by Sam West
When she breathed in, the musky, sweaty, oily moisture that poured from her vagina invaded her nostrils, making her gag. She couldn’t breathe, and the panic intensified. Mrs Pearson pushed her rump down harder on her face until she felt the tip of her nose disappear up her vaginal canal. Dimly, she was of fingertips grazing the side of her face.
She’s spreading her arse-cheeks.
She groaned in horror, feeling parts of Mrs Pearson on her nose and mouth that went far beyond mere invasion of privacy. Her ears began to ring with the scant oxygen, her head starting to feel pinprick tight, as if there was air surrounding her brain that could explode her skull at any second.
Then Mrs Pearson farted; a long expulsion of red-hot, bubbling gas that slithered past her pursed lips. Jen groaned, a sound wrenched up from her lowest guts born of utter misery, her mind spiralling into chasms of despair. The smell, and taste, of Mrs Pearson’s fart was that of thin vegetable soup, left to sit unchecked in a metal saucepan on a stovetop for a few days. Rotten, but still with that slight savoury edge that made it almost palatable. It was the fact that the hot gust of air was near edible that made her stomach finally clench painfully tight and expel its contents in a violent contraction up her esophagus. The act of vomiting consumed her, blocking out all else. Sick erupted in her mouth with nowhere to go, forcing burning drops of it into her lungs. She coughed violently, the vomit blazing in her lungs like acid.
So consumed was she with the vomiting, coughing and the spluttering that she didn’t immediately notice that Mrs Pearson’s hateful arse-crack had lifted from her face. She gulped down great mouthfuls of air and her own stomach acid, trying to find her equilibrium.
Mr Pearson was also gone from between her legs. A disgusting, wet stickiness smeared her inner thighs and squelched in her scraped-raw vagina.
As she came back to herself, she became aware of laughter all around her as the ringing subsided in her ears. Groaning, she turned her head to the left, only to find herself eye to eye with Anouchka. The woman’s eyes had rolled back in her head, so that only the whites showed, and her mouth was twisted open in a silent scream. Jen twisted her head away immediately but not quick enough to avoid seeing the gaping slit in her neck.
Jen howled in misery, rolling away from the dead woman with all the force she could muster. Maybe they had intended to let her fall to the ground, maybe they hadn’t, but either way, fall she did. She twisted in the air, landing heavily on her side. Pain ricocheted through her body, the air exploding from her burning lungs, momentarily paralysing her.
“Get the bitch back up on the table,” a woman’s voice said from seemingly very far away.
Mrs Pearson.
Hands scooped her up under her armpits and dragged her to her feet. She buckled at the knees, unable to gain purchase on the ground, her ankles as slack as cooked spaghetti.
Like an animal carcass in a slaughterhouse, she was dumped back onto the table next to the dead woman. The unforgiving wood smacked into the back of her skull with a resounding crack that resonated through her entire body.
I can’t take much more.
But they weren’t done with her yet. She opened her eyes, her vision swimming. Mr Pearson leaned over her, undulating slightly like she was viewing him from under water. At first, she didn’t understand what she was seeing, her brain not wanting to acknowledge what it was that he was holding. Because surely that couldn’t be an electric drill?
The metal screw whirred into life, the spiralling length of it hypnotising her as it went round and round. Absently, she noticed that it wasn’t a thin, spiral shape like a regular screw, but kind of hairy looking, except these ‘hairs’ were made of metal.
She groaned, trying to roll off the table again, but strong hands held her in place by the shoulders.
“I’m going to take your ass virginity,” Mr Pearson said.
Everything lurched around her, the ceiling feeling like it was collapsing on top of her.
If only it would, she thought numbly.
“Now, this might sting a little,” Mr Pearson laughed. “It’s a rotary rasp, designed for shaping and widening holes. Your virgin arse might just need a little widening.”
Mr Pearson positioned the end of the rotating rotary rasp at her fear-puckered arsehole, and she screamed shrilly, surprising even herself with the volume of her voice.
Brilliant pain exploded in her lower guts and back passage; a pain that was indescribable and unlike anything that had gone before. In and out the drill went, sliding her body back and forth across the table. She could hear the drill whirring in her brain, like the drill bit was in her cerebral cortex, drilling a hole.
