Russell dismissed them. It was simply time to go. He decided to make his way down the steps and exit out the front door.

Russell made it to the lower stairs before the trap was sprung.

Rat-a-tat-a-tat

Something was rapidly approaching from the darkest part of the kitchen.

They had been aware of him all along and were only waiting to draw him to the foyer.

Russell had his knife out, twirling it skillfully between two fingers.

No time, boss! Move your ass ‘cause something darker than you is hunting tonight!

Russell was in complete agreement as he rushed back toward the staircase. He could’ve sworn that he heard a slight tremble in that old, monstrous, savage within, and that was a little unnerving.

He was just ascending the stairs when a large shadow growled and leaped from the darkness toward him.

Russell sidestepped, causing the hideous thing to just miss him and crash into the banister. It let loose a hair-raising cry of frustration.

He didn’t dare stop to look as he sprinted up the stairs. He just caught a lucky break.

It sounded fucking human, boss! What the fuck did ya’ get us into?

“Shut up,” Russell said.

He reached the top of the curved staircase as the foyer was overrun. Russell heard a collective low growl, and then all went disturbingly silent.

From the dark corners of the foyer, deliberately avoiding the moonlight, Russell could feel their savage eyes upon him.

They smell blood, boss. You best do what you gotta do before they eat you. The other one was laughing insanely inside his head.

Before Russell could do anything, various windows on the first floor sounded like they were imploding.

Light from Janet’s bedroom poured into the foyer, exposing both Russell and the monstrosities below.

“Shit,” Russell whispered as his eyes adjusted.

They were mostly human, or used to be. When the bedroom light lit up the foyer, five naked, bloody and pale-skinned creatures jumped off the bottom of the stairwell, issuing bone-chilling screeches of pain as they rushed across the linoleum on all fours creating that rat-a-tat-a-tat sound with their hands and feet as they rushed toward the darkness. Russell watched as a naked elderly man, bent over on all fours with what looked like a part of his torso missing and his rib cage partially exposed, stopped and gazed up at him with ghastly red eyes. It hissed at him exposing a set of bloody razors for teeth.

All but two of the creatures fled for the darkness as the old man and a naked, heavy-set, middle-aged woman with scraggly, short, red hair began to creep up the staircase on all fours. Half the woman’s face looked as if some wild animal tore it clean off, revealing what was left of one hideous red eye and a queer smile full of daggers locked in place. The woman’s limbs looked severely disfigured as bones and joints were either broken or twisted in unnatural ways. He could see what was left of her spine penetrating the bare flesh on her back. Her hands and feet were severely swollen, making them look far too big in contrast to the rest of her body. At the end of elongated fingers, her sharp and bloody nails rivaled Russell’s knife.

It was the woman’s large girth that saved Russell’s life. She moved much slower as her large breasts dangled and dragged in front of her against the steps, throwing her off-balance and slowing the old man down that tried to climb over top of her.

Regardless, they were almost to him.

Stop gawking at the fat bitch’s goods, boss, and move your fucking ass!

Russell turned toward Janet’s bedroom at the end of the hall. He’d been quickly but calmly calculating his next move when he heard her voice.

“Who’s there?” Janet called out. “Whoever you are, I just called the police. Gerald… is that you?”

There was only one option remaining.

You should’ve killed that skank when you had the chance, boss. Now she’s gone and called the pigs. I told you she was spoiled! Kill the bitch, now! Feed her to those crazy fucks and get out!

Russell started to move but the woman-thing was there, wrapping her deformed arms around his legs.

It was his murderous skills that saved him.

The red-eyed creatures were fast but Russell was faster. Just before the woman-thing took a large bite out of his leg, Russell thrust his knife directly into what was left of her head, using his other hand to hammer it into her forehead.

The woman staggered for a moment, screaming in pain. She fell backwards down the stairs, knocking the old man down with her.

Russell stared down at the dead woman who was lying spread-eagle at the foot of the staircase, the old man pinned beneath her. His blade was driven deep into her brain—the hilt was all that remained.

That’s my good one, he thought, staring at his knife. He hated leaving evidence, but believed tonight would be the exception.

The others had regained their boldness as three more stormed out of the darkness toward the stairs.

Time to go skin that bitch, boss. Better hurry, though. Better run.

“There will be no skinning, so be silent,” Russell hissed.

The other one filled his head with laughter.

Russell raced toward the bedroom door.

The remaining creatures had just reached the top of the stairs.

Fuck, they’re fast!

Russell was calculating, planning, and fiercely going through the details of all he’d learned about the Schuler house.

