Ladies and Gentlemen of Horror 2013

Ladies and Gentlemen of Horror

2013

Presented By

LG Anthologies

Smashwords Edition

Ladies and Gentlemen of Horror 2013

Copyright © 2013 by the individual authors, photographers and artists.

All rights reserved.

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This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. The authors are grateful for your appreciation of their work; however, as all proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to their cause, if you would like to gift or share this eBook, please do so by purchasing an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors, and supporting The American Cancer Society.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner what so ever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

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Acknowledgments

We would like to thank: Jennifer L. Miller, for her pure drive and honest devotion. Elyse Draper, for her unmatched formatting skills, her deep well of knowledge concerning digital books, and her consummate support of the LGOH Anthologies. Erich A. Johnson for taking on a little extra work. And lastly, all of the Ladies and Gentlemen who have affectionately contributed their hard work, without which, there would be no Ladies and Gentlemen of Horror Annual Anthology at all.

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Content Warning

Due to the graphic nature and explicit sexual nature of some of the work contained within, we would like to warn our readers. We also do not recommend the following reading for anyone under 16 years of age.

Table of Contents

Foreword by Jennifer L. Miller

Hydra M. Star

~Author Bio

Erich A. Johnson

~Author Bio

Elyse Draper

~Author Bio

Joseph DeRepentigny

~Author Bio

Lindsey Beth Goddard

~Author Bio

Sean Patrick Little

~Author Bio

Isaiyan Morrison

~Author Bio

Dylan J. Morgan

~Author Bio

Jane Timm Baxter

~Author Bio

W. C. Morrow

~Author Bio

Kerry Morgan

~Author Bio

C.T. Steel

~Author Bio

Jennifer L. Miller

~Author Bio

M. P. Fitzgerald

~Author Bio

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Ladies and Gentlemen of Horror

2013

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Foreword

When I think of the word, horror, I think of names like, Poe, Shelly, Lovecraft, Rice and King; names of writers and poets, throughout history, who have brought a certain kind of elegance to the horror genre simply by sharing their incredible imaginations with the world using the written word.

H.P. Lovecraft said, The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. Horror fiction is meant to elicit a response. Whether that response is emotional, psychological or physical, it’s meant to make you feel fear. There are books, movies, and music the world over dedicated to being scary.

The only problem is, each individual has a different view as to what is scary to them. You may find something utterly terrifying that only slightly creeps me out. Your friend might insist the new horror flick is the scariest movie ever filmed, but you watch it, and it kind of makes you laugh. And I could write a much longer introduction if we delved into phobias. One person’s clown is my spider.

Horror writers write, generally, what is scary to them. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, serial killers; we all have our own fears. These writers delve into the supernatural and the macabre, the terror of daily life, the sex and the gore, and come back up with tales meant to scare the living daylights out of you. Some stories will, and some won’t, it’s the nature of the beast.

When I began this anthology in 2008, my dream was to have a collection of horror that was visually stunning, full of beautifully written stories that stick with you for days or even weeks after you read them. We hit the mark then, and we hit it even closer this time.

I can’t thank the writers involved in this anthology enough (and I have, repeatedly, ask them). They have essentially donated not only their work, but their time and dedication to make this anthology simply amazing. Remember, all the proceeds will be donated to the American Cancer Society. All the work in this volume was lovingly written for that cause.

In your hands you hold some fantastic stories. There is poetry, flash fiction, short stories and long stories. There are ghosts, werewolves, vampires, zombies, and much, much more. Some will scare you, some will make you laugh, some will make you cry, but they are all, each and every one, remarkable.

I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I have.

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Candy, Blood, and Sex

By

Hydra M. Star

I know what everyone thinks of me, she said as she placed the cap back on the tube of red lipstick. The shade was her signature color and Scarlett was never without a tube. One in her purse, one on the bedside table, another in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and several unused tubes at the bottom of the make-up case that sat on the corner of her dresser; all of them the exact same deep shade of blood red. You think I’m damaged.

