Travis’ image raised an eyebrow. “Nice work, my man.”
“I d-d-didn’t…”
The image, grinning and eyes wide, nodded its head. “Oh yeah, you d-d-did.”
Travis looked at the girl’s body. The first thing he thought was, no blood. He followed the curvy contours of her shapely body up, up and up until he saw the necklace of hideous black and blue bruises she wore.
“You sure showed that bitch, huh, buddy?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Travis retorted shakily.
Travis’ image adopted a confused expression. “You’ve killed before. I know,” he said with a slight grin while tapping his finger against his forehead. Then he shrugged: “What’s another dirty whore, right?”
Travis pushed himself up onto his knees. “I said, shut the fuck up!” His voice laced with venom.
The image held up his hands in defeat and took a step back into the darkness of the mirror becoming slightly smaller. “Okay, okay. Easy, buddy. Who am I to say what happened? I mean, after all, I was just there.”
The image took a step forward and leaned down a little and looked at Travis sideways. “Wanna see?” He moved off to the side and disappeared from the mirror, all except his hand, which gave a sweeping motion as an usher directing someone to their seat. Then the hand swept itself right out of the scene and all that was left was what Travis guessed was the same room he was currently in. Only there was a lot more light and a lot less death.
Travis sat on the edge of a bed, his head lolling to one side, the effects of the Mindfuck evident on his face by a stupid, wide-ass grin of drunkenness. The door to the room opened and the girl, who was currently dead in front of Travis, walked in. She was dressed in a typical fetish schoolgirl outfit. Travis saw his face appear from the edge of the mirror and toss him a wink. “Fucking love the naughty school girl, don’t we? Ironic, huh?”
Travis returned the comment with a cold stare.
“Okay, maybe not ironic. Just fucked up.” Then the head disappeared again.
Travis watched as the scene unfolded in front of him like low-grade, homemade porn. The girl danced around, asked if she was naughty and if she would be punished. “Oh, you’ll be punished,” the drunk Travis said. Then the same voice from off screen, “You show that bitch, boy!” Followed by loud laughter.
Travis didn’t appreciate commentary from the audience. The laughter faded as drunk Travis ordered the girl to strip. Which she did, like a pro, all the while performing the shy, scared, little girl act. The girl was ordered to the bed. Travis watched himself bind the girl to the wrought iron headboard with straps he hadn’t noticed before. None of this really surprised him as he had done this and worse over the years.
Travis watched himself clumsily strip naked and cringed at his white and shriveled body.
His face appeared again. “When this is all over, we need to do some serious crunches and shit. We look like crap.” Then he shrank off to the side again shaking his head in shame.
The scene had continued and Travis saw himself mounting the girl. He pushed her legs up and placed his hands on the back of her knees and pushed them up as far as he could until her knees were pressed tight against her shoulders. She made some pleasure groans, sticking to the script. Travis laid his weight onto the girls legs to hold her in place so he could fumble his half-hard cock into her exposed and wonderfully-shaved pussy. It was a sad sight, like watching a teenage boy try and fuck for the first time.
“Need a little of the magic Blue-V, my man!”
Travis winced, ashamed that he agreed. He watched himself unromantically and mercilessly pound into the hot, little whore. He kind of wished he remembered some of it; but not for long, because the tone of the scene began to change. Travis’ thrusts grew harder and more desperate, he laid into the girl, pinning her beneath his body. He may have been old and not what he once was, but he still weighed a lot more than her and it was clear she was trapped. Then the drunk Travis began yelling. He pounded into the girl, lying directly on top of her. She tried to push him off, but with his body he held her fast as he fell onto her again and again. “Fucking bitch! You like that, whore? Fucking take it! I’m gonna fuck ya til you scream, you fucking whore!”
Travis could see the horror on the girl’s face as she quickly realized something had gone terribly wrong. She began to scream out for help.
“You want help, cunt?” Travis yelled. Amid his thrusts he managed to slap her hard in the face. “Shut your fucking face!”
