Fair Play

by John G. Hartness

  The vicious circle spiraled Herman deeper and deeper towards panic until finally he began to hyperventilate. Cindy flicked out the hand that once held the X-Acto knife and rocked Herman’s head to the side with a vicious slap. The shock and pain brought everything to a halt, and suddenly his breathing was back under control. His hand still screamed, and he still wanted to vomit from the pain and disgust at the snot rolling down his face and leaking past his lips, but the ball had moved enough that his gag reflex relaxed, and he no longer felt completely frantic. Of course, there was still a psychotic naked whore looming over him, but at least he could breathe a little better.

  Cindy walked over to the table, grabbed a cloth and came back. She gently wiped away Herman’s tears, dabbed the sweat from his brown, and cleaned his face. “There, there, Herman. You’re just fine. You’re going to be okay.” She crooned, crouching in front of him and taking his face in her hands. “Now you don’t need to be a bad boy, do you Herman? You don’t need to try to get free, because you can’t. That chair is bolted to the floor, and you’re tied up like a Christmas goose, so you just sit there, and be a good boy, and this won’t hurt a bit.” She smiled then, and kissed his forehead, and brought his head to nestle between her breasts.

  Herman could smell her perfume, and beneath that, the musky scent of her, and he started to swell. The lump of hamburger in his lap twitched, and Cindy jerked back. “Having naughty thoughts again, Herman? Well that’s the kind of thing that got you here in the first place, wasn’t it? You had dirty thoughts about me. You wanted to do nasty things with me, and now you’re here. You could have gone home to your wife who loves you, couldn’t you Herman? But no, you went out looking for a little young thing in a little girl miniskirt and wanted to do nasty things. So now we will. We will do nasty things, Herman, they just won’t be the same ones you were thinking of.”

  She walked over to the table and picked up a pair of scissors. “Usually I like to use my knives for this part, but I’m running a little short on knives right now, aren’t I, Herman?” She stepped in front of him and put the tip of the scissors to his throat. She snipped the blades together, and Herman felt a little tear and the scissor just barely cut into his neck above his tie. Then she grabbed his tie and cut it off of him. She threw his tie to the side and grabbed his dress shirt in both hands, pulling the shirt apart with a single hard yank that sent buttons flying. One bounced off her chin and she laughed. She pulled the shirt from his pants and yanked it off him, using the scissors to cut the pieces that she couldn’t pull off because of the plastic ties. She did the same thing with is undershirt, finally leaving him sitting shirtless and sweating in the wooden chair with a crazed naked woman dancing around him with scissors. His fish-white belly flopped down over his belt, and his few chest hairs did nothing to hide his lack of muscle. There was no way a soft bag of flesh like him would ever be able to free himself from this lunatic.

  She reached down into his lap, pulling chunks of the raw hamburger and smearing it all over his chest, cramming his ears full of the stuff and spreading it around his head and neck, She kneaded his crotch every time she reached for another handful, pulling and stroking him through his pants until he stood fully erect. When he was completely hard, she grinned at him and unfastened his belt. She tossed the belt aside and put the point of the scissors at his zipper.

  Snip! Snip! Snip! Herman squeezed his eyes shut tight, waiting for the stabbing pain to come from his groin, but nothing happened. She slapped him across the face and his eyes flew open. He looked down and saw his penis protruding from a hole she had cut in his pants and his underwear.

  “Say hello to little Herman. Hello little Herman.” She grabbed his shaft and bent it painfully down in a sharp yank. “I just love to play with these things. They get so hard, then so soft. It’s like flipping a switch. Hard, soft, hard, soft, hard, soft.” She giggled like a bizarre schoolgirl and yanked his penis up and down violently with every word. Herman’s eyes began to water and he started to feel nauseous from the pain, when suddenly she let go of him and went to work with the scissors again. Moments later Herman was naked except for scraps of cloth and plastic wire ties, and Cindy was back to smearing hamburger meat all over his body. She shoved a huge lump underneath him, probing Herman vilely to make sure there was plenty of meat up there and behind his balls, then she molded a big glob of the stuff and plopped it down on his crotch.

  “We’ll let that settle while I work on the rest of you. How does that sound?” She stood up, stepped back as if to survey her work, and went back to the table.

  She picked up one of the squeeze bottles in each hand and came back over to where Herman sat, shivering and contemplating prayer for the first time in forty years. In one hand she had a white bottle, like the kind used to dispense ketchup in cheap roadside diners all over the US. In the other she held a yellow-topped plastic bear with a smiling face. The bear was filled with a golden viscous fluid that Herman recognized instantly as honey. Cindy upended both bottles over Herman’s head and started to squeeze. The honey dripped slowly, but the other bottle held…water?

  “It’s sugar water, just a little more sweetener to draw them out. They like sweets, you know. And the sweeter I make you, the quicker they’ll come find you. And they’re here, don’t worry. They’re all over these old buildings. I just have to provide the right bait.” She emptied both bottles over Herman, coating him completely in a disgusting mix of hamburger meat, honey and sugar water.