Do you feel damaged?

She returned the lipstick to her purse and pulled another cigarette out of the pack on the table. Leaning back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, causing it to creek softly, she lit the cigarette’s tip and took a deep drag before releasing her next words in a heavy cloud of smoke, I’m not damaged.

It would be okay if you were.

Scarlett took another drag of her cigarette. She wasn’t damaged and resented being thought of that way, but what could she do or say now to change that? Fate, it seemed, had decided long ago to cast her in the role of victim.

Autumn of 1989...

The leaves had started to turn, but it was still early enough in the season that the days were comfortable and the nights were bearable. James and Nancy both hoped that their little girl would be as won over by the wonderland that was the forest as they were and had carefully timed their trip, even making sure that the moon would be at its fullest and offer them nighttime light.

James and Nancy Little loved camping. In fact, the two of them had met and fallen in love during a college camping trip. James and a few of his fraternity brothers had decided to spend the first two weeks of their junior year summer vacation camping in the North Carolina Mountains. They all attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and the mountains were an affordable excursion for young men on tight budgets. Nancy was the best friend of a girl named Kara, who was dating one of the boys in James’s group. She and Kara, along with a handful of other girls, were invited to tag along. As a result, Nancy and James had met and hit it off from the very start. He helped her secure her things to the roof of the group’s van and from that moment forth it had been love. The pair were married a year and a half later and then a year after that, their first child was born, a daughter. They named her, Scarlett, after the lead character in Nancy’s favorite movie.

Baby Scarlett, who looked a bit like a chubby Vivien Leigh, was a happy and healthy child, with James’s black hair and Nancy’s dazing green eyes. She was just over three years old when the Little family took their first family camping trip, into the same mountains that had been the backdrop for the birth of James and Nancy’s love. They’d managed a similar three day jaunt four months before Scarlett’s birth and another, without her, when she was just over a year old. Nancy’s mother, Beverly, had kept the baby while the young couple got away for a couple of nights.

It was midday by the time the Little’s made camp. They found a small clearing just large enough for their tent and a fire near to the largest of the streams that cut through the center of the park. It would have normally been a challenge to get such a prime spot and also be separated by any meaningful distance from other campers, but the lateness in the camping season made this a lot easier. Everything was starting out as planned.

James decided to set up the large new four person tent they’d purchased new for the occasion up next to the trees, away from the water’s edge. Despite having practiced setting it up in their backyard the night before, he soon was having a bit of trouble and was getting very agitated. Nancy didn’t like it when he got into these sorts of moods and knew it would pass sooner if she just left him alone to sort everything out by himself. So, she called Scarlett to her and the two of them set off into the woods. They’d had lunch on the road and it was too early to start dinner, but it was exactly the right time to consider collecting the wood for the dinnertime fire.

Nancy carried a large open top backpack for the wood. She’d taken years before to this peculiar manner of totting wood, as opposed to doing so by hand, and on this day it proved a benefit. It more easily allowed Scarlett to help her and for her to keep the child in hand. For her part, the girl took surprising delight in sticking the broken limbs into the bag and it soon became a sort of game as she tried to find pieces that were long enough to stick up out of the top of the bag. In no time, the work was done and the pack was full.

Okay, pumpkin, let’s head on back. Daddy should be done with the tent by now and he’s probably getting hungry, aren’t you?

I’m not a pumpkin! Scarlett responded.

You’re my pumpkin, Nancy gave the girl a playful poke in the belly, My pretty, funny, little pumpkin.

Scarlett giggled, No, I’m not.

Okay, you’re not a pumpkin, Nancy gave the giggling toddler’s belly another poke, but you might turn into one if we don’t get back to camp soon.