Travis sat in stunned silence. He had never done anything like this before in his life. Even in the most twisted orgies and sexual sacrificial rituals he had never behaved like this. It couldn’t be him, but there he was. “No…”
His face appeared just enough for him to see his eyes. “Oh, yes…” Then the eyes disappeared.
The scene in front of him was deteriorating exponentially. The girl continued to scream and drunk Travis mocked her and screamed back in her face. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” Panic was setting in as the scene grew frantic. The girl squirmed and tried to shake Travis off her, but to no avail. “I warned you, bitch!” And that’s when the thrusting stopped and both of Travis’ hands came up and wrapped themselves around the girl’s neck. “I said…shut…the…fuck…up!” Drunk Travis grunted after every word, the sweat pouring off his face and dripping on to the girl. His hands squeezed harder and the girl squirmed more and more. The bed was a whirlwind of squirming limbs. Travis pressed the girl down into the mattress by her neck, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until…snap! Something in her neck gave way and abruptly her limbs fell to the sweat soaked sheets as Travis collapsed on top of her.
He stayed there panting on top of the girl for a few seconds as he began to cry and tears mixed with his dripping sweat, dropping into the dead girl’s hair. Then Travis pushed himself back as the realization of what he had just done hit him like a slap to the face. His face twisted in drunk surprise and then…horror. He fumbled backward getting caught up in the sheets and quickly found himself tumbling out of control off the end of the bed. Travis watched in shock as his drunk self landed head first onto the hardwood floor, his limp body crumbling into a pile at the foot of the bed.
“Annnnd… End scene!” screamed Travis’ voice from the darkness. The current state of the room appeared in the mirror again and Travis watched himself appear from the side. He was clapping slowly and loudly. “Not sure what I think of the final scene. The lead actor’s performance was flaccid and, although gorgeous and sensual, the actress’s performance turned stiff in the end.”
Travis gave himself a look that said: Go fuck yourself.
“Aw, what’s a matter? Afraid you’re becoming that which you hunt?”
“I didn’t do that,” Travis said flatly.
His image shrugged, “Whatever, man. Believe what you want. You know what you are and what you’re capable of. This is nothing.” Then the image’s eyes widened. “Oh, man! You know what I just thought? What if… Now get this, right. What if…this bitch you just killed has a husband or boyfriend who gets so pissed off that he decides to commit the rest of his life to tracking her murderer down. Now that…would be fucking irony!”
Travis bolted from the floor and launched himself at the mirror, trying to tackle his image. But all he found was the cold resistance of hard glass. He bounced off.
“Easy, boy!” yelled his image. But he didn’t move, knowing full well Travis couldn’t get to him. “You’re just going to hurt yourself…hurt us.”
But Travis ignored the warning and rebounded, firing his fist into his image’s face. The glass didn’t give, but something in his hand did as it smashed into the glass. He screamed at the pain, at his anger, at himself, “You fuck.”
“Christ. Look at you. You think this is what Sally would have wanted? You think she would have wanted you to waste your life on pointless revenge?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Travis screamed, pounding his fists against the unbre
akable glass.
“Let’s ask her.” And Travis’ image disappeared and then…there she was, his wife—his beautiful wife. He backed up a couple of steps, stunned.
She looked at him with concern. “Travis, honey. What are you doing?”
Travis slowly reached out to her, his fingers lightly touched the cold, lifeless glass, and he cried. “I’m so…sorry.” He dropped to his knees and hung his head in shame, sobbing uncontrollably. “I just wanted…”
“Shhhh, baby,” Sally said. “I know, I know. You just wanted to avenge me. That’s sweet. Really. But did you for one minute think that because of all this…darkness you’ve surrounded yourself in would only lead to one place?”
Travis looked up into the heavenly face of his wife and shrunk back in horror as he saw she was completely naked. His image appeared behind her and reached its hands around Sally and began rubbing her up and down. Sally’s face became a mask of ecstasy. She moaned as the hands traced the curves on her body, reaching down in between her sex, back up to cup and fondle her breasts. She arched her back and ground her round ass into the image’s hard cock. Travis snapped, he screamed and launched himself at the mirror and when he hit it, he kept pushing himself against the cold glass as if he pushed hard enough he could break through the barrier and reach his dead wife. But nothing gave way, and eventually Travis slid down the sweat-streaked glass, screaming and crying, “Stop. Just…stop!” He became lost in his own tears as he continually screamed for the scene in the mirror to stop. But all he heard were moans and laughter. And…
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“T-man! You in there?”