  “Now we just need one more thing.” She went back to her table and picked up the other X-Acto knife and a third squeeze bottle. “This goes much quicker when I have both of my knives, but somebody was a little spoilsport and made me stab his stupid little hand, now didn’t he?” She walked over to his chair and dragged the blade across his chest, opening a thin line from armpit to armpit. Blood welled up and started to flow slowly down his chest, joining all the other substances coating him. Just as the pain kindled across Herman’s chest, she squeezed the yellow bottle over his chest and the lemon juice set his every nerve ending aflame. He tried again to scream, to no avail. All he accomplished was another gagging fit and the release of his bladder, which would have been more embarrassing if he hadn’t been tied to a chair by a psychotic whore who deserved to have all her haughty-naughty bits carved, up but who was more than likely going to kill him right here.

  Just as Herman’s fit died down, a knock came at the door. Herman jerked upright, hoping against hope for a rescue. Cindy’s head whipped around and she got a very confused look on her face.

  “I didn’t invite any other guests. Did you, sweetheart?” Herman shook his head frantically side to side, as much to try to clear his eyes from the dripping honey as anything else. Cindy put down the bottle of lemon juice and walked to the door.

  “Who is it?” She called sweetly through the door.

  “Memphis PD.” It was a strong male voice. Herman almost soiled himself in gratitude. He would get out of this! The police, those fools that he worked so hard to avoid, were going to save his life.

  “What can I do for you, Officer?” Cindy kept the saccharine tone to her voice, pressing her entire body against the door jamb.

  “There was a suspicious man seen entering the building earlier. One of your neighbors called it in. We need to know if you’ve seen him.”

  “I haven’t seen anyone suspicious, Officer. I’ve just been soaking in the bath.” She drew out the last word, painting languorous images of her nakedness with her voice. “Why, I didn’t bother to put on a robe before I answered the door, I’m just standing here. Dripping. Would you like to come in, Officer.” She purred and arched her back. Herman tried not to watch her writhe against the door like a cat in heat, but a stirring rose in his loins nonetheless.

  “Um, that’s all right, ma’am, just be on the lookout for any strange men in the area.” Herman tried to scream, but it came out as a strangled whimper. Cindy’s head whipped around at him. She had heard him. Maybe the cop heard
him, too.

  The cop’s voice came through the door. “What was that, ma’am? Maybe I do need to come in there. Could you open the door, please?”

  “Certainly, Officer.” Cindy turned the knob and stepped back into the room, pulling the door open. The cop stood in the doorway dumbfounded, staring at her naked body, her tattoo, her pierced nipples, and finally dragging his eyes up to the insane light in her eyes.

  “Ma’am, could you please step aside?” The cop came into the room, his hand on the butt of his gun. Cindy closed the door behind him and threw the deadbolt. The cop froze as he saw Herman strapped to the chair, naked, bleeding and trying frantically to get free.

  Herman had read about people who said that time slowed down when bad things were happening, but he never believed them. He’d done lots of bad things, and time never slowed down for him. But now, it was like he was watching a movie step forward frame by frame in front of him. He saw the cop’s eyes go wide, the whites almost swallowing his pupils. He saw Cindy throw the deadbolt on the door. He saw the cop begin to draw his gun and turn. He saw Cindy lash out with her X-Acto knife and cut deep into the side of the cop’s neck.

  He saw the cop’s left hand go to his neck, watched the man continue to spin around and bring his gun to bear on the naked woman. He saw the silver blade glint in the cheap overhead lighting and flash down again, burying itself in the cop’s chest. He saw the barrel of the gun swing up and flash fire - BOOM! - BOOM! - BOOM! - Three times. He saw the black holes blossom on Cindy’s chest and watched her lithe body float backwards and crash into the locked door. He saw the look of surprise on her face shift to one of pain, then of…amusement? He watched her die.

  He watched the cop fall to his knees, then drop onto his back, the X-Acto knife quivering in his chest. He watched the blood spurt from between his fingers, strong at first, splattering to the carpet several feet from the cop, then weaker, shorter bursts as the cop bled out. He saw the cop turn his head to look at Herman, an almost-apology in his eyes, as though he was leaving something undone. Then he watched the cop die, too.

  Herman sat there for a long moment, breathing hard. The gunshots, the stabbing, it had all been too much for him. When the other cops got there to rescue him, he was going to go straight. Get a better job, maybe meet a nice girl. There had always been whores. There would always be whores. Herman didn’t have to be the one to punish them, he saw that now. He even offered up a prayer of thanks to God for showing him the error of his ways. Then he settled in to wait for the police.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  The sun crept over the floor of the apartment, but no other police came. Still Herman waited.

  The corpses voided themselves in a last disgusting release of muscles. Still Herman waited.

  Night fell, and Herman could hear the distant sounds of lives happening in apartments down the hall, on other floors, but nothing in the units nearby. Still Herman waited.