They were almost on top of him as Russell stormed into Janet’s bedroom. He had just enough time to close the door and lock it as the beasts began slamming into it from the other side.

It took him a moment to register the three gunshots as rounds struck the door to his left, the last shot grazing his cheek.

~~~

(If you want more of The Dark, I'll keep posting on this thread. If you want to read on ahead, please feel free to visit my Webpage and keep on reading. Thanks for stopping by.)

Chapter 1-3: Demon Night

~~~

“Don’t you fucking move, asshole!” Janet yelled from behind him.

Didn’t see that coming, did you, boss?

No. He hadn’t. The gun was a new and unexpected development. Not the first one tonight, so it seemed. Fortunately, those things on the other side of the door were unaware as well. One shrieked in pain as a bullet ripped through the door and found a target.

Without turning around, Russell attempted to regain control. “Wait! Don’t shoot!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ve a reasonable explanation for being in your house.”

The creatures had tremendous strength. The gunshots only infuriated them. It was just a matter of time before they broke the flimsy lock. Russell leaned his shoulder into the door and slowly turned to look at her, holding his hands above his head.

“What… what did you say?” Janet asked.

“Look, I’m a private investigator,” he lied. “I work for your husband’s law firm.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you and Mr. Schuler—accumulating evidence against him. He’s in a lot of trouble. I was outside watching the house from the street when I saw several intruders enter your home. I thought you were in danger so I rushed in to find you. Then I ran into a bit of trouble.”

Janet hesitated.

Give her a name, any name. Names always ease an itchy trigger finger, boss.

“My name’s John.” And then another lie, “I’m not going to hurt you, so please don’t shoot me.”

But we are gonna cut your fucking tits off for the cheek tattoo, piggy.

If not for the beasts trying to break in, Russell would have charged her and snapped Janet’s neck. When moments got intense, he had little to no control over the other one. He had to regain himself quickly.

There was another hard crash against the door as Russell repositioned himself.

Janet couldn’t think straight. Everything was happening so fast. She had awakened from one nightmare to find herself engaged in another. He’s come home to kill me, she had thought, believing the intruder was Gerald.

In her dream, there had been a man’s shadow hovering above the bed holding a knife. She remembered opening her eyes to see him, but was unable to cry out or move at all. When the shadow moved into the moonlight, it was Gerald’s face she saw.

Disoriented and driven by the fear from her vivid dream, Janet had reached desperately for the bed lamp as the noises drew near, turned the light on, and then reached into the night stand for the gun.

She only saw her husband when the stranger barged in, causing her to pull frantically on the trigger.

There was another heavy slam against the door.

“What’s out there?” Janet was shaking fiercely. The adrenaline mixed with the shock of almost killing a man kept her frozen in place, finger still resting on the trigger. She stood beside the bed with her knees locked, arms raised, and her long, blond hair thrown back over her shoulders as the bed lamp illuminated her naked form beneath the thin, silk nightgown.

To Russell, she looked like some vengeful vixen right off a comically bizarre B-rated movie poster where the crazed housewife wakes up to find her spouse screwing another woman in the next room.

He saw it in her eyes. Janet clearly intended to kill something. He had to diffuse her quickly.

Again, he was thrown off balance as the creatures made another attempt to breach the door. This time, they howled their frustration from the other side.

This was enough to get her attention.

“If you could please lower that gun, I would like to get us out of here before what’s on the other side of this door gets in. After that, I’ll explain everything. But right now, we have to run.”

Janet was fixed on the stranger’s dark eyes. They were so much like Gerald’s that she almost fired again. They were predator’s eyes. Then the door caught her attention and when she drifted back to those dark eyes, they had softened considerably.

If only you were him, she thought. Regrettably, Janet lowered the gun.

Russell backed away from the door and quickly got around the other side of a large dresser. He pushed it in front of the door. Next, he went toward the window on the opposite side of the bed. “If you don’t mind,” he began, wanting her attention off of him as much as possible, “could you please keep that gun aimed toward the door and shoot the first thing you see, okay?”

Janet raised the gun toward the door as the creatures challenged it again, causing the door to shake violently in the frame. “What the hell is out there… John?”

Russell ignored her. He opened the window and pushed out the screen, letting it fall into the darkness. He could already tell there was no way down without risking an injury.

You could make that jump, boss. It’s that bitch you’re worried about. Leave her here for the animals. Maybe they’ll let you watch.

“Shut up,” he said without thinking.

“What?” Janet asked.

“Not you.”

“What!?” She turned the gun back toward him, and then back toward the door as the creatures slammed it again.

