Lucifer's Children

by Brett Williams

  Amanda forced a smile. The birthday girl was lucky she didn’t get a fat lip for her birthday. “You’ll have to ask your mother about that.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  Sheesh.

  As Amanda contemplated cooking a pancake for herself, she heard the girls enthusiastically greet Mr. Henning.

  “Good morning, girls,” Mr. Henning said. “Good morning, Amanda.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Henning. Would you like pancakes for breakfast?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. And coffee, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sight of her guardian, in his blue plaid pajama pants and navy blue T-shirt, sickened Amanda. He hugged Amy as she sat at the dining table, and kissed the top of her head.

  “Hug me, too, Mr. Henning,” Tara pleaded.

  “Hugs all around,” he said.

  “Two more pancakes are ready,” Amanda said. “Who wants one?”

  A girl a year or two younger than Amy said, “I do.”

  Amanda watched her rise out of her chair. She also saw Mr. Henning adjust the bulge tenting his pajama pants before hugging the next little girl. Amanda’s hand began to shake, and she nearly dropped the pancake as she moved it to the plate. She thought she might be sick before breakfast was over, and decided she didn’t want anything to eat, after all. She started a pot of coffee before pouring more pancake batter into a hot skillet.

  “Amanda,” Mr. Henning said, “after you’re finished with breakfast, I need your help in the family room.”

  “Yes, Mr. Henning.”

  The girls had slept in the family room, and today’s festivities would take place there. Last night, long past midnight, giggling sounds rose up from that room. Amanda had found it hard to sleep with the noise, and heard Mr. Henning with the girls at least once. His presence hadn’t seemed to stifle their enjoyment; instead their chaotic ruckus had become organized enthusiasm.

  Had Mr. Henning violated these girls as he had his own daughter? Amanda didn’t see how he could have outright raped any of them in the presence of the others but he obviously had no qualms about inappropriately touching any of them.

  Mrs. Henning came padding into the kitchen on bare feet, lavender pajama pants slung low on her hips. Jostling breasts caused the shirttail of the white cotton tee she wore to flutter around her waist. The woman obviously wore no bra. Large nipples jutted from low-swaying breasts.

  “You’re staring, Amanda,” said Mrs. Henning. “Like what you see?”

  “You’re mistaken, ma’am.”

  “No. I don’t believe I am. Coffee, I need coffee.”

  Long night? Amanda wondered. The coffee was ready, so she poured two cups with sugar and cream, just how they liked it. She should eat something. That could wait, though, until her stomach settled. Assuming it did.

  Amanda cleaned the kitchen as everyone finished eating, Mr. and Mrs. Henning occupying the breakfast nook. Then she began to clear the table.

  “Sally,” Mr. Henning said to the smallest and presumably youngest girl, “I need to speak to you alone.”

  “Sure, Mr. Henning. Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, no. Your father just wanted me to relay a message to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Jenny,” Mrs. Henning said to the eldest, a girl no older than thirteen, “I need your help upstairs getting a surprise ready for Amy’s birthday.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Henning.” The girl rose from her chair and, after plucking at her panties, followed her out of the room.

  “Now what should we do?” Tara asked.

  “You could help me clear the table,” Amanda suggested.

  “Yeah, right,” Amy said. “Today you’re my slave. If I tell you to eat shit and die, you have to do it.”

  “You’d have to force-feed me, and I’d take you with me,” Amanda promised.

  “How dare you say such a thing.”

  “If it will make you happy, I can give you your birthday spanking now.”

  “Ooh … Promise?”

  “I promise you won’t like it. Not at all.”

  “Wow,” a girl wearing a lopsided bow in her hair said, “I heard your step-sister was a badass, but I didn’t believe it.”

  “Amanda ain’t shit,” Amy said.

  “Is not shit, birthday girl. Did you study English in an alley somewhere?”

  “Come on,” Amy said. “We don’t have to listen to this bullshit. Besides, I need a cig—haven’t had one all morning.”