They’d not penetrated the woods very deeply. There had been plenty of good sized, dry branches and twigs all about the forest floor. It had only been Scarlett’s enthusiasm to find longer branches that had taken the mother and daughter out of sight of James and the tent. They were, however, still within sight of the stream. Nancy could clearly see the sunlight glinting off of its rippling surface through the trees. They’d use it as their guide back to camp, but first Nancy guided Scarlett towards the water’s edge. They emerged once more from the trees beside the water. This gave Scarlett another chance to make up a new game to play.

Nancy made no fuss as the girl collected small pebbles from the water’s edge and then tossed them into the water. This took some time, mostly in the collecting, and slowed down their progress considerably, but Scarlett squealed with such delight at the plopping sounds the stones made as they broke the water’s surface that Nancy couldn’t bring herself to be anything but pleased, You want to do some fishing tomorrow morning, pumpkin?

She expected to hear ‘I’m not a pumpkin’, but instead Scarlett asked, What’s that mommy?

What’s what? Nancy was slow to turn back and slow to look towards the direction her daughter was staring, figuring she’d find that the girl’s eye had been caught by an unusual flower or dead fish.

That mommy, Scarlett pointed across to the other side of the water, What’s that?

Nancy’s eyes followed the gesture and came to rest upon an outcropping of rocks on the far bank. The trees on that side of the stream were much nearer to the water and with the sun behind them the area was in heavy shadow, but even so, she could clearly see there was a large figure moving up from the water towards the trees. Whoever, or whatever, it was stood upright, like a man, and was large and very dark. It was also moving very swiftly. The beast was gone before Nancy could speak or make out what it was.

Come along, Scarlett, she firmly took the girl’s still raised hand and pulled her away from the water. They were quicker now, in making their way back to camp.

So, you saw a bear? We are in the wilderness and they are common around here.

I don’t think it was a bear.

What else could it have been...bigfoot? James laughed.

Don’t make a joke of it, James! I didn’t get a good look at it is all I’m saying.

There are only two options, as I see it. It was either a bear or another camper. Either way, I don’t know why you’re so worried. Whatever it was, it was moving away from you.

I think it scared Scarlett.

James let out another round of laughter and pointed over to Scarlett, who was once more collecting rocks and tossing them into the water, Yeah, she looks real scared.

Nancy said nothing. She knew he was right. The tent was finally set up and it was time to start the fire for dinner, no time for moving camp. With a nod, she conceded defeat and started dinner.

That night, James and Nancy put Scarlett to bed earlier and drank hot buttered rum by the fire. The rum and a full belly did wonders to help Nancy to relax and forget about the animal on the distant shore. This would be the last evening the Little family would ever spend together.

On the following Monday morning, a trio of college students found young Scarlett wandering along one of the park’s many trails. She was covered in dirt, leaves, and dried blood that was not her own, but was otherwise in a fairly healthy condition, just a little hungry and dehydrated. It took the park rangers another day to find her parents.

What was left of James and Nancy was strewn around the now long dead campfire. The officers and county coroner all agreed it was an animal attack, likely a bear, an extremely savage and aggressive bear. Why little Scarlett had been left unharmed was both a mystery and a blessing. No one questioned it—too closely. The case was quickly closed and the park was reopened.

Scarlett went to live with her grandmother, Beverly.

Autumn of 2004...

It was three blocks from the bus stop to Scarlett’s grandmother’s house. Thanks to city planning and the area being designated a historic district, which didn’t allow for the old growth trees to be cut without permission, much of the way was shaded by a thick canopy of leaves during spring, summer, and the first part of autumn. The distant sounds of traffic and the occasional barking of neighborhood dogs kept the area from being quiet, but as city life went it was peaceful and a nice backdrop for a nice life.

Beverly Hood and her late husband had lived the whole of their lives in a small farming community in the eastern part of North Carolina, but she and Scarlett had moved to Charlotte not long after the deaths of Nancy and James. The older woman couldn’t bear the thought of raising her granddaughter in the same house where she’d raised the girl’s mother and, after what had happened to the little girl’s parents, she didn’t want her playing in the woods surrounding her old country home either. Naturally, when friends and other members of the small town had learned of Beverly’s plans to move to the biggest city their state had to offer they had been concerned. An aging woman and a young girl living alone in such a dangerous and unfriendly place would be easy picking for every ne’er-do-well the city was home to, but Beverly was less afraid of the big city and crime than she was of what might happen if another bear or wildcat happened upon her last living relative.