The other one was laughing hysterically in his head.

~~~

(Continued in next reply...)

(...Continued from previous reply.)

~~~

“We need another way out.” Russell surveyed the large master bedroom for anything they could use, recalling from memory the layout of the room. There were two remaining doors. One led into a large bathroom. That was a dead end. The other door led into the large walk-in closet. There were no adjoining rooms from here.

“We could barricade ourselves in the bathroom,” Janet offered.

Russell was staring at the walk-in closet. “No, we need to move in there.”

“Why the hell would we-”

“The laundry chute at the back of the closet,” he interrupted. “It’s big enough for us both to scale down.”

Before Janet could ask how he knew that, Russell quickly closed the gap between them, grabbed her wrist and twisted until she released the gun into his free hand.

He had her on her knees in seconds, as he continued to apply pressure on the wrist while aiming the gun down at the top of her head.

Waste her, boss! Shoot her in the fucking eyes and skull fuck the bitch!

Russell regained control. He released her hand and Janet backed into the bed.

He crouched down on the floor in front of her, his face inches from hers. “Look, there’s no more time for bullshit questions. If you do as I say, when I say it, we might get out of here. But there’s no guarantee at this point. Those things mean to have us. Do you understand?”

Janet looked back into those cold eyes and understood he meant business. “I… I understand.”

Then Russell made a surprising move and handed her back the gun. “I’m not trying to scare you. But you’re making me nervous pointing that gun in my face. I’m just as confused as you are and I’m trying to find a way out of this crazy mess. I could really use your help right now, okay?”

Janet nodded.

“Good.” He helped her back to her feet. “Now, let’s move.” Russell turned toward the closet, leaving his back exposed.

What the fuck are you doing, boss? You think you know this bitch, but you don’t. Why did you give back the fucking gun?

Russell ignored him. He knew the other one would never understand the game and didn’t bother explaining it. The other one was an unthinking savage, a malevolent tool, a bloody means-to-an-end, and now, it was Russell’s moment to shine.

Janet lifted the gun and aimed it at Russell’s back. It shook in her hands and felt much heavier than before. She kept it on him until he disappeared into the closet and then dropped her arms. “Damn it!” she hissed.

“Are you coming,” he called back, smiling from the dark.

Russell did not waste time pondering the evening’s strange events. He didn’t consider the beasts outside Janet’s bedroom to be of any real relevance. He was not about the ‘how’ or the ‘why’. What mattered to him was that after looking once more into the frightened and desperate eyes of his prey, tonight’s circumstances only served to highlight the importance of purpose.

His purpose.

Whether hell had surfaced right in the center of the Schuler home, or perhaps something far worse, it didn’t matter. Everything was stressing Janet’s need to be rescued from this life. And this macabre twist of circumstances would prove to her that she’d just looked into the eyes of her deliverance.

She has seen the eyes of her savior, both now… and later, he thought confidently.

For once, the other one remained silent, perhaps understanding who the crazier of the two truly was.

The lock on the bedroom door finally gave as the door knob popped off and hit the floor. The creatures slammed into it again, pushing the door open three inches until it struck against the dresser.

Janet screamed when she heard them howling through the crack. What the hell is out there?

“Now would be a good time,” Russell said.

Janet forced her lethargic limbs to move and got up to follow the stranger into the closet.

“Leave the closet light out and close the door behind you,” Russell told her. “It may buy us a few seconds. Perhaps they’ll think we exited through the window. Unless they track by scent, then it won’t matter.”

“Track by scent?” Janet closed the flimsy closet door behind her. “What in God’s name is out there?”

“There’s nothing godly out there,” he said.

Nothing godly trapped in here with you either, bitch, the other one laughed.

The beasts continued slamming into the bedroom door, creating a one-foot gap. They were almost through.

The walk-in closet was narrow but deep, running half the length of the wall. The laundry chute was hidden behind a fashion jungle at the back end.

Janet stood near the closet door, staring out through the narrow slats that let some light in. She could clearly see the bedroom door, or what was left of it. She tried to steady herself—the gun shaking visibly in her hands. Janet also wanted some distance from the strange man dressed all in black who called himself, John. She could see him throwing clothes aside to get to the unused laundry chute.

How did he know it was there? All she had were questions that lent for disturbing answers if she let her imagination linger.

There was another loud crash against the door as the dresser nearly toppled over but righted in time.

Janet raised the gun, not yet certain which way she should aim it.

Russell cleared away a pile of folded winter clothes from the top of the chute, and then lifted the lid, letting up a cool draft from the first floor. For a moment he stared down into the dark hole, roughly the size of a man-hole cover, and listened for what he hoped was nothing from below. Russell estimated the drop was no more than fifteen feet.