  Eventually Herman realized that the dead cop had probably just been a foot patrolman, walking a beat in the neighborhood. It would take them longer to find him, but eventually they would. The cops took care of their own. They’d find their fallen brother, rescue Herman, and all would be right with the world. Herman just had to wait. It was uncomfortable, covered in meat and sugar water and honey, but Herman had been uncomfortable before. He was patient. He could wait. After all, people could go for days without food or water. As long as they found him within a few days, he’d be fine.

  Then he saw the first mouse scurry out from under the refrigerator and sniff in his direction.

  A Special Preview of

  Raising Hell

  A Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter

  Novella

  By John G. Hartness

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  Chapter 1

  I fuckin’ hate demons. That’s what ran through my head as I got out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to the Garda home. It was a nice place, for the suburbs. There was a two-car garage off to one side, a neatly manicured lawn leading up to flowerbeds in front of a nice little porch, and an SUV in the driveway because I’m sure the garage was full of bicycles, tools, lawnmowers and other shit that I only see when I get a call out here in the ’burbs. I live in a condo in the middle of downtown Charlotte, so the only time I see lawn equipment is when I get lost in a home improvement store looking for a new mallet or maybe a new wheel for my grinder.

  I walked up to the pale yellow siding nightmare of a home and stepped up on the front porch. The welcome mat was a little askew, the only imperfect thing in an otherwise totally Good Housekeeping image. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, opening my Second Sight and taking a look around. My third eye saw nothing out of the ordinary on the porch, no roiling black evil miasma ready to consume my soul and suck me down into the depths of Hell. It looked just as Martha Stewart in the supernatural spectrum as it did in the visible one. Good, I thought, maybe the little darlin’s just on the rag and I can get the fuck out of here and back uptown before the game lets out and traffic gets stupid.

  I opened my eyes and snapped back to the mundane world. After a second to adjust back to seeing the world with my eyes instead of my soul, I rang the bell. A dog immediately went apeshit on the other side of the door, as if the real trouble wasn’t already in the house. A couple of shouted “shut up”s later, the door opened and a flushed forty-something man opened the door. The top of his balding head stopped at about my nose, but I’m tall, so I was used to that. His polo shirt had sweat stains under his man boobs, and it stretched tight across his spectacular belly. He looked up at me, close-set brown eyes set deep in a florid face, capped off with a red nose that only happens when you’ve hit the bottle pretty hard for a pretty long time.

  “You Harker?” he asked, glaring up at me.

  “Yep,” I said.

  “You got ID?” he asked.

  No. I just randomly wander up to houses in suburbia and pretend to be an exorcist, hoping to arrive at the exact time their appointment was set for. I bit my tongue before that one could escape and just handed him my card.

  “You got any photo ID?” He had that belligerent tone of a middle manager, the kind of guy that shits on all his employees’ good ideas until somebody smarter than him hears them, then takes credit for the good one.

  I didn’t bother to hold back this time. “You want my badge number, too? This shit doesn’t exactly come with a union card, pal. You called me, remember? I’m here, the right time, the right address, now let’s see if I’m in the right place. I’m Quincy Harker. You got something needs banishing, or should I just go back to my sofa and NFL network?”

  “Sorry, sorry. No need to be a—” he cut himself off, but I didn’t.

  “Dick? Yeah, I’m a dick. You’re the stupid bastard who lets a demon into his teenage daughter, yanking me off the couch in the middle of the first Panthers playoff run in living memory, but of course I’m a dick because I didn’t immediately take off my hat and wipe my shoes before entering your fucking Ikea palace here. Now point me towards your daughter’s room and get out of my way before I do something really dickish, like turn you into a toad.”

  I pushed past the stammering jackoff and stomped towards the stairs, registering him mumbling something about the bedroom at the end of the hall. I didn’t need his instructions; as soon as I stepped onto the second floor, I could feel what I was there for. This time the sense of evil, of just wrongness was so strong I didn’t need my Sight to find it. It almost knocked me over the second I turned toward the door.

  The hallway was just like a normal two-story house, scene for slaughter in so many slasher flicks. There was a small bathroom to the right of the stairs, and three bedrooms arranged around the left-hand hallway. One of these would be the master bedroom, with its own bath, and the other two would be the kids’ rooms. The one on the left had pictures of motorcycles and rock bands with more makeup than KISS, but the one at the end of
the hall was unadorned. Just a simple brass nameplate announcing it as Kayleigh’s room.

  I could tell from thirty feet away that Kayleigh’s room had some seriously evil shit in it. I rolled my head and cracked my knuckles, then opened up my Second Sight to get a good look at the evil in the magical spectrum.

  I slammed my Sight shut almost as quickly as it came into focus, shaking my head to clear the images from my mind. But there is no Visine for the mind’s eye, and I was stuck with that shit forever. Whatever was on the other side of that door wasn’t human, was powerful as shit, and was really hungry. It was also in a really good mood, which disturbed the fuck out of me. There’s nothing worse than a happy demon, at least as far as the humans around it are concerned.

  “Mr. Garda?” I yelled down the stairs.

  “Yes?” his voice came back. I might have heard ice cubes jingle in a glass. Good—if this was as bad as I thought it was, he was going to need to get seriously drunk.