Scarlett, on the other hand, was afraid of nothing. She was eighteen years old and following in the footsteps of both her parents, in at least one way. In late August, she’d started her first year at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. The world lay open before her to do in it whatever she pleased and what pleased her at that very moment was getting back to the house to change for the Halloween party at Krista and Jenna’s house. She’d decided to go as a naughty nurse and hoped to find a handsome doctor to play surgery with. She’d figure out after the party how to break the news to her grandmother that she planned to move in with Krista and Jenna after the first of November. This and a math test, scheduled for the end of the following week, were the only troubles she knew. She remembered almost nothing about her parents or their final camping trip, vague memories of pebbles and sticks was all she had.

Beverly would protest the move. The university and Krista and Jenna’s house were neither one situated in the best part of the city and Scarlett would have to use the money she’d been saving to buy a car to pay her part of the rent. She’d be taking public transportation for at least another year, but she didn’t see this as a great hardship. Both her job and the school were within walking distance of Krista and Jenna’s house. It would all work out. She’d make her grandmother understand.

Scarlett took no notice of the man watching her as she made her way to her grandmother’s, with her freshly purchased custom in hand, but he was hidden quite well, standing as he was, between two of the neighboring houses across the street, beneath two closely planted trees.

Three weeks later...

It turned out Beverly was far more understanding regarding her granddaughter’s move than Scarlett had thought she’d be, though she was clearly saddened by it. Scarlett promised that she’d visit often. She’d visit so often it would be like she’d never left. It was a cliché, but the promise of seeing her grandchild often made the older woman happy, and Scarlett truly meant to keep her word.

Shifting both bags to one hand, Scarlett pulled her keys from her purse and let herself into the house. She was keeping her promise. She’d also stopped off for some fried chicken at her and her grandmother’s favorite place for it, before popping in for her sixth visit home in half as many weeks. The man who had watched her on Halloween day, weeks before, was nowhere in sight.

Grandma, I’m here, she called out as she entered, I stopped by the Bojangles’ and picked us up some dinner...and a jug tea.

There was no answer.

Placing the food on the dining room table, Scarlett stepped into the kitchen to get a couple of plates and glasses. Two of the cabinet doors, just off from and above the sink, stood open. Scarlett shook her head, grabbed down two plates and two glasses from the shelves, and shut the open cabinet doors.

You know, Grandma, it’s supposed to be you that has to tidy up behind me. This was a running joke between the two of them. Scarlett had always been the neat one, the orderly child that put away her toys and books when she was done playing. Beverly was more of a ‘free spirit’, as she often put it when Scarlett teased her about the little messes she left all over the house.

Scarlett returned to the table in silence and placed a glass and plate in front her and her grandmother’s usual seats. The food was starting to get cold. If you don’t want cold chicken, you need to come on and eat, she called.

There was still no answer.

Scarlett stopped what she was doing, leaving the chicken in the takeout boxes and the plates empty, and stepped into the living room. She looked around the usually occupied space for any sign that her grandmother was at home. Beverly’s house keys were lying in the large bowl in the middle of the coffee table, where she always left them. Her white Ford Focus sat in the driveway, which Scarlett could see through the large bay windows that took up most of the wall opposite the sofa. Her grandmother was home.

Perhaps she’d laid down for a nap, Scarlett thought. When they’d spoken by phone earlier in the day, the older woman had mentioned that she felt a bout of hay fever coming on. Maybe she’d taken some allergy medicine and laid down. With feelings of only mild concern creeping in, Scarlett moved in the direction of her grandmother’s bedroom.