Dew’s voice was far, far in the distance, lost amid the pounding bass.
“T! Open the fucking door!” BANG! BANG! BANG! “Fuck this!”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
CRASH!
The door behind Travis exploded inward and Dew burst into the room, naked and glistening with sweat, his cock rock hard and leading his way by at least a foot. It bounced ahead of him as he ran toward Travis. “What the fuck is going on? T-man, what’s wrong?” Then he stopped and looked in the mirror and saw the scene that dropped Travis to his knees. “Mother fucker!” Dew yelled. His eyes, what could be seen of them, burned red. His entire body seemed to grow as he seethed with anger. “You fucking little prick!” And he reached out toward Travis, whose eyes grew wild with fear at the monstrous demon coming straight for him. But just as he thought Dew’s claw would grab his head and squeeze it like a grape, he saw it shoot over and past his head and reach right into the mirror. Travis took this as an opportune moment to back the fuck up and get to his feet.
Dew grunted, “Come here, you little piece of shit!”
Travis watched as his wife disappeared and Dew’s claw wrapped itself around his image inside the mirror. Dew clasped Travis’ doppelganger by the neck, yanked, and pulled a pale, white and very scared creature out of the mirror with a harsh sucking sound. There was a loud rumbling and then the sound of breaking glass filled the room followed by a deafening shriek and the mirror exploded inward, shards firing deep into a black hole that rapidly grew smaller and smaller until—POP!—there was nothing there—nothing but a large and very pissed off demon dangling a creature—that no longer looked like Travis—by the neck.
Dew pulled what looked like a marionette of twigs covered in ashy grey skin close to his face. “Boscoe, I…am…going…to…fucking snap your fucking neck, you fucking fuck!”
The creature’s whole body shook with fear, its head the size of a beach ball bobbing atop its popsicle stick neck. “D-D-D-Dew! I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know he was with you! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Dew squeezed Boscoe’s neck and Travis was amazed it hadn’t snapped yet. Despite its enormous head, the creature had a surprisingly small mouth, and two slight slits that indicated where a nose should be if he in fact had one. And absolutely no eyes. Travis was completely creeped out. “What the fuck is that?” he yelled.
Dew gave the little beast a couple more shakes for good measure before turning the stickman to face Travis. “This is a…Boscoe. A low-life piece of shit.”
Boscoe brought a bony hand up. It looked made of wires and leather. He gave Travis a quick wave. “Hi,” he croaked.
Travis looked at Boscoe. He tried to say something, but nothing came out. Instead his left eye started twitching, and he began to tremble. So he hauled off and punched Boscoe right in his big fucking head.
“Ow, fuck!” Boscoe screamed. “He fucking punched me! You fucking sack of shit, you punched me.”
Dew pulled Boscoe to his face again and they looked at each other, fucked-up features to fucked-up features. “And…?” He turned Boscoe back toward Travis. “Hit ’im again, T. Hard!”
And Travis did. Once, twice, three times, and he just kept hitting the little beast. And the more Boscoe screamed the harder he hit him, battering his balloon head mercilessly until a black fluid began leaking from various places on Boscoe. Travis hit again and again until he had no more energy to even swing his arms anymore. So he feebly reached up and flicked Boscoe in his slit of a nose.
“Ow! Fuck!” Boscoe cried, his words bubbly through the black blood leaking from his mouth.
Dew reached down to one of Boscoe’s legs, grabbed it in his hand and twisted it until there was an audible crack, followed by a scream that made Travis’ asshole quiver. “There, now you won’t be going anywhere,” said Dew casually. Then he tossed Boscoe into a corner where he landed in a pile of angled limbs and bulbous, bleeding head.
Dew turned to Travis. “You alright, man?”
Travis nodded dully. Then nodding his head toward the moaning pile in the corner, “What the hell is that?”
