Lucifer's Children

by Brett Williams

  He strolled out of the room with the bottle to his lips.

  Deep down, though, buried from consciousness, Amanda knew exactly what was happening here today. She just couldn’t admit it to herself. But she didn’t have to. The guests’ comments, as they drifted in and out of the kitchen, slowly cemented reality into the forefront of her mind.

  A pair of girls, stripped of their costumes, came racing into the kitchen wearing only terrycloth robes. Amanda could tell because neither were properly cinched around their undeveloped bodies.

  “Oh, boy, that purple toy is big.”

  “Huge.”

  “A monster!”

  “You got it in, though, I can’t believe it.”

  “I know!”

  One girl filled her mouth with M&Ms while the other pulled two cans of Pepsi out of a cooler. She handed one to her friend, and said, “C’mon, let’s go watch Steff try.”

  “Yeah!”

  A man sporting a bushy mustache came looking for refreshments, escorted by two robed girls hugging him tightly on each side. The sight of them deeply disturbed Amanda. The girls were parading around without clothing, presumably had been playing with “toys” and, judging by the excited roar in the other room, giving these old men quite the show.

  The two girls each requested a piece of cake, which Amanda tried to serve. Trembling hands resulted in the first piece landing frosting-side down.

  “I want another piece,” the girl said, “she smooshed the icing.”

  “Sorry,” Amanda said.

  “What’s your problem?” the man, getting a bottle of beer, said.

  “She’s a stupid bitch, Daddy,” the other, older girl said.

  “Are you going to let your daughter get away with calling me that?” Amanda asked.

  “My daughter is in the other room. Mind your business and serve the cake. Baby, do you want ice cream too?”

  “Mm … nice and creamy. I like how it melts in my mouth.”

  Oh my …

  This entire party defied rational comprehension. Sure, perverts existed. Mr. Henning molested his own daughter on a regular basis, and his wife knew what he was, what he did. But such people didn’t openly participate in such activities, did they? Even if they did, why didn’t the victims protest their molestation?

  Guess that makes me a hypocrite, Amanda thought. I’m serving them freaking cake and ice cream while god-knows-what is going on in the other room.

  She should stop, go to the telephone, dial 9-1-1, tell them little girls were being exploited at a birthday party right now. There was only one problem with that plan. Actually, two. First, these warped little girls, for some crazy reason, seemed totally into the heinous activities taking place. Even if a police officer showed up at the door, Amanda doubted any of the girls would corroborate her tale of abuse. The cop would leave empty-handed. Meanwhile, Mr. Henning would toss Amanda into the basement. Of course, she could run away, which she gravely wanted to do. If caught, though, she would be brought right back here. No, all she could do for the time being, at least until she built up enough gumption, was play hostess to this sickening spectacle. Which she did, to the best of her declining ability. Each man who came seeking refreshments seemed more despicable than the last, each little girl more excited and promiscuous than the next. Amanda truly didn’t know what to do.

  “Yo, Amanda. Amy said you have pizza.”

  Geez. Not Matt again.

  “There are some leftover slices in the refrigerator.”

  Matt took a bottle of beer from a cooler, gave Amanda a what are you waiting for look, as he twisted off the cap.

  “What?”

  “Make yourself useful,” Matt said. “I’d like a couple of slices, nuked to hell, to keep my energy up. I’m gonna need it, if you know what I mean. Well, what are you waiting for? Get moving. Or, if you’d rather, drop to your knees.” Matt grabbed his crotch.

  “Watch it, bucko.”

  “Again with the bucko. What gives?”

  “I’ve had it with perversion.”

  Matt laughed as Amanda removed the pizza box.

  “You are in the wrong place, if you don’t like ‘perversion’.” Matt swigged his beer. “Okay, I’ll chill. Happy?”

  “Mildly. Pepperoni or supreme?”

  “Pepperoni.”

  Amanda punched the buttons on the microwave, turned to find Matt checking out her rump.

  “I’d comment on your nice ass, but I doubt you’d appreciate it.”

  Amanda frowned. “At least you’re under thirty.”