The stench of shit hit her nostrils and the room seemed to fold in around her, the flickering lights of the candles dimming down a notch. Slowly, she became aware that it was in fact her that was falling into darkness, rather than her surroundings. She welcomed the blackness, and the modicum of pain relief that it provided.
“…at the door,” a voice said, she knew not whose.
The words made little sense to her, for she was dipping in and out of the soothing darkness. But then she too, heard it; a ringing doorbell.
“…late for trick or treaters,” someone else said. Mrs Pearson, perhaps?
A bubble rose up from her guts, and only when it exited her mouth did she realise that it was the giggles. Except it didn’t sound much like laughter, for it was nearer a howl.
Through her delirious state, she used every last ounce of her strength to lift up her head. Her entire body shook with the effort, and in the brief moment that her head was lifted, she watched the old lady shrug on the black robe that she had been wearing earlier before padding barefoot out of the room.
“I wonder who it is?” Mrs Pearson was saying.
“It’s probably nothing, probably just kids. But then, who knows? The Lord works in mysterious ways and His presence is strong tonight,” the old man replied.
Jen knew perfectly well who was at the door and she wondered what had taken them so long. Although on an unconscious level, she understood perfectly where they had gone; when something didn’t exist in the conventional sense in the first place, it was easy for them to simply ‘not be’.
She closed her eyes, gratefully allowing the blackness to wash over her. Her breath came in ragged little gasps as she dipped in and out of consciousness.
When the screaming began, it came as no surprise. She sensed movement all around her; movement and panicked voices. A shrill, female scream coming from the hallway kick-started it all, and then there was just chaos. The screaming was closer to her now, also joined by male voices.
She kept her eyes closed, praying for a swift death.
“Jen,” a child’s voice said urgently in her ear.
A little white, vampiric face peered down at her.
Danny.
He was shaking her, and just the small movement sent her body into spasms of agony and she closed her eyes again, groaning.
“Open your eyes. Sit up, please sit up. We have to go, I’ve got Angie.”
Angie.
She opened her eyes. Sure enough, Danny was standing over her, the child pressed to his little chest. All around them, insanity ruled. The creatures were making a meal of their three naked hosts. They lay squirming and twitching on the ground as the trick or treaters tore great chunks out of them.
“Sit up,” he cried, sounding much older than his years and awkwardly sliding one hand under her shoulders to lever her upwards.
Somehow, Jen found herself upright. The pain was astronomical once more, that cushioning darkness having receded.
“Are you hurt?” she managed to ask.
“No, I’m okay. My head hurts, but I’m okay.”
“Angie…” she began, unable to finish the sentence due to the stabbing agony that consumed her lower gut like wildfire.
“She’s okay.” As if on cue, the child started to cry. “Lean on me,” he said, pressing his side against her.
She went to swing a leg over the side of the table, but just that one tiny movement had her gasping in pain. “I can’t.”
“You have to.” She felt him stiffen next to her. “Shit.”
Of their three hosts, only one of them was still moving and screaming, except now the screams had degenerated into more of a wet rattle. It was Mr Pearson that clung to life by the thinnest of threads as one of the creatures made a meal of the insides of his stomach.
The other three things had ceased their feast of the two women, and were staring right at her and Danny.
“Run,” she said weakly.
Danny sobbed. “I’m sorry.”
“Go,” she barked. “Save Angie.”
The three creatures edged closer, and Danny danced around the other side of the table, out of reach. He reached the door before any of them could catch him, and then he was gone.
Jen felt a vicious stab of satisfaction on watching him escape.
“Come on then, you fuckers, do your worst.”
The creatures, whose heads barely came up to the table, tugged her to the ground. That short fall was pure agony. She blacked out for a second, coming too to see two of the grinning trick or treaters crouching down next to her body.
Her head snapped sideways as the creatures silently pawed at her body. Her line of sight fell on the TV and as soon as it did, it flickered into life. The grinning, white-face clown in the green suit with the green hair was on the screen.