Dew shook his head and waved his hand as if dismissing Boscoe as inconsequential. “It’s a Boscoe.” Then he looked at the whimpering creature. “A fucking little parasite.”
Between moans Boscoe managed a, “Fuck you too, Dew!”
“I take it you know each other?” asked Travis.
“Oh yeah. He’s a fucking bastard. An abomination,” said Dew, disgusted.
“Oh, right,” Boscoe said while righting himself against the wall, “and you’re a fucking beauty queen, you ’roid-rage monkey.”
Dew shrugged. “That’s what kind of shit you get when a demon fucks a wood nymph. A no-dick, water-brained fucktard that even Hell doesn’t want.”
“Yeah…well… Ow! Fuck!” Boscoe screamed, struggling to put his snapped leg back together. He stopped for a second and looked at Dew. “At least I can come and go as I please. I don’t have to wait for some limp-dick jackhole like this to summon me,” he said curtly, pointing at Travis.
Dew made a quick move at Boscoe, whose head shot back and slammed into the wall. Dew snickered at him. “You want to hit him again, T-man? I’ll show you the sweet spot on him that’ll make him wish he was a girl. Even though with what he’s packing he might as well be one. Ain’t that right, Boscoe, ya little bitch?” Dew walked up to Boscoe, his giant dick in hand and started whapping Boscoe on top of his head with it. “Betcha wish ya had one of these bad boys, huh, Bosc? Ya peanut-dicked mother fucker.”
Boscoe’s lips pursed tight while his slit-nostrils flared under from heavy breathing. Travis just knew Boscoe was blasting Dew the best fuck-you-and-die look a creature with no eyes could manage.
Travis contemplated Dew’s offer, but shook his head. “No, maybe later.”
Travis managed a controlled stumble to the bed and sat down hard on its edge. “How did he know? I mean she was in there with him…” Travis was shaking his head, so confused.
Dew looked at Boscoe and said, “You move and you know what’ll happen, right?”
Boscoe grunted disgustedly, “Oh, I don’t know… You’ll stick me up your ass?”
“Bingo,” Dew said happily and gave Boscoe another quick slap on the head with his dick. Then he let it go and the behemoth member retracted so far up into Dew’s groin that he looked like
a giant, evil-demon Ken doll, smooth as plastic. Travis stared in disbelief.
“I’m a grower not a show-er,” Dew said casually. “Boscoe here is a show-er, only you don’t know it.” Then he let out a belly laugh and plopped himself down on the bed next to Travis. Travis popped into the air at least a foot.
When Travis righted himself, Dew explained. “Everyone that comes to Painfreak has wants and needs and no matter how fucked up they are there is someone or something here to help them get what they want. Because ole Boscoe here hasn’t got any useful tackle down there he has to get his kicks in other ways. Boscoe here feeds on misery and sorrow. He can get deep into your memories and manipulate what he finds in there to cause the kind of despair he needs to get off. It sucks, but there are people who get off on being miserable. And even though he is typically a worthless piece of shit, he serves a purpose to some, which is why he is allowed in here.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t ask for that,” Travis said, still confused.
“Eh, things get fucked up sometimes. You order a hooker to your room and you think you’re getting an Asian butterfly only to find your butterfly’s packin’ a springroll.”
Boscoe huffed, “Nice.”
Dew reached down and grabbed one of Travis’ shoes and whipped it at Boscoe catching him square in the face. “Shut it!”
“Mother fucker! You are such a prick,” Boscoe cried, rubbing his face. “And you owe me another soul mirror. That thing was expensive.”
Dew let out an amused grunt. “Yeah, right. Why don’t you learn how to use your fucking power properly and you wouldn’t need one of those. You’re such an impotent little shit.”
Then Dew tossed a thumb in Boscoe’s direction. “Most sorrow eaters worth a shit can just get into someone’s mind and make people see them as whatever they want without the need for any supernaturally charged assistance. But not ole Boscoe here. He’s got to rely on a soul mirror to channel the thoughts into something he can get off on. Pathetic.”
Tales of the Fallen Book I: Awakenings Page 7