He had first spied the chute on his initial visit to the Schuler house, after discovering Janet’s diary among other memorabilia that she kept on one of the closet shelves. It only reaffirmed his belief in paying attention to all the details, no matter how insignificant they seemed at the time.

Oh, come on, boss! You know damn well why we remember this old chute. That’s where we were gonna stuff her corpse when we were finished. Remember? After we cut her up in to pieces-

“That was what you wanted to do, not me,” Russell whispered.

Whatever you say, boss. You keep servin’ up that bullshit on the menu and we’ll just keep eaten’ it.

Convinced there were no surprises waiting at the bottom of the chute, Russell went to retrieve Janet.

He ignored the gun aimed at him and looked out through the closet slats toward the bedroom door.

Any second now, boss. It should be a real fuckin’ massacre. Wanna hang around and see what happens?

Russell turned to Janet. “Look, I think we can get out. But we have to go now.”

She lowered the gun and followed Russell to the chute.

Ten seconds later, the dresser fell over with a crash, followed by an all too familiar unnerving sound on the hardwood floor:

Rat-a-tat-a-tat

They both ducked down near the chute. Russell motioned with one gloved hand not to make a sound.

“Dear God, they’re in,” Janet whispered. She was trembling. In a panic, Janet lifted the gun, intending to shoot blindly through a rack of hanging dresses, but Russell quickly disarmed her and wrapped his arms around her waist to still her shaking, while covering her mouth with his free hand.

“Be completely fucking still,” he whispered sternly in her ear.

She nodded.

Rat-a-tat-a-tat

~~~

(If you want to read on ahead, please feel free to visit my Webpage in the link below and keep on reading. Thanks for stopping by.)

Chapter 1-4: Demon Night

~~~

He estimated that there were at least eight of them.

Sounds more distinct on the hardwood floors, don’t you think, boss? You can almost picture those blood-drenched nails scratching away.

You’re not helping, Russell thought back.

Sorry, boss. I know… how about you cut the bitch’s head off, toss it out of the closet, and we’ll see who wins the jump ball?

Russell briefly considered shooting himself in the skull to silence the prick. Instead, he slowly positioned himself in front of Janet and helped her up on wobbly legs. Making sure he had her attention, Russell motioned toward the chute.

She nodded, letting him lead her to sit over the edge of the hole. His intent was to lower her down.

The first creature shattered the closet door in half.

Hide-and-Seek is over, boss. Better move.

Russell lifted the revolver and fired the two remaining rounds in the direction of the first creature clawing its way through Janet’s wardrobe. The beast howled out in pain.

Before Janet could do anything, Russell unapologetically put a foot to her back and shoved her into the chute.

She slid down fast, unprepared to brace herself, and came crashing out through the lower hatch that emptied into the pitch-black laundry room. She landed painfully on the edge of a small laundry basket, half full of old magazines, which tumbled over in the darkness. Janet hardly registered hitting her head on the hard floor as she felt her left ankle snap. She mustered all her strength and tried not to scream. The pain was excruciating.

Russell discarded the gun and quickly followed, using his arms and legs to control his descent. He looked up to see a large form block out the light at the top of the chute, as a long, clawed hand extended downward, just missing his head.

The beast let loose a frustrated wail that reverberated in the narrow chute, causing Russell to let go. He dropped the remaining distance, landing cleanly on his feet, and crouched down to maintain his balance.

Russell took a deep breath, welcoming the darkness—the great equalizer between man and beast.

Don’t get too comfy, boss. They saw you just fine before.

Russell looked up as the faint remains of bedroom light trickled down the chute. The creature either couldn’t or wouldn’t follow. He could hear floor boards creaking above. The ruse was up. They were coming… fast. In seconds they would reach the stairs.

Russell could just make out Janet next to him. She was holding her ankle and rocking to shut out the pain.

She’s lame, boss. Better leave the bitch and get out. She’s only gonna get us caught now.

“No.”

Break her fuckin’ neck, oh, mighty savior, and be done with it!

“I said… NO! She’s mine.”

The other one said no more.

Janet stared at him. She hoped he would overlook her in the darkness and leave.

“Janet,” he called. “Hold on, I’m coming.”

The pain prevented her from responding. She wept instead.

Russell quickly got his bearings. The garage door was just a few feet to the left. That was their ‘out’.

He could hear the creatures crashing down the staircase. They would have to cut across the kitchen to get to the laundry room.

Russell moved toward Janet and picked her up in his arms.

She cried out in pain. “I think… my ankle is broken.”

