How can they be faster than me? he thought. It’s dragging her.
Though his eyes saw only utter blackness, his mind saw Alison skidding along through the narrow tube of dirt, on her back now, kicking her bare legs. The beast no longer dragged her by the front of the windbreaker; now, she was being pulled by her arms. Stretched as she was, the windbreaker didn’t even reach down to her waist. From her belly down, she was bare except for her panties.
It must really hurt, he thought. It must burn. Like rug burn, but worse, her skin getting scuffed off.
That’ll be the least of her problems. When the beast gets done dragging her . . .
That’s when I can catch up.
Yeah, right. And get myself killed. It’ll take care of me in about two seconds.
But maybe those couple of seconds would give Alison a chance to get away.
It’ll be worth it if I can save her.
Worth dying for?
Yeah. Fucking-A right, if I can save her.
Anyway, he told himself, you never know. It might not come to that. Anything can happen.
One of his hands slid over something slippery in the dirt. Her panties? The way she was being dragged, she’d been sure to lose them. Mark snatched up the skimpy garment, stuffed it inside his shirt and kept on scrambling forward.
The sounds from Alison seemed farther away than ever.
He tried to pick up speed.
What if they lose me?
According to the books and movies, there might be a network of tunnels behind Beast House, going all the way out past its fence and into the hills.
What if it really is some sort of maze?
The thing drags her off into side tunnels and loses me, I might have a chance of living through the night.
So far, the tunnel seemed mostly straight but with minor bends and slopes sometimes. If other tunnels had intersected with it, Mark hadn’t noticed.
Though the sounds were far away, they still seemed to come from in front of him.
That’s a good sign, he thought.
Sure it is. Good for who?
And a voice whispered in his mind, I don’t have to keep going. I can stop right now. Turn around and go back to the cellar and get the hell out. Let the cops take care of it.
Better yet, don’t tell anyone. Nobody has to know about any of this.
‘Yeah, right,’ he muttered.
And kept on through the darkness, out of breath, heart thundering, every muscle aching, his clothes clinging with sweat, his hair plastered to his scalp, sweat running down his face.
I can’t keep this up forever, he thought.
So quit. That’s what you want to do.
I don’t want to quit, just slow down.
He stopped.
Just for a second.
Lying on his belly, head up, elbows planted in the dirt, he wheezed for air and blinked sweat out of his eyes and gazed into the blackness.
He couldn’t hear Alison anymore.
It doesn’t mean I lost her, he told himself. Maybe she stopped crying and yelling. Maybe she passed out.
In his mind, he saw her stretched out limp on her back, being dragged by her wrists, the windbreaker even higher than before so that she is bare from the midriff down. Her panties are gone. Mark can see between her thighs. Her legs bounce as she is dragged over the rough dirt of the tunnel floor.
‘ALISON!’ he shouted.
No answer came.
Chapter Nineteen
Mark wished he hadn’t yelled. His shout had probably carried through the whole length of the tunnel.
I can’t hear them, he thought, so maybe they didn’t hear me.
What if they’re just being quiet?
And it heard me.
In his mind, he saw the beast slither over Alison’s limp body and come scurrying back through the tunnel.
Get the hell out!
He shoved himself up to his hands and knees, but the back of his head struck the dirt ceiling. He dropped flat.
Even if he could turn himself around, he knew he had no chance of out-racing the beast.
It’ll be on me any second!
He listened. Silence except for his own heartbeat and gasping.
He would never see it coming. Not down here. Even something dead white would be invisible in such darkness. But he would hear its doglike snuffs and growls.
So far, he heard only himself.
What if it’s still dragging Alison and they’re getting farther and farther away?
Mark started squirming forward again.
Might as well, he thought. If it’s coming, it’ll get me anyway.
He picked up speed.
Get it over with.
In his mind, he saw himself and the beast scurrying straight toward each other through the tight tunnel like a couple of locomotives.
It’s a locomotive, he thought. I’m a dog on the tracks.
He remembered the dog on the roof of the gift shop. Disembowelled and headless.
Is that how I’ll end up? Or Alison?
As the tunnel began sloping upward, he wondered what was taking the beast so long.
Should’ve gotten here by now.
Maybe it isn’t coming.
He struggled up the incline. All his muscles ached and trembled. His clothes felt soaked. Sweat poured down his face, stung his eyes.
And he saw gray.
Not actual light, but a hint of darkness that wasn’t totally black.
He made his way toward it, shoving with his elbows and knees and the toes of his shoes at the hard dirt floor of the tunnel and forcing himself forward, higher, closer to the gray.
Then he noticed a breath of air that smelled like fog and sea, that cooled the sweat on his face.
A way out?
That’s why he’d stopped hearing Alison. That’s why the beast hadn’t come to get him . . . it hadn’t heard his shout.
They aren’t in the tunnel anymore!
And now the gray tunnel in front of Mark seemed to slant straight up. He tried to climb it, skidded backward, then got to his feet. Standing, he reached up and found rough, cool surfaces of rock.