  The microwave buzzed; Amanda turned to remove the pizza.

  Matt sighed. “Guess I’ll have to bang one of those titless cunts.”

  Matt headed out of the room with a paper plate of pizza. Amanda almost called out to him, but realized the futility of stopping him, of stopping them. Nothing and nobody could help them now. Amanda also knew that each of those girls, beyond logic, enjoyed the abuse.

  Gah! She couldn’t fathom this insanity. She needed an escape in an inescapable world. To heck with it, Amanda thought, and reached into a cooler for a bottle of beer. Maybe the alcohol could insulate her somewhat, in its fuzzy warmth, from life’s cage.

  Halfway through the beer a loud chorus of cheers erupted in the other room and a stampede of scantily-clad young girls charged in. Amanda tended to them—filling bowls with candy, helping to open bottles of soft drinks, serving cake and ice cream—while finishing her drink. Several times she reprimanded a girl for going into graphic detail about what she had done with a toy, or worse, one of her friends. Twice, she needed to address a girl’s wardrobe malfunction. The fathers, a term Amanda found ludicrous but somehow fitting, began to filter in wearing silk robes, just as the girls finished filling their mouths or plates with whatever they saw fit.

  Most of the men grabbed a beer, while some chose chips, pretzels, or veggies. But all of them put arms around the girls, patted their rumps, hugged them close, whispered into their ears which elicited giggles. Occasionally, Amanda would notice a girl’s hand slip into or out of the fold of a man’s robe. Tara, pressed against a graying man with a large gut, worked him with her hand under his robe. She said, “You’ll be gentle with this monster, won’t you?”

  Amanda cleared her throat loudly to gain their attention and hopefully disrupt the display.

  Tara’s hand stopped moving, and the man’s eyes focused on Amanda. “Is there a problem?”

  “Her only problem,” Tara explained, “is that she isn’t getting any.”

  The man said to Amanda: “Don’t you ever look at me like that again. I’ll have you bent over so fast …”

  “Daddy,” Tara cooed, “I’m bored.”

  “Oh, all right, baby, let’s go.”

  Amanda didn’t know if she could handle much more. She fished out another beer for herself and was twisting off its cap when someone tugged her arm.

  Mr. Henning, standing beside her in a robe, said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Tears welled in Amanda’s eyes. “Can’t I please have a beer? I’m … doing the best that I can.”

  “I don’t give a damn, so long as you do your job. But I won’t have you causing trouble with the guests.”

  “I didn’t mean to. Honest. It’s just …”

  “Just what?”

  “Just … asking a lot, is all.”

  Mr. Henning flashed a brief smile at an eavesdropper before jerking Amanda’s arm. “If you’d rather suck dick in the family room, that can be arranged.”

  “No. Please no. I … I won’t say anything to anyone again.”

  “Damn straight, you won’t.”

  He stomped away from Amanda and called out, “Gentleman, harlots, follow me. It’s time for the event you’ve all been waiting for.”

  Everyone began to filter out of the room. Amanda nervously tried to drink her beer. She planned to down this bottle, then get another. She didn’t want to think about what was about to take place, but she knew
it would keep everyone busy for the foreseeable future. By then she would have a nice buzz working, enough to get her through the day.

  Amanda sat down and buried her face in her hands. Tears were flowing when she heard footsteps despite the raucous noise coming from the far end of the house.

  “Why are you crying?” Matt said.

  “I just am. What do you care? You should be in there, doing things.”

  “Yeah, well, some bitch dad is banging wants a lollipop, so he sent me to fetch one.”

  “So get it, then,” Amanda barked, looking up. She found Matt standing there naked and semi-erect.

  “Like what you see?”

  “No.” Amanda fought to keep her voice down. “You are fucking disgusting. If you come in here bouncing around again, I swear I’ll take a butcher knife to it. Now get the fuck out of here.”

  Matt plucked a lollipop out of the candy dish and said, “Don’t judge me, you uptight bitch. I’m a teenage boy and pussy is pussy. They want it. Hell, they are begging me for it. I’m just doing what comes natural.”