The stillness of the house was beginning to unnerve her. Her grandmother had always been a light sleeper, waking several times throughout the night if a neighbor’s dog barked or a car door slammed anywhere on their street. She should have been up and out to greet her granddaughter the moment Scarlett’s keys jiggled in the front door’s lock. Something wasn’t right.

Without a word, Scarlett edged her way down the hall slowly, moving cautiously towards the slightly ajar master bedroom’s door at its other end. There was no light coming from the room beyond and an early autumn night was quickly falling over the surrounding city. The back part of the house, well away from the street lamps out front, was quickly growing dark. Scarlett flipped the switch for the hallway light as she passed it. The dim yellow glow it cast on the wood paneled walls did little to calm her growing nervousness.

She pushed the bedroom door open gently, Grandma? A large person shaped lump under the covers of her grandmother’s bed shifted ever so slightly, just enough for Scarlett’s eyes to catch the movement in the darkness. I’m turning on the light, Grandma. Watch your eyes. She flipped on the switch by the door. Nothing happened. Scarlett’s stomach lurched upwards and then fell.

She had reoccurring nightmares like this, dark rooms with light switches that didn’t work and monsters hiding inside the shadows, but that was silly. This was real, waking life. The light bulb had blown and her grandmother hadn’t gotten around to replacing it yet, or didn’t even know it needed replacing. It was as simple a thing as that, nothing to be nervous or fearful of. She’d go into the room, turn on the lamp beside the bed, and the two of them would be back down the hall and at the table eating lukewarm friend chicken before her accelerated heart rate had time to slow.

Scarlett moved quickly from the door to the table. She could just make out the outline of the lamp and the bedside table by the glow of the hallway light. As she entered, she noted that the room smelt odd. It smelt like sickness, but not quite like vomit. No, it was nothing like vomit, but unhealthy. Scarlett’s concern was growing.

Do you know your overhead light is blown? She asked, hoping that her grandmother would finally acknowledge her presence.

The lump in the bed didn’t move this time when she spoke.

Can you hear me, Grandma? She turned on the lamp, Your overhead light isn’t... The last of Scarlett’s words became lodged in her throat.

The eyes and the face staring up at her from the bed were not her grandmother’s. They were much darker and all together more masculine. She instinctively turned to run, but there was something slippery on the carpet beneath her feet, which caused her to nearly lose her balance. In the same moment, she heard from behind her the covers of the bed being thrown violently off. The man beneath them was leaping up to grab her. She could sense his movement towards her, even before she felt him grab her. Between her lost footing and the stranger’s quickness, Scarlett was instantly caught. She screamed as he pulled her backwards, towards the bed, and jerked with all her might to free herself from his grasp, but his hold on her was strong. Her efforts to get away only won her enough leverage to send them both crashing into the wall and then to the floor.

Scarlett landed face down on the sticky carpet. Instinctively, her head turned violently to the side, so that she was staring at the underside of grandmother’s bed. It was there that she finally found her grandmother, or what was left of her. Scarlett tried to scream, but the man’s hand covered her mouth before she could make a sound. Her grandmother could make no sound, either. The dim light of the table lamp cast enough of a glow to only barely illuminate the gore beneath the bed, but with her face pressed literally into her grandmother’s blood and her dismembered body mere inches from Scarlett’s face, it was easy enough for her to see.

Beverly’s limbs were ripped from their sockets, her chest and stomach torn open, her mouth open in a scream that her ripped out lungs and tongue could no longer produce. The sight of her was a horror, but the smell was worse. It was more real, somehow. The old woman’s blood and other bodily fluids were everywhere. Beverly Hood, Scarlett’s beloved grandmother, had been torn apart in a manner similar to her parents.

Scarlett gagged and tried to cough, but the hand over her mouth held everything back. The hand also held a small rag, soaked in what she could only assume was some type of drug. The smell of this was as strong as the blood. She lost consciousness in a matter of seconds. The last thing she remembered was the man biting her neck, just where it connected with her shoulder. The bite stung badly, but she only felt it for a moment.