He found handholds and started to climb. Soon, he was surrounded by large blocks of stone. Surrounded and covered. Looking up, he couldn’t see the sky. But he did see a patch of pale, misty light from an area eight or ten feet above his head.
He climbed toward it, moving as fast as he dared up the craggy wall.
Hard to believe that the beast had made such an ascent dragging – or carrying – Alison. But it had somehow dragged her with great speed through the entire length of the tunnel. If it was capable of that, he supposed it could do this.
Boosting himself over a rough edge, he found the opening in front of him. Not much. The size of a small window. But big enough.
He clambered toward it.
Beyond it, the night looked pale and fuzzy. Moonlit fog?
He crouched just inside the opening and peered out. Through the fog, he could see an upward slope of ground and he knew where he was; at the back of a rock outcropping just beyond the Beast House fence, a short distance up the hillside. He’d seen it many times. Never from the inside, though. Until now.
Outside, trees and rocks looked soft and blurry.
Nothing moved.
Where are they?
He stood up and saw the beast behind a thicket off to the left. Just its head and back, nearly invisible in the fog. It was hunched over as if busy with someone out of sight on the ground.
Mark crouched. Head down, he searched the area near his feet and found a good chunk of rock. It filled his hand. It felt heavy and had rough edges. Keeping it, he stayed low and hurried in the direction of the beast.
He didn’t try to look at it again. If he could see it, it could see him. But he knew where it was. And he listened.
His shoes made hardly any noise at all as he hurried over the rocks and the long damp grass. The night seemed oddly still. All the usual sounds
were muffled by the fog. Somewhere, an owl hooted. From far away came the low, lonely tones of a fog horn. He thought he could hear the distant surf, but wasn’t sure.
Turning his head to the left, he looked downward and saw the back fence of Beast House with its row of iron spikes. Beyond the fence, there was only fog. Beast House was there, buried somewhere in the grayness. As he tried to glimpse it, he heard a snuffling sound.
Then a whimper.
He hurried on.
The sounds became more distinct. Moans and growls, panting sounds, whimpers and sharp outcries.
Some came from Alison.
She’s alive!
But, oh, God, what’s the damn thing doing to her?
Though Mark knew he must be very close to them, they remained out of sight. The beast had chosen a very well-concealed place for his session with Alison. It seemed completely surrounded by thickets and boulders.
Mark climbed a waist-high rock and looked down at them.
The monster, white as a snowman in the moonlit fog, was down on its knees, hunkered over Alison’s back, thrusting into her. Her clothes were gone, scattered nearby. She still wore her white socks, but nothing else.
She was on her knees, drooping forward. She looked as if she would fall on her face except for the creature’s hands that seemed to be clutching her breasts. Each time it rammed into Alison, her entire body shook and she made a noise like a dog getting kicked.
Mark leaped off the boulder.
The beast turned its head. Its eyes found him, but they didn’t go wide with surprise. They stayed half shut. The beast seemed blasé about this human running toward it with an upraised rock.
But it very quickly stood up, still embedded in Alison, hoisting her off her knees and swiveling, letting go of her breasts and clutching her hips as she swung so that her head and torso swept downward and crashed against Mark, knocking him off his feet.
He slammed against the ground, rocks pounding his buttocks and back, one bashing his head. He heard the thonk! Felt a blast inside his skull. Saw bright red. Smelled something tinny like blood. Barely conscious, he gazed up at Alison.
She loomed above him. The beast’s long, clawed fingers were clutching the sides of her ribcage, holding her like a life-sized, beautiful doll, working her forward and back.
Her chest and belly were striped with scratches, with gouges. Wetness fell off her and pattered onto Mark.
Her arms hung down as if reaching for him. But they weren’t reaching, they were limp and swinging. Her head wobbled. Her hair, hanging down her brow and cheeks, swayed with the motions of her body. Her small breasts, nipples pointing down at Mark, jiggled and shook as the beast jerked her forward and back.
She sniffled and sobbed. She let out a hurt yelp each time the beast jerked her toward it, plunging in deeper.
Mark raised his head.
The beast kept on working Alison.
Mark couldn’t see much of it. Just its hands with their long white fingers and dark claws clamping both sides of Alison’s ribcage. And its muscular white legs between Alison’s legs.
Alison’s legs were dangling, her feet off the ground. They gave a little lurch each time the beast rammed in. Through her sobbing and yelps and the beast’s grunting, Mark could hear her buttocks smacking against the creature.
Smacking faster and faster.
The beast, grunting with each thrust, worked her forward and backward with increasing speed and power. Alison’s arms and legs flopped about. Her hair swung. Her breasts lurched. Her yelps came faster.
It’s killing her!
Mark’s hands were empty. He turned his head and saw rocks nearby. He stretched his arm out and grabbed one and brought it closer to his side.
Above him, Alison’s head flew backward. Mark thought the beast had tugged her hair, but its hands remained on her ribcage as it furiously slammed into her. Her head stayed back. Her mouth gaped. She gasped, ‘AH-AH-AH!’ And then her arms stopped flapping. They bent at the elbows and she clutched her own leaping breasts and massaged them, squeezed them, tugged her nipples.
Chapter Twenty
What’s she doing?