  A smoke didn’t sound half-bad. Amanda’s hands still trembled as she packed dirtied dishes to the sink. She didn’t know why she craved a smoke; she just knew that she had a bad headache and a strong desire to light up. It didn’t help that she seriously suspected Mr. and Mrs. Henning of currently molesting those two girls they had conned into following them out of the room.

  Amy led her entourage upstairs, to presumably smoke cigarettes. Amanda, meanwhile, took her sweet time cleaning up after everyone. She even decided to drink a Pepsi, a rare luxury amid all the organic juices. She had nearly finished the can when she remembered that Mr. Henning wanted her to help him in the family room.

  She left the soft drink on the counter and went to find him. Neither Mr. Henning nor the girl were in the family room and the door to his office had been shut. Amanda didn’t know what to do, so she stood waiting for a couple of minutes, her stomach starting to churn in protest. She could taste acid bubbling up in her throat. Then the door swung open and out walked a dazed little girl. Her movements were awkward, almost stiff-legged.

  “Are you okay?” Amanda asked the girl.

  “He won’t be ready again for a while, but feel free to try.”

  Amanda, at a loss for words, cast her gaze on Mr. Henning as he entered the doorway.

  “Feel free to try,” he said.

  Amanda dry heaved.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “You said you wanted my help. I hope you didn’t mean …”

  “Oh. No, Amanda. First, I want you to roll up all the sleeping bags and take them out of the room. You can stack them in the foyer, out of the way. Over by the basement door. We’re going to rearrange the furniture.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She did what he wanted, along with taking empty snack bowls into the kitchen. Once the odds and ends had been removed, Amanda helped Mr. Henning move all the furniture to one side of the room.

  “We probably should have done this yesterday, but we really didn’t have time, it being a school day.”

  “If you say so. We can do it.”

  “Yeah?” Mr. Henning leered at Amanda.

  “No, I didn’t mean it that way,” she said.

  “You didn’t?”

  “No, Mr. Henning, I most definitely did not mean to imply anything. Anything at all.”

  “Are you calling me a liar, Amanda?”

  He now stood before her, over her. He looked down on her five feet, seven inches.

  “Perhaps it was a misunderstanding, is all,” Amanda stated.

  Rough hands clasped a breast, a buttock. The brute applied uncomfortable pressure as warm, coffee-laced breath carried the words: “You’re beautiful, Amanda. Gorgeous.”

  Amanda fought back tears. She had to steel herself against trembling hands, weak knees, a quivering chin. Somehow, she said, “I thought you preferred little girls.”

  “I like all sorts of girls. I like you.”

  A solitary tear ran down Amanda’s face. “You just h-had a girl.”

  “Yes, but …” Mr. Henning’s hand ran down between Amanda’s thighs. “I believe you can get it up again. I have faith.”

  Amanda wanted to claw his eyes out, wanted to knee his groin, wanted to race out of the room, out of the house, screaming rape. She wanted him locked away for what he had done, if not worse. Yes, he most definitely deserved worse. Much, much worse. Instead, she said, “I’ll do no such thing.”

  “Oh, you’ll have no say in the matt
er.” His hand left her crotch to adeptly slip past the elastic waistband of her flannel pants. She wanted to pull away but his other arm locked behind her back. Although she didn’t budge, her body stood poised to strip-hammer into action at any moment. Another tear spilled from glassy eyes. He continued, “You will do as I say, when I say.”

  Fingers snaked into her panties. She feared he might probe her femininity at any moment.

  “Stop. Now. Please.”

  He did stop, and asked, “What would you do?”

  “If you try to penetrate me I’ll kill you.” She would have, too, she knew.

  Surprisingly, his hand retreated, and her body shuddered. His lips pressed sickeningly to hers, a strange taste lingering on them, a taste she associated with that of the girl who had just left.

  Amanda spat to clear her mouth.

  “You’re a feisty one,” Mr. Henning said.

  “Are we done?”