“Evil attracts evil,” the clown said, as the monsters continued to grope her body. “Our promises are built on lies, we do not reward, or protect. We do not care for worship, we do not bestow immortality and riches. Evil destroys without conscience, we are equal opportunists down here. Oh, if only this night would last forever, but alas, we cannot stay…”
The man on screen started dancing again to The Time Warp, at the same time as searing agony exploded in her stomach.
She threw back her head and howled up at the ceiling as the creatures tore into her.
* * * *
Outside, Danny could hear Jen screaming. He clutched the baby tighter to his chest, wrapping her in his vampire cloak. His heart broke for Jen, but he couldn’t help her. She was dead, just like his mum.
Thinking of his mum was like a knife twisting in his heart and tears blurred his vision as he staggered onwards. He had passed the last house – the one he had just escaped from – and thankfully this time there was no clown-man in front of him.
Next to the last house was a patch of green that ran for about a hundred metres before it gave way to an alleyway that led onto the main road. He had almost reached the alleyway, when behind him, he heard feminine giggling.
He ran faster, and when he reached the mouth of the alleyway, he looked back. Catwoman and Little Red Riding Hood weren’t far behind, and were gaining on him at alarming speed.
Sobbing, he hurtled down the alleyway, at the end of which he could see the town’s wide, main-road which led down to the harbourfront.
He was so close now, just a few more steps. He didn’t dare look behind himself, didn’t dare see how close the women were. He spilled out onto the broad pavement and went careering into the main-road. Luckily for Danny, there wasn’t much traffic given the lateness of the hour and he staggered back onto the pavement, unharmed.
“Help,” he went to scream, but all that came out was a whisper. “Please help me.”
A car pulled up next to him, its hazard lights flashing.
“Kid?” the middle-aged man behind the wheel asked. “Are you alright? What happened?”
Danny could only gape at him open-mouthed, utterly exhausted. “Police,” he managed to say.
He glanced over his shoulder – he was still too close to the alleyway for comfort, and he fully expected one of the nightmare girls, or the horrible clown, to burst through the entrance…
None did.
I’m safe now. They can’t get me now I’ve left the street.
He sure hoped that he was right about that. The man behind the wheel was calling the police on his mobile. Relief surged through him. His call hadn’t been diverted, therefore the evil couldn’t reach this far. The woman in the passenger seat – a kindly looking woman a bit older than his mum – climbed out and came over to him.
“What happened to you, sweetheart?” she asked.
Danny couldn’t even begin to answer. “Police,” he said again, hugging Angie tighter against him.
“Where’s the baby’s mummy?”
Danny didn’t answer her. Her husband climbed out of the car, and peered down the alleyway.
“Don’t go down there!” Danny gasped.
The man ignored him, and set foot inside the alleyway.
“Jesus Christ,” the man said, coming back out again almost immediately.
“What is it?” the woman gasped, going over to him.
“No, don’t come any closer. There’s a couple of dead girls in the alleyway in fancy-dress costume. Christ kid, what the hell happened tonight? This is a goddam crime scene.”
Danny sagged in relief. It really was over. Whatever evil that had kept those two girls animated, had worn off. The couple huddled Danny between them, perhaps worried that he would run away before the police got there. But Danny wasn’t going anywhere. He hugged Angie and cried right along with her. The lady hugged him, and neither she or her husband pressured him with any more questions.
Before long, flashing blue lights appeared behind the couples’ parked car.
What if no one believes me? he thought in terror. He was the only survivor, what if they thought that he had killed everyone?
Briefly, he contemplated running away, but what good would that achieve? He had to be brave, he had no choice but to tough this out. But there was one thing that he knew for sure; from this moment on, his life was never going to be the same again.
At the same time as a uniformed policeman climbed out of the car, movement over the road in front one of the five-storey, once-grand, Edwardian houses that overlooked the seafront caught his eye. It was him. The clown-man. Danny stared in horror as the man in green raised his hand in greeting, mouthed ‘hello’, and grinned broadly. A huge lorry thundered up the road, blocking his view, and when it had passed, the man was gone.
“Hey, it’ll be okay,” the woman said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t be scared.”
That was easy for her to say, Danny reasoned, seeing as she hadn’t just seen him.
The policeman came over, and so Danny’s future had begun.
The End.