Mark knew what she was doing. Appalled, excited, he watched her growing frenzy.
All wrong, he thought. So wrong.
When the beast came, Alison’s whole body twitched and bounced and she cried out and Mark was pretty sure she was having a climax of her own.
For a while afterward, the beast kept her in position. Her head and arms and legs hung limp. She hardly moved at all except to pant for breath. Then the creature eased her forward and upward. Its thick shaft appeared between her legs, and Mark saw it slide out of her.
Bending over, the beast lowered Alison toward him.
Does it think I’m dead?
Mark lay perfectly still as it put Alison on top of him. Her chest, hot and wet and heaving, covered his face. Hardly able to breathe, he turned his head to the side.
And waited.
Nothing happened.
Alison stayed on top of him, done in as if she’d just finished running a mile-long gauntlet.
But the beast did nothing.
What’s it doing, watching us?
Just play dead, Mark told himself. If I make any sort of move at all, it’ll probably drag Alison off me and rip me apart.
Though her moisture had soaked through Mark’s shirt almost immediately, he soon felt a heavy warmth spreading out near his waist. It seemed to come from Alison, from between her legs.
My God, she’s bleeding to death!
But the fluid felt thicker than blood.
Mark suddenly knew what it was.
It spread over his belly, rolled down his sides, soaked through his jeans so he could feel its warmth on his leg.
Must be a gallon of it.
As he lay there motionless, the night air turned the semen chilly. But it still felt warm where Alison’s body was on top of him.
How long had she been there? Five minutes? Ten? Maybe longer. During that time, Mark had seen and heard nothing from the beast.
He felt Alison raise herself slightly.
‘Don’t move,’ he whispered.
‘Huh?’
‘Play dead.’
‘But it’s gone.’
‘Huh?’
‘It went away . . . a long time ago.’ Trembling, she scooted herself down Mark’s body. She flinched and made hurt sounds. She said, ‘Ugh.’ Then her face was above his, her hair hanging toward him much as it had done when she was higher above him in the clutches of the beast. Now, however, she was nearly motionless and her hair hardly moved at all. He wished he could see her face, but it was masked by shadow.
‘You came after me,’ she said.
‘Didn’t do much good.’
‘You tried.’
Her head slowly lowered. It tilted slightly to the side. She whispered, ‘Thank you.’ Then her mouth pushed softly against his mouth. Her lips were warm and wet and open.
We need to get away, Mark thought. It might come back.
But Alison was on top of him and kissing him and naked. He didn’t want that to stop. He could feel her breasts through the damp front of his shirt. He could feel her ribcage and belly and groin and he was growing hard inside his wet jeans.
She lifted her face.
‘We’d better get out of here,’ Mark whispered. ‘It might come back.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Sitting on him, her buttocks on the soaked front of his jeans and heavy on his erection, she leaned forward and began to unbutton his shirt.
‘What’re you doing?’
She spread his shirt open, then eased herself down. Almost on top of him, she paused and swayed, brushing her nipples against his chest. Then she sank onto him, smooth and bare all the way down to Mark’s waist. Her skin felt chilly at first, then warm. She kissed him again.
Has she lost her mind?
But the feel of her . . .
This was what Mark had always wanted, to ha
ve her like this, naked and eager. And how great to have it happening in the tall damp grass of a hillside late at night in the silence and the fog!
She pushed herself up.
‘We’ve gotta go,’ Mark said.
She started scooting backward. ‘What’s the hurry?’
‘It’ll come back and kill us.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘It will!’
‘Why would it do that?’
‘It’s the beast!’
A corner of Alison’s mouth curled up. ‘If it wanted to kill us, why didn’t it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Neither do I,’ she said. Squatting over Mark’s thighs, she bent down and unbuckled his belt. ‘But here we are, and it’s gone.’
He pushed himself up to his elbows and looked around. The hillside and boulders and trees looked soft in the pale fog.
‘It’s gone,’ Alison said again. She unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans, pulled down the zipper.
Some of Mark’s tightness eased.
I can’t believe this is happening.
‘Maybe it got what it wanted,’ Alison said. Scuttling backward on her knees, she tugged at Mark’s jeans. He raised his rump off the ground. His jeans and underwear slid out from under him.
He was free and rigid in the moist night air.
‘Now it’s our turn,’ Alison told him.
‘But it raped you! It . . . it dragged you away and . . . look at you, you’re all scratched and torn up . . . It . . . it fucked you!’
‘It sure did,’ she said. Crawling over him, she whispered, ‘And we never breathe a word about this to anyone.’
‘We’ve got to! You’re all ruined!’
‘I’ll heal.’
‘We’ve gotta tell.’
‘Never. It’ll be our secret. Just between you and me. Everything about tonight. Promise.’
Mark shook his head.
‘Do you want me?’ she whispered.
He nodded.
‘Then promise.’
‘But . . .’
She eased down and he felt a soft wet opening push against the head of his erection. It nudged him. He felt himself go in half an inch. Then she withdrew.
‘Promise me, Mark.’
‘What’ll you tell your parents?’
The Complete Beast House Chronicles Page 116