  “No.” He loosened his grip. “We’re going to apply sheets of plastic to the floor and seal them with tape.”

  The instruction made no sense to Amanda. Then again, not much did.

  * * *

  Amanda placed a leftover slice of pepperoni pizza into the microwave, and as she watched her first meal of the day spin in the light, the doorbell chimed.

  “Darn it,” Amanda muttered. The party didn’t start for another half-hour. The last two hours had kept her busy: helping Mr. Henning in the family room, getting dressed, arranging hors d’oeuvres for the guests. Her stomach had finally settled enough where she could keep food down. And now this.

  After a quick once-over of her attire: creased slacks, ironed blouse, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, no food spills, Amanda left her apron in the kitchen and went to answer the door.

  A short fat balding man met her on the other side. He was holding a gift wrapped in paper printed with bright-colored balloons in primary colors.

  “Good afternoon. You’re here for Amy’s birthday party?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Welcome to the Henning home. Please, come in. I’ll take the gift for you.”

  “Frank, you sick bastard,” Mr. Henning said as he descended the staircase, “how the hell are you?”

  “Excited, of course.”

  “So I see. You’re early.”

  “I couldn’t wait.”

  “Follow Amanda into the kitchen, get yourself a beer, something to eat, whatever you like. The girls are upstairs getting ready. I’ve got a few last minute things to tend to. I’ll be right in there, okay?”

  “Do what you need to do. I’ll make myself at home.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  The man’s eyes burned through Amanda’s clothing as they walked into the kitchen. “This cooler has an assortment of beer,” Amanda explained, “while the cooler over there has soft drinks, juice, and water for the girls. Mr. Henning also has wine and liquors. I’m not a very good bartender, but I know how to make a screwdriver, or Jack ‘n Coke, if you’d like.”

  “Beer will be fine. I don’t want to get looped.”

  He pulled a bottle from the cooler, twisted off the cap. The microwave beeped again, reminding Amanda of her warmed slice of pizza.

  “Help yourself to snacks. We also have leftover pizza—I believe Mrs. Henning will be ordering fresh pizza later—I can nuke you a slice, if you like.”

  “No, that’s all right.” He scooped out a handful of mixed nuts.

  “If you don’t mind …” Amanda said, removing her slice of pizza, “I haven’t eaten yet today.”

  “Knock yourself out, sweetheart. By the way, will you be participating? Or just serving refreshments?”

  Participating?

  “No, not me. Keeping up with everything in the kitchen will keep me busy.”

  The man shrugged before wandering out of the kitchen, presumably to find Mr. Henning.

  Amanda ate pizza and followed it with two miniature candy bars before the doorbell rang again. Other guests began to arrive, all men, and Amanda found it odd that nobody had brought their wife. The men applauded the birthday girl when she made her grand entrance, along with her entourage.

  The group of girls’ disgusting appearance shocked Amanda. While most girls, especially those approaching puberty, typically wanted to dress to look older, these girls dressed to appear younger. Most sported pigtails, some curly, others straight, all held in place with big, bright bows. The outfits, provocative caricatures of costumes, really, were something a cheap streetwalker might wear. Fishnet stockings, Pikachu, footed pajamas, manga, body stockings featuring teddy bears, a cheerleader outfit … The costumes looked so perverted, with their skintight fit, thin fabric, low-cut tops, low-slung waists, and short skirts, each must have been custom made. Possibly, specifically for today’s event.

  Amanda had to avert her eyes, the outfits were so trashy. And the sickest part: the men ate it up. They praised the birthday girl, who wore a ballerina outfit, complete with tiara and fishnet stockings, glittery bows, and a wand with a star on the end.

  Mrs. Henning, dressed in an unflattering pair of jeans and sweater, repeated, “Amanda, did you hear me? I said please answer the door.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Henning.”

  She heard it now. The doorbell. When she opened the front door she found Matt and some older guy standing there.

  “Well?” Matt said. “Can we come inside?”

  “For the party?”