He went directly toward the garage door.

Rat-a-tat-a-tat

They’re in the kitchen, boss. Wanna make em’ a quiche?

Russell opened the door, letting in a cold draft. There was no time to speculate on what they might find in there after he turned on the lights.

His attention to detail continued to pay off as he reached to his left, hit the switch, and flooded the garage with light.

No monsters in here but you, boss.

From three feet behind him, the first creature hissed in outrage as the light caught it off guard and sent it scurrying back toward the darkness.

How did it get so fucking close without me knowing? Russell admired the creature’s stealth.

He slammed the garage door shut behind him and then laid Janet down on the cold concrete. Russell watched for the door knob to move. There had been no time to consider just how cunning these creatures were until now.

Can they open doors?

If so, the game was over.

~~~

(Continued in next reply...)

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~~~

Russell used the hellish silence to scan the spacious and tidy, four-car garage. To his right, a wall of organized shelves spanned the back wall of the garage. There were various unused tools hanging in their assigned spots above large tool boxes, a spotless workbench with a brutal looking power saw, a portable generator that sat next to a riding lawnmower, and a fancy roll-out grill. Just beyond that, four one-gallon containers of gasoline.

Parked to his right was Janet’s Volvo next to Gerald’s pride and joy: his slick, black ‘65 Stingray Corvette Coupe.

Can we kill him now, boss?

Russell was considering a kill of another kind as he spotted a box of matches resting neatly on top of the grill cover. He then looked back toward the Corvette and smiled.

What cha thinking, boss? High-speed getaway? We can drag the bitch on the bumper.

No. Ka-boom, he thought back.

The creatures were the first to break the silence as they collectively rammed the garage door. Fortunately, it was sturdier than the bedroom door.

He spied a roll of nylon cord in a corner.

Time to move. Russell bent down to assess Janet’s condition. Her left ankle was discolored and swelling up rapidly. Her pain threshold was commendable. She was close to passing out. He grabbed her from behind and dragged her back toward another door, which exited the garage facing the woods on the east side of the house. After retrieving a utility knife from Gerald’s wall and the cord, Russell reached down and slapped Janet across the face.

She recoiled from his touch, but was now alert. “How dare you-”

“No time for napping.” He used the knife to slice off two long pieces of fabric from the bottom of her gown. He then handed her one end of the nylon cord. “That door opens inward. I need you to pull as hard as you can to buy us some time.”

Janet stared after him dumbfounded as Russell tied the other end of the cord around the doorknob, securing it with a noose-knot.

“Take the slack out!” he yelled.

Janet grabbed the cord with both hands and pulled, making the noose around the knob snug.

“They try to open it… you pull the fucking thing closed and lean back with all your weight. Got it?”

She nodded, watching the stranger who called himself ‘John’, move with an almost too-calm efficiency. “What kind of trouble is Gerald into that his law firm needs to watch my house at all hours of the night?”

She smells bullshit, boss.

The creatures continued to pound against the door.

“Tell you what, Janet, if we survive the next few minutes, I’ll tell you anything you want to know about your shady husband. Though I suspect you already know just what kind of man he is.”

Janet volunteered nothing, her thoughts already drifting back to her original wish that Gerald had stormed into her bedroom and not this liar dressed in black.

Satisfied that Janet was preoccupied, Russell moved quickly to Gerald’s workbench and grabbed a long screwdriver. He then took the box of matches and stuffed it in his pocket. Lastly, he picked up one of the four gas containers, noting that they were all full.

Russell took the two long strips he’d cut from Janet’s gown, laid them flat on the concrete, and poured gasoline over them until they were saturated.

“What are you doing?” Janet asked. The smell of gasoline immediately filled the garage.

“Something desperate and crazy.” He headed toward the Corvette. Russell looked through the driver side window at the fuel meter.

Half full, this might work.

Russell went to the gas tank, removed the gas cap and carefully inserted one of the soaked strips down the throat of the opening with the long screwdriver, leaving enough of the strip hanging to reach the concrete slab.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” Janet asked.

Russell smiled. “Any objections?”

She looked at the Corvette and frowned. It was just another one of her husband’s whores. “Burn the bitch.”

Russell poured the remaining gas all around the rear of the Corvette. He grabbed the other containers and poured gas all over the floor as well as dousing the walls and especially the garage door. He then wrapped the remaining gas soaked strip around the end of the long screwdriver, fashioning a generic torch.

“John,” Janet whispered with alarm, “they’ve stopped again.”

Russell looked toward the garage door.

Something was turning the door knob.

Janet let out a nervous yell as she pulled tight on the cord.

Fast learners, boss. Maybe you should start the barbecue now.

“Don’t let go!” Russell rushed toward the exit door.

Janet felt herself being jerked toward the door as a pair of sickly, bloody hands appeared through a small gap, grabbed the edge, and pulled violently on the door.

“John!” She almost lost her grip. She leaned back with all she had, managing to slam the door on grotesque fingers until something howled from the other side. The creature ripped its fingers out of the door as Janet pulled it back shut, reestablishing a better grip on the cord.

“I think we’re okay. Rope’s hold-”

Janet fell backward as the cord went slack. The broken door knob fell to the concrete.

The garage door burst open violently as a pale creature with red eyes growled at her from the threshold while trying to shield its face from the light with enormous razor-tipped hands.

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck…”

Russell grabbed her from behind, causing Janet to scream. He pulled her out into the cool night air as she watched two more monstrosities enter the doorway.

They’re fucking people! Janet tried to scream again and then realized she hadn’t taken a breath.

Russell let her fall into the damp grass, the night hiding her from view. He then moved to the left of the open doorway and pulled out the matches.

The creatures quickly adapted to the well-lit garage. The strong scent of gasoline distracted them. They sniffed at the air, forgetting the door at the other side of the garage.

They’ve lost your scent, boss. It’s now or never.

Russell’s first two attempts to light the matches failed; the cool night air caused them to die out quickly.

The third match stayed lit long enough to ignite the makeshift torch.

The creatures howled at the torchlight and stormed across the garage.

Russell turned in front of the doorway, thrusting the burning screwdriver near the face of the closest beast.

It stumbled backward, shielding its eyes from the bright light.

Russell tossed the torch at its feet as the fumes from the gasoline ignited, creating a wall of fast moving flames that burned across the concrete slab.

The creatures backed away as Russell exited, slamming the outer garage door shut. He then turned and ran for Janet.

Leave her, boss. She’ll be Joan of Arc any second now! There’s no time!

“All serves my will, fucker.” Russell picked up Janet in his arms and ran for the woods.

There’s a good chance the car won’t ignite-

Russell’s thoughts were interrupted as the garage exploded, followed immediately by a second blast as the gas furnace in the laundry room caught fire, sending half the house up in ghastly fireball. The Schuler residence blazed brighter than the moon, like an enormous burnt offering presented as tribute to the demon night.