Hours later...

Scarlett awoke surrounded by light and tied up. The side of her neck and shoulder felt like they were on fire, and for a moment, she didn’t remember anything about why, or why she was bound. She struggled to take in her surroundings. Her eyes, for some reason, were having considerable trouble adjusting to the light in the room. The drug that was still coursing through her system was making all of her reactions slow.

The drugs!

She remembered the drug on the rag. She still felt it over her mouth. The rag was still over her mouth, without the hand holding it? No, it wasn’t, but there was something over her mouth and inside it, between her teeth. It didn’t smell like the rag and only tasted like dry fabric. She was gagged, in addition to being tied? As this realization set in, and her senses became a bit more clear, she realized also that she was laying on a soft nice smelling bed, facing an unfamiliar bare wall. It was a deep burgundy color and the bedding beneath her was an equally unfamiliar gray. She had little time to puzzle over this, or wonder where she now was, before the memory of her grandmother’s dead eyes staring at her from beneath a more familiar bed came flooding back. Scarlett began to struggle against the ropes that held her hands behind her back and her legs together at the knees and ankles. She tried to scream, but was naturally unable to, gagged as she was.

I’m disappointed, a male voice near to her spoke, causing every muscle in Scarlett’s body to freeze and stiffen. Her eyes widened. The speaker was somewhere behind her and moving closer. She could hear the sound of his shoes on the bare, uncarpeted floor, You didn’t respond so...dramatically when we ate your parents. You were such a brave little girl...such a beauty, even then. That’s why I convinced my father to let you live...let you grow up into a woman...do you remember that?

The speaker sat on the bed behind her. She wanted to turn her head to look at him. She wanted to see if his was the same face that had stared up at her from her grandmother’s bed, but at the same time she did not want see. She just wanted to wake-up, safely back in her grandmother’s home. She wanted everything she remembered from the time she stepped into the hallway to be a dream, a horrible dream.

He touched the side of her face, brushing her long black hair away from her cheek and out of her eyes, I won you your life then, but my influence over the pack has grown considerably in the years since. I can offer you a secure place in the pack...once you’ve initiated.

Pack?

What pack?

What did he mean by ‘initiated’?

Scarlett’s head was pounding with these questions and the effects of the drugs. She couldn’t make sense of any of what this man, this killer, was saying. It was too much. He was talking non-sense. He was crazy. He was taking credit for killing her parents. Animals had done that, but how did he know about what happened to them? Why was he doing this? What did he want from her? She wanted so badly to scream out her frustration and confusion, but she was still gagged.

Afterward, the others will recognize you as mine and you won’t have to worry about anything or anyone hurting you ever again. You’ll be completely safe. I’ll protect you. Even during the initiation I’ll protect you. I’ll keep them from really hurting...

Suddenly, they were not alone.

Somewhere towards the foot of the bed came the sound of a door opening and heavy footsteps entering the room. The door and bed were at such an angle that Scarlett was able to turn her head enough to see. Her heart froze at the sight of them; six men, all of them strongly built, standing just outside the door. The men were of different races and ages. Two of them appeared to be Hispanic or maybe Native America and were roughly Scarlett’s age. Three were White and were two teens and an older man, their features giving the impression that they were a father and his two sons. The sixth man, the one leading the charge into the room and the only one that had actually stepped into the room, was Black. He could not have been any older than twenty-five.

Were these men part of some sort of multiracial street gang?

No, that was a silly idea. They weren’t dressed in a manner that would suggest a gang affiliation. They were dressed too plainly, too neatly, too every day. Their shirts were polos or button ups. One of the teens wore a t-shirt, but it was a nice t-shirt. It didn’t have anything on the front of it and it was light blue.

Why was she so preoccupied with what these men were wearing and how their races didn’t match?