  “No. To witness to you about the coming paradise on earth for Jehovah’s chosen few.”

  “What?”

  “My son is being a wise-ass,” the guy said. “Yes, we’re here for the birthday party.” He hefted a large present as confirmation. “May we come in?”

  “Yes. Sorry. I’ll put your gift with the others.”

  The man joined the crowd in the kitchen; Amanda put the present in the living room; Matt followed behind her.

  “So,” Matt said, “am I gonna see you nekkid today?”

  Amanda shot him a look. “Not bloody likely.”

  “One can hope.”

  “My eyes are up here, on my face.”

  “Your tits are down there, on your chest.”

  “Don’t give me a hard time, okay?”

  “You’d like it if I gave you a hard time, I promise.”

  “Keep it up and your balls are going to bounce off my knee.”

  “No worries.”

  “Great.”

  “I can keep it up as long as you’d like.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve work to do.”

  Matt followed Amanda into the kitchen. There, she kept bowls filled and coolers stocked as the men fawned over the girls, who flirted back with them. Amanda tried to tune them out, but her hands started to tremble again. After all the guests arrived, and Mrs. Henning dimmed the lights and lit the twelve candles on the

  obscenely-decorated cake

  with wild symbols

  Everyone sang Happy Birthday.

  The men chanted things

  and made bizarre comments

  After Mrs. Henning cut cake for everyone, Amanda scooped ice cream for those who wanted it.

  “I wanna open my presents now,” Amy proclaimed.

  “In just a minute, dear,” Mrs. Henning said. “Not everyone has finished eating.”

  Amy pouted. “But I wanna. Now.”

  “I got a present for her,” someone said. “It’s a big one.”

  “Not as big as mine,” someone else said. Amanda thought she saw him grab his crotch, but couldn’t be sure with everyone crowded together.

  Five minutes later, the birthday girl got her wish, and everyone filed out of the kitchen and dining area and into the family room to open gifts.

  Everyone, that is, except Matt.

  “So, Amanda, I’ve been thinking. You and I, we should go out sometime.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, come on. Why not?”<
br />
  “For starters, I have a boyfriend.”

  “He doesn’t have to know.”

  “Another thing, you have Kat and half the other girls at school.”

  “So? They aren’t the jealous type.”

  “There’s only one problem, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t like you. In fact, why don’t you go watch Amy open her gifts?”

  “I’m sure watching that little skank unwrap presents would be a blast but … I prefer girls with tits.”

  Amanda, glancing up from tossing a paper plate in the trash, noticed Matt checking her out again.

  “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Rarely.”

  “Well, it’s not like I have much up top. Not like Kat.”

  “Yeah, Kat has nice jugs, that’s no lie. But yours, wow, what have you been feeding them?”

  Her breasts had grown noticeably larger, and she had recently upgraded to a B-cup. She simultaneously wondered if Brad had noticed, while loathing the fact that Matt had.

  “Never you mind,” Amanda answered, wondering if eating more burgers and ice cream, instead of organic fruits and vegetables had helped contribute to her fleshy expansion. Absentmindedly she scooped frosting off the cake and placed her finger into her mouth.

  “Suck it,” Matt urged.

  Finger removed, Amanda lowered it, and instead proffered her middle digit.

  Matt said, “You can slip it in while you suck, if you want.”

  “You’re disgusting. Why don’t you find someone else to harass besides me?”

  “I will. Later.”

  “Seriously, Matt, you’re wasting your time chatting me up. It’s never going to happen.”

  “Never say never.”

  “Never.”

  “Fine.” He fished a bottle of beer out of the cooler, twisted off its cap, tossed the cap at Amanda.

  “Hey, bucko, you can’t drink that.”

  “Bucko?” Matt chuckled. “You’re funny, Amanda. If you think anyone here is going to bust my balls about drinking a beer, you’re crazy. Shit, you’re so naive, you probably don’t know what’s really going on here, do you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, nothing. Talk to you later.”

  “Wait, come back. Matt …”