~~~

(That's it for Chapter One. If you want to read on ahead, please feel free to visit my Webpage in the link below and keep on reading. Thanks for stopping by.)

Chapter 2-1: Dinner and a Movie

~~~

Drip… drip… drip…

Gina Melborn’s mind slowly surfaced from the dark, cold depths of sub-consciousness, drawn by the steady rhythm of an unknown dripping sound that penetrated the murky void. She had the odd sensation of floating and feeling disconnected from her own body as she opened the heavy shutters over her eyes, adjusting to lamp light from somewhere nearby. Her vision was blurred and it took some effort to focus.

Drip… drip… drip…

Gina’s eyes began to clear. She started to register the cream-colored, plush carpet that filled her vision at an odd angle—the mouth of a glass protruding from it. A red colored liquid continued to drip into it, gently rippling the surface of the once clear beverage within.

Is that… blood? It hurt her head to think, to move.

Her senses slowly returned, betraying her numb and disoriented state.

She could smell vodka coming from the glass and the putrid odor of vomit, dried sweat and sex…

My God! Fragmented memories shot to the surface; flashes of dark and disturbing images she was not yet willing to associate as her own.

Gina tried to move her head as a sharp pain ripped through her neck and down her spine from lying over the edge of the bed on her stomach for an eternity.

Drip… drip…

Her lower lip stung as she stopped the flow of the warm, salty fluid, tracing the cut with her tongue around the swelling that began to throb.

Something awful had happened. There had been drugs and alcohol. But there had been much more. She tried to assemble the pieces of memory but the picture was still too fuzzy.

Blackout?

She felt more pain as she tried to move. An intense invisible dagger struck between her legs, making recovering her memory both absolutely necessary and equally terrifying. Her vagina was on fire.

She tried to move her arms but felt no sensation in them. She continued the attempt as pins and needles revealed their location behind her back. Circulation started to return. Gina wiggled her fingers, somewhere around her lower back.

What the fuck?

Her legs were dead weight. As sensation returned, they felt like the battlefield of a thousand charley-horses, indicative of some sort of bruising, if not worse.

What did they do to me last night?

And there it was: They.

She could hear the sound of water breaking on a shore nearby. A breeze blew in through an open window, causing goose bumps all along her back side.

I’m naked!

Gina’s anger made her react. She jerked her arms painfully to no avail.

What the hell?

Her wrists began to burn as she met cold resistance.

Gina turned her head to discover her sideways position on a bed not her own. The panic started to revive her lethargic limbs as she foolishly tried to move too fast; her sore muscles screamed as they tensed up. The pain in her loins burned intensely as she felt the trickle of something wet and warm flowing down her upper thigh.

I’m bleeding!

With nothing but the obvious, but no memory of it, Gina began to understand:

I’ve been drugged… no… it’s worse than that.

For a moment, she simply collapsed under the weight of the unspoken implication, feeling defeated mentally, physically, spiritually. Gina tried to recover but the tears fell like a breach in a levee as she desperately tried to free her hands from behind her back and heard the chain of the cuffs. Her frustration overwhelmed her as she started to sob, finally allowing the thought to finish:

I was… raped.

She turned her head away from the bed, keeping her eyes tightly closed while trying to regain some control of herself. Understanding she was bound made her heart race. She struggled to breathe. Gina thought about calling out for help but was torn between being discovered in such a humiliating position and not knowing if ‘They’ were still here… wherever ‘here’ was.

I’m at the beach house.

It was coming back.

There was a party, a private party.

She was approached last night at the club.

That man… Marvin… no, Malcolm… he offered me a lot of money to dance at his…

Her eyes went wide as she recalled it all. The night had been strange to say the least. But there was more. There was so much more.

There was… violence.

For the first time, Gina noticed the blood splattered on the walls.

There was a lot of blood.