  “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but it most definitely is not natural. And while you may be a teen-aged boy, those little girls are not teens. I doubt any of them have became women, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck you. Or not. I’ll fuck them.”

  “Fine. Go.”

  Amanda, fuming, watched him leave. She sat staring, eyes burning holes, as she loathed the whole filthy bunch of them. She heard the front door shut, then in strolled Kat with a little girl latched onto her. The girl’s unruly dark hair bounced, her hand in a pocket of Kat’s hip-hugger jeans. Amanda was surprised to see Kat. More surprising, though, was the infant, swaddled in black, cradled in her arms.

  “What up, bitch?” Kat asked.

  “I’m having a shitty day. Whose baby?”

  “The fuck should I know? Some breeder’s.”

  The little girl tugged on Kat’s jeans. “Kitty, candy.”

  “Whatever. Don’t make yourself sick. Speaking of sick, Rock gave me the sickest tattoo the other day.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, he did. Not that you care. I get it, though. Guys fucking breeders—it’s enough to get your panties in a bunch.”

  “Hey, how did you know—”

  “Girl, there ain’t much I don’t know. You should know that.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Her? That’s Vicky. My toy.”

  “Toy?”

  Kat waved off the question.

  “Here,” Amanda said, noticing the girl struggling to open a can of Sprite, “let me help you.” She looked at the baby. “Aw. He’s so cute. You know, my friend Pammy recently had a baby.”

  “Yeah? Like I said, I know a lot of shit.”

  “May I hold him?”

  “Hell, yes. Take him. He’s getting heavy.”

  Kat thrust forth the baby.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t—I’ve been drinking.”

  “Take the god-damned kid. Wanna get high?”

  “I don’t know about that.” The baby looked very small, couldn’t weigh any more than a bag of sugar. “What’s its name?”

  “No name.” Kat removed a pipe and lighter, took a hit.

  “Boy,” Vicky said.

  “It’s a boy?”

  “She calls it ‘boy’.”

  Odd, Amanda thought, but said, “Hey there, little boy. You’re so tiny. Itsy bitsy.”

  “Have a toke.”

  “Marijuana?”

  “Yeah, just grass, don’t worry.”

  But she was holding the baby …

  “Take a fucking hit. It’ll chill you out.”

  Amanda rubbed wetness from her eyes. Yes, she definitely needed to chill. “How do I …”

  “Like this.” Kat held a flame over the small bowl, breathed in marijuana smoke.

  Amanda did the same, child in lap. The fuzziness surrounding her grew thicker. She took another hit before passing back the pipe. The infant, cooing, smiled as Amanda spoke to it. Vicky sidled up to Amanda to watch the baby while Kat perused the beer selection.

  Twice, unclothed girls wandered into the room for refreshments. Neither stayed long. Amanda didn’t pay either much attention, although she couldn’t help but notice the shiny wetness covering each from mouth to navel, along with tussled, matted hair. Amanda didn’t care. Not anymore.

  “Kitty,” Vicky said, “can I go play?”

  “No. You stay right here. You’re my toy, not theirs.”

  Vicky, pouting, turned her attention back to the boy. Before Amanda knew what was happening, Vicky poked a finger into the infant’s eye. Hard.

  “No,” Amanda proclaimed, twisting away. “Oh my. Look what she did. Did you see that? Are you okay, little guy?” Amanda’s heart trip-hammered to its screams. She watched the baby cry blood as its eye clouded red. “We have to take it to the hospital, something. Do you have a car?”

  “Rock’s car’s outside, but we’re not taking the kid anywhere.” Kat swatted Vicky’s head. “I told you to wait.”

  Wait?

  “Here, give him back to me,” Kat said, slipping the pipe into a pocket.

  “I wanna play,” Vicky said.

  “Shut up.”

  “Please, kitty?”

  “Eat more candy, for fuck sake.”

  Amanda couldn’t believe her ears. She lived in a madhouse. Her head was spinning and she couldn’t do anything, except distance herself from the insanity. She must remain a good girl.