Scarlett’s mind was becoming jumbled by fear, heartache, and the knockout drug. She had to force herself to think straight, be smart, get out of this...whatever this was.

Is the bitch ready yet? The man just inside the doorway asked, his eyes moving over Scarlett’s bound and helpless body as he spoke.

The man beside her on the bed stood to face the intruders, Her name is Scarlett, Sammy, and you will give her your respect.

His eyes were still on her, What I’m going to give her is some cock.

The man at her side rushed forward to attack the other man, slamming his body backwards into the wall, but Scarlett was paying little attention now to the angry, growled words the two men were exchanging. She was desperately trying to free herself, struggling once more against the ropes that held her. She knew now exactly what was meant by initiation and exactly what it was the men waiting outside the door were planning to do to her.

Forget being smart, she thought. She had to run, fight, something, anything but let herself be raped by a psycho killer and six of his closest, and no doubt equally as sadistic, friends.

Scarlett managed to get herself turned over onto her back and then with much additional effort sat up, but the altercation at the door was nearing its conclusion. She was running out of time to get away. Her mind screamed at her to act faster, but she couldn’t. She was helpless.

Wait in the living room with the others, like I told you.

Looking slightly dejected, but still smiling in Scarlett’s direction with wicked intent, the one her captor had called Sammy backed out of the room. She only barely registered, during all of this, that his eyes, which stared at her so coldly, were an odd shade of yellow. As the door closed her grandmother’s killer turned back towards her. He had the same yellow eyes.

What kind of drugs were these people on?

The spice from the Dune movies?

No, spice turned its user’s eyes blue.

Fuck!

Her mind was trailing off onto silly thoughts, again. It was a natural survival instinct, a way for the mind to protect itself from trauma when it knew the body couldn’t get away. Just close your eyes and think of England, she thought, but she’d never been to England and he was speaking to her again. She had to pay attention. What he was saying might be important.

There’s no way to escape this.

She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She was surprised only that it had taken her tears this long to arrive.

You’re one of us now. The moment I bit you back at your grandmother’s house you became one of us. That’s why the wound on your neck burns so badly, his voice was soothing, his movements and mannerism, gentle and nonthreatening. He’d likely practices this little speech, or given it many times.

How many women had been in the same position with him and his friends that Scarlett now found herself?

I’d like to save you as much pain as possible. I want to make this easy on you. He sat on the bed beside her, facing her. His yellow eyes looked sad, remorseful. She recoiled from him as best she could in her bound state. He held up his hands in a plea for calm. I’m going to take the gag out of your mouth now, so that I can give you something for the pain and to help you relax. If you start screaming, I won’t have any choice other than to open up that door behind me and let them take you straight away. Do you understand?

If he was trying to scare her into submission, it was working. She nodded that she understood.

He smiled at her. He was handsome when he smiled. Quite a bit older than she was, but handsome, with pearly white and perfectly straight teeth. She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to think about his teeth. She didn’t want him to be handsome. She didn’t want him to touch her, not even to remove the gag, but she had to let him. It was the only way she had to get it off. Her body went slightly limp as he leaned in closer to her and reached around to the back of her head to untie the scarf that cut off her voice and labored her breathing. As he did so, she caught a whiff of his scent. He smelt good, like candy and sex with a hint of something else, blood. The song Sex and Candy by Marcy Playground began to play in her head. Perhaps, this was a better thing to think about than England.

He reached over to the bedside table for a glass of water, which was waiting there for her, and held it up to her lips, allowing her to drink enough of it to moisten her mouth. As soon as it was lowered she forced her still dry and swollen tongue to form words, Please, don’t...

Don’t beg. It’s not becoming for one of our kind. We’re not cowardly dogs. Face the inescapable with strength and courage.

Fuck you! She spat.

That’s better, he chuckled. He seemed genuinely pleased by her angry outburst and made no move towards the door, as he had threatened. "And you’ll have your chance at fucking me, but first you have to be initiated into the pack. It’s a brutal custom, but it’s our way