~~~

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~~~

Howard Bledsoe, owner of Herbie’s House of Ladies located in Geneva, Ohio, was considered by some to be a visionary. After winning the Mega Millions jackpot in the Ohio State Lottery ten years ago, Howard “Herbie” Bledsoe gave up an unsuccessful playwriting career and ventured out into the realm of erotica, using his knowledge of the stage to create sensual wonderlands of sight, sound, and skin. Howard took pride in selecting only the finest performers for his weekend shows, often turning down the more ‘well-endowed’ who could not perform up to his high standards.

Howard enjoyed working with his girls to create over-the-top shows, sparing no expense, and producing elaborate sets and using costly special effects to enhance his dancers’ performances. He provided his higher class patrons (those who could afford his ridiculously high weekend cover charges) the ultimate fantasy experience.

Gina owned the coveted feature spot on Friday nights. That was where the real money was. In three short months, she had soared easily through the ranks of veteran dancers, becoming an overnight goddess in the eyes of the patrons who frequented Herbies.

At twenty-four years of age, Gina was in her physical prime; perky C-cup naturals, well housed within a petite frame to rival any D-cup; slender legs that could coil around a pole like a python with a well-rounded ass which defied the effects of gravity. Of course, her greatest assets were her long, fiery hair, intense green eyes, and luscious lips—all accentuated by her ghost-white complexion. But it was her ability to perform that won Howard Bledsoe over. He often said that Gina was by far one of the most gifted dancers he’d ever interviewed.

Each Friday evening, when Herbies (Herpes, as the locals called it, to the extreme displeasure of the owner) was at maximum capacity, Gina was announced over the roar of an intoxicated crowd of lawyers, college students from rich families, politicians in disguise, stockbrokers—the rich, the famous, and the infamous. Her shows always sold out.

Gina’s stage name was unusual. Coinciding with the unique nature of her performances, she had given herself the double stage names, Fire and Ice. Her erotic routine involved switching from one persona to another.

Earlier that evening, from her small, private dressing room, Gina had prepared for her latest performance. She sat before a well-lit vanity mirror, placing the finishing touches of black body paint on her bare breasts. A temporary tattooed dragon spanned the length of her body, appearing to materialize from its lair around her well-shaved lower region, ravishing the lands of flesh in between until the dragon’s monstrous head came to rest beneath her breasts with its claws reaching out to grab hold of each one.

The artwork was impressive; the attention to detail, however wasted on such a perverse crowd, gave Gina extreme satisfaction.

“I’d tap that,” she kidded with her reflection.

The artistic effort was a reminder of why she was stripping in the first place, why she put up with being reduced to an attractively dressed-up piece of meat every Friday night, and why she was bearing all to strangers.

“Gina Melborn, you are going be your own self-made woman someday,” she told her dubious reflection. Behind those green eyes, buried in dark eyeliner, was an optimistic young woman with a creative knack for pretending her way in and out of any situation. She had created the personas of ‘Fire and Ice’, two sirens that preyed upon the souls of men through seduction. That’s who Gina was when she was on the stage.