  The horde of naked prepubescent

  girls stormed in

  thrilled at having been molested

  Men swaggered in

  robes draped open

  cocks shriveled

  or swinging.

  After a brief reprieve,

  Mr. Henning, along with Kat and the baby, led the masses down into the basement

  They stayed down there a long while

  Long enough to chant praises to Lucifer

  Long enough for the girls to torture

  and kill the infant

  Long enough for the men

  to grow hard again

  And for them to participate

  in a blood orgy with the little girls

  before showering off the

  blood, gore, and cum.

  An indeterminate amount of time later, after the pedophiles had left with their whores, after Kat had left with her toy, after Matt had grabbed Amanda’s ass and told her he wanted her to suck his cock (“Those little girls don’t know what the fuck they’re doing”), and after Mrs. Henning helped Amanda clean up the mess, Amanda walked shell-shocked into Mr. Henning’s office. She needed to know exactly what was going on, something much bigger than child molestation, for sure. And she was convinced, since Kat had found what she was looking for in there, weeks ago, that she would too.

  * * *

  After Mr. Henning and Amanda had finished removing soiled and stained plastic wrap from the floor of the family room and rearranging furniture, Mr. Henning went upstairs. Amanda returned from taking garbage bags outside to find the downstairs of the Henning home empty. She suspected a complete breakdown once she got upstairs to her room. So she needed to act fast.

  Whatever it was Kat had found that day in Mr. Henning’s office, was in a file cabinet, of that Amanda was sure. She had specifically heard Kat roll out the file drawer. Everyone knew what was going on around here. Everyone except Amanda. However, she planned to remedy that situation.

  Amanda entered the room on shaky legs. It took all her will to force herself past the threshold.

  She avoided looking at things on the wall

  Jesus being tortured

  heinous deaths of small male children

  Men, women, and children of all ages fornicating in blood

  Artwork and photographs both

  She went straight around the big mahogany office desk to the tall file cabinet off to the side. She started with the top drawer
. Locked. As were the bottom three.

  Fuck!

  How had Kat opened a drawer? A key. She needed a key.

  Amanda turned her attention to the desk and started rummaging through the drawers, where she found a ring of several keys in a pencil tray.

  The second small key fit the file cabinet lock. The top drawer appeared to be only household financial files. In the second drawer, though, Amanda discovered to her horror files labeled with names. Female names. Lo and behold, “Amanda”, appeared near the front and she removed the folder and opened it up.

  There she found a birth certificate, she assumed, with the place of birth listing home while the location of record listed Overland Park, Kansas, where she lived. She also discovered various records which indicated that she had not recently transferred to Monarch Prep but had been attending since—Amanda flipped through the documents—since she first started school in the first grade.

  None of this made sense. She hadn’t attended Monarch Prep last year; she had attended … but she couldn’t recall the name, couldn’t recall the place. She couldn’t recall anything!

  The following document alarmed her most of all. Although straight-forward in presentation and language, its form and content defied logic. Several names were listed, including Amanda and Mandy. Beside each name, in a separate column, a phrase was listed. The heading of that column read Key. The key listed beside Mandy read: Kiss the serpent.

  A voice startled Amanda, causing her to squeal.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

  Amanda jammed the file into the drawer and pushed it shut. “Nothing, Mr. Henning. I didn’t see anything, I promise.”

  “I don’t like lying whores,” Mr. Henning said.

  “I’m so sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”

  Mr. Henning stepped closer, causing Amanda’s head to spin.

  “Don’t lock me downstairs. Please don’t rape me. Don’t kill me. Mr. Henning, stop. Stop. Stop.”

  As he rounded the table Amanda tried to dash away, but he corrected his trajectory and headed her off.

  “No, please, no.”

  Amanda screamed as Mr. Henning closed the distance. She had to do something, she knew that. If she didn’t … she couldn’t fathom how bad it might be. She kicked out a foot, connected with his shin. He slowed but didn’t stop. Next she went at him with fingernails. She’d claw him to shreds, enough to get away.