eXcessica publishing
Shivers © 2008 by Selena Kitt
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.
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Cover Image Design © 2011 Willsin Rowe
Cover designs: The Ride, Advent Calendar, Pumpkin Eater © 2007 Shirley Burnett
Front and other cover designs © 2008 Selena Kitt
First Edition November 2008
A Smashwords Edition
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Eight darkly erotic and horrifically delicious stories guaranteed to give you shivers, in more ways than one!
In The Ride Annabelle hitches a ride from a stranger in a small town, where every day is the same. She longs for adventure and is looking to get out to find it…but it turns out that, even in the backwoods, nothing is as it seems after all…
In The Gingerbread Man, Lindy runs into an unexpected snow storm on the way to her fiance’s on Christmas Eve, but will the charming, kindly gentleman who comes to her rescue turn out to be more saccharine than sweet?
In The Laundry Chute, an old-fashioned laundry chute in a big, rambling farm house proves deadly for a group of young, adventurous boys…
In Advent Calendar, Jay is a player–a typical college student with one thing on his mind–and that doesn’t change when he meets Betsy. He wants nothing more than to take her five ways from Sunday, and Betsy doesn’t seem to object. Still, the more time he spends with her, the more she seems to affect him… When she gives him a homemade advent calendar for Christmas, Jay discovers the real meaning of the phrase, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
In The Velvet Choker, Lydia has heard the stories from her co-workers about the house at the apex of two dead end roads, but the young immigrant housekeeper isn’t scared easily. Working for the strange and reserved jewelry maker Hugo Kauffman pays well, and for that, she’s willing to overlook his eccentricities. But when Lydia finds a black, velvet choker in a box she’s been forbidden from opening, her life is changed forever, and she finds herself suddenly bound to the strange and eccentric old man who runs the household. Will the introduction and interest of the new, young portrait painter save her from her plight?
In Pumpkin Eater, She doesn’t know how long she’s been with Belch, the strange man who grows giant pumpkins…she doesn’t even remember her own name… But when a kind police officer comes to buy a pumpkin from their patch, Beth begins to remember. Sheriff Will Walker’s instincts tell him that something is wrong, but he can’t quite put his finger on what. Will he be able to figure out the mystery in time?
Stories included: Silent Night, Mercy, The Velvet Choker, Pumpkin Eater, The Ride, Advent Calender, The Laundry Chute, The Gingerbread Man and Bonus Story: Hunting Season by Blake Crouch and Selena Kitt
TABLE OF CONTENTS
BONUS
STORY: Hunting Season: A Love
Blood Story by Selena Kitt and Blake Crouch
Shivers
By Selena Kitt
The sky was a light, bright blue and clouds drifted, billowy and soft, playing tag with the sun. The black pick-up rumbled down Newberry Road, kicking up gravel and dirt with over-sized tires. Trees and a few houses dotted Newberry on the east side where Annabelle stood, her bag slung over her left shoulder, sticking her thumb out.
It’s not gonna stop. She shaded her eyes with her other hand, trying to see the gender of the driver, anything that might give her a clue. The only damned vehicle that’s passed by in an hour, and it’s not gonna stop. Hitching wasn’t what it used to be, even in small towns like these.
The huge truck passed her and Annabelle glimpsed blonde hair and sunglasses, thinking for sure she was out of luck, but the truck slowed to a stop a few yards ahead. She ran to catch up with it and opened the door.
“Hi!” She tossed her backpack on the floor and pulled herself in. “Thanks for stopping. I think my blood was beginning to boil in this heat!” She shut the door and turned to smile at her rescuer.
“That would be a shame.” She faced the blonde wearing sunglasses all right, but the length of the hair from a distance had fooled her. Her ride wasn’t a woman. “I know what it’s like being on the road.” He nodded toward the guitar tucked behind the seat as he smiled at her and the truck began to move. “Where are you headed?”
“Cloverdale,” she told him. “How about you?”
“Same general direction.” He shrugged. “I can get you there and not go out of my way.”
“Cool.” She reached for the radio knob. “Mind if I turn this on?” The radio blared to life through the speaker on the door next to her.
“Be my guest.” He flashed her an amused smile as he watched her already fiddling with the stations. Small towns never got good reception. “Care for a beer?”
Annabelle looked over at the bottle of Stroh’s as he lifted it and tilted it toward her in invitation. She hadn’t noticed it sitting there propped against the faded denim crotch of his blue jeans until then.
“No, thanks.” She shook her head, busying herself with finding a radio station while she snuck glances at the man beside her. She worried about the beer, but he didn’t look drunk to her. She flipped past a country and western station wondering what this guy did for a living. There weren’t a lot of choices out here in Hicksville. His faded jeans, black t-shirt, black boots and mirrored sunglasses were a little out of place in a small town. His pale blonde hair nearly brushed his shoulder blades.
Annabelle settled on a pop station for a moment before moving on, now checking out his hands—one resting on the steering wheel, the other on the open window ledge. They were soft hands, no telltale farmer or mechanic dirt under the nails. The long hair and guitar could mean musician, of course. Couldn’t swing a dead cat around here without hitting a guy who was in some sort of band.
She settled on a classic rock station, leaning back to listen while she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was concentrating on the road, so she dared to take more than a glance. He was good-looking, for sure. He had “I wanna be a rock star” written all over him—long and lean, a good build with a little bit of muscle. Nice arms. Pale, though. Which meant he was an indoor kinda guy. No office work for this one, she guessed, with the long hair and the earring. Right ear. Does that mean anything anymore?
If nothing else, he was an interesting change from most of her rides, who were usually twice her age, balding, with beer bellies and full of rude and profane comments. Most of them picked her up with high hopes of a motel room stop along the way.
This one had barely even glanced at her. In fact, he seemed quite indifferent. He hadn’t said anything suggestive and Annabelle wondered about it.
“What’s your name?” She reached over to turn the radio down. It was a commercial now, anyway.
“Lee.” He turned the truck smoothly around the corner on to Jarvis, which was paved, but still no smooth ride.
“Really? Huh.” She toed off her sandals, the worst shoes in the world to be walking in. “I had a brother named Lee. Must be a southern thing. God, my feet are killing me!”
She pulled one bare foot up to rest on her thigh and examined it. “Look at this!” Her voice was filled with disgust. “Another blister to add to my collection, I guess. I swear, I’m never gonna hitch again.”
Lee looked over at the blister. She watched his eyes travel past the pink instep of her foot, up her long, bare, tanned thighs, her frayed cut-offs, the white shirt that read “Angel.” He met her eyes, and she cocked her head to one side, curly honey-colored hair covering one shoulder, and smiled at him.
He looked back at the road stretching out in front of them. “I’ve got to get some gas.” He turned the wheel and pulled into a pump at Taylor’s. He turned the key and the engine quit. “Do you want anything?”
“A pack of gum?”
“Sure.” He got out of the truck.
She noticed he left the key in the ignition. Gotta be a small town boy. Who else would be so trusting? She watched him pump gas, his hair blowing back away from his face in the slight breeze. He went in to pay. Leaning back in her seat, she waited, looking down the long, empty road to nowhere. She closed her eyes against the brightness and drifted, keeping an ear out for him returning.
The song on the radio changed twice before she decided to go see what was taking him so long. Besides, she had to pee. The gas station lot was empty except for an old flesh-colored station wagon that had seen better days. The bells on the door tinkled when she pulled it open and peeked inside. Cool in here. The air felt good against her warm flesh and she stepped fully in, glancing around. The blonde musician guy was nowhere to be seen—and there was no cashier behind the counter either.
Frowning, Annabelle walked down the end aisle filled with snacks and turned right down the soda aisle. There was the bathroom, next to the fake Slurpee machine.
She pulled on the door, but it was locked. “Hello?”
“Just a minute!”
Ah. There he is. That explained her missing ride. Annabelle went to the magazine rack and glanced again toward the register. Where is everybody? She reached behind the white cardboard sign on the top magazine rack which looked as if it had been cut from a shirt box that read: “No Browsing Girlie Mags! You touch, You Buy!”
Yeah, whatever. She pulled one out looking at the big-busted girl on the cover with her pouty red lips. I’m prettier than that. Okay, so her breasts didn’t look like gravity-defying cantaloupes, but men had to know those damned things were fake, right? She peeked over her shoulder, but didn’t see anyone, so she leafed through, comparing herself with the girls, one after another. I’ve got better legs… ugh, what a fake smile… that one is as high as a kite… oh please, you call that a come-hither look? It looks more like come-take-me-to-the-psycho-ward!
When the bathroom door opened, she jumped, shoving the magazine back in its place and glancing up at her new blonde musician friend. He was wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, his sunglasses still mirroring her image back to her as she looked up at him.
“Everything come out all right?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s all yours.”
She slipped by him into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Doing her usual gas station squat over the toilet, she relieved herself, looking around the little bathroom. It was actually cleaner than most—someone took care of the place, anyway. So where are they?
When she went to the sink to wash her hands, she glanced up into the mirror and smiled at her reflection. A truly beautiful, nubile, sun-kissed blonde looked back at her and winked. What man wouldn’t want me? She licked her lips and tried her own come-hither look. Putty in my hands. Grinning, she reached down to turn on the water and frowned at something on the edge of the white porcelain sink.
Tentatively, she touched it, a single red drop of what couldn’t be anything else but blood—still wet, not tacky. What? Did he cut himself shaving? Annabelle quickly washed her hands