When the shows were over, Gina was just an ambitious and hope-filled girl, equally terrified and excited about an uncertain future that kept her up at night wondering where her life was headed. She had no living relatives left who wanted anything to do with her, no friends—just acquaintances. She owned nothing of any tangible value, just the untapped gold mine of her creativity pushing her to become somebody—somebody who could lie down at the end of the day, close her eyes, and feed off big dreams.

The small nest egg that she was building through her stripping gig was her ticket out, and a way to afford all the things she would need to make the life she wanted, recreating Gina Melborn from the mold of those persistent dreams.

Gina was brought back to reality by the sound of the crowd becoming impatient. They wanted their star performer and were growing restless, suffering the two-legged scraps of ‘had been’ leftovers that were only suitable when the prime rib was unavailable.

“Fucking dogs, every last one of you.” She rolled her eyes.

She could hear them chanting, “Fire and Ice! Fire and Ice!”

Gina caught the mischievous grin in her reflection and looked away shamefully.

Yeah, Fire and Ice. Time for those bitches again. Someday I’ll walk out of this shit-hole and never look back.

Although unwilling to admit it, Gina enjoyed the power she commanded over men when she performed. She wasn’t a prostitute like so many of her co-workers who moonlighted for the extra money. Fire and Ice was simply a temporary creation, a mask with a flesh-colored dragon costume while the real monsters sat in the smoke-filled shadows every Friday night like permanent fixtures.

“Not me,” she told the phony looking back at her. “I’ll never let you define who I am… never.”

There was a knock on her door. That would be Tony, the bouncer. Perhaps the only guy that wouldn’t be eye-fucking her tonight.

“Come in.” Gina wrapped herself in a towel.

All six feet of Tony Marcuchi filled the doorway; his muscular upper body stretching his black t-shirt. He greeted Gina with an honest smile, his dark brown eyes always careful to find hers, and nothing else. “Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted in his deep voice, “you’re up in twenty. Want me to stall them for you? I’ll tell the night manager you haven’t started painting yet. That will rouse some feathers in a hurry.”

Tony was the closest thing she had to a friend. In her recreated universe-of-self, Tony was much more than a friend.

Gina responded playfully, “Well… maybe I should give it an hour to let the paint dry.”

Tony laughed. “Forget it. I tell the boss that… then it’s my ass. Next thing you know, I’m up on stage dancing!” He began to get animated, waving his arms for emphasis. “Then, folks start running out crying, ‘We wanted Fire and Ice, not Abs and Guns’!” Tony laughed, flexing his massive biceps to illustrate the joke.

Gina smiled. “I’d pay to see that.”

There, I said it. Can’t take it back.

This made Tony blush. He quickly changed directions. “What did you paint this time?”

Gina sighed, feeling foolish and frustrated.

God, I hate it when he dismisses me like that! The only man I want is the only man who won’t want me tonight. Life is cruel.

“If you watch the show tonight, you’ll see,” she said teasingly. Tony never watched the girls perform. When they were dancing, he watched the crowd like a hawk. He often referred to the girls as ‘little sisters’.

Tony shifted uncomfortably. “Sold out crowd… again. No surprise there.”

What the fuck does that mean? Did he just reject and insult me at the same time?

Tony felt those fierce eyes strike him. That was his cue to go. “Alright then,” he said, backing out the door. “Good luck tonight.”

No you don’t! Not again. Do something, girl. Don’t let him just walk away.

Tony turned to leave.

“Hey!” Gina stood up and knocked various jars of ointment, make-up and body paint off the counter.

Tony turned back, surprised by the outburst. “What the hell was that?”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s a fucking dragon.”

Tony looked confused. “And…?”

Gina was getting upset. “Took me an hour, Tony… not that you give a shit! Least you could do is look at it!” She dropped the towel and spread her arms wide, bearing all to him.

Tony’s eyes went wide as he recoiled, acting as though the dragon had flown right off of her chest. He lowered his eyes, using his hand as a visor. “Whoa… little sis! Save it for the show.” Tony quickly exited.

‘Save it for the show’? Are you fucking kidding me? Is he that oblivious?

Irrationally, she shouted after him, “Don’t call me that again, Tony! I’m not your fucking little sister!”

Feeling foolish as the tattoo dragon’s hands bounced with her anger, Gina turned away with a frustrated sigh. She hurried up and got dressed.

She looked down at her bare breasts and scolded, “So much for Fire and fucking Ice when I need you!” She then began to brush her hair while mumbling, “He better be fucking gay.”

~~~

(Continued in the next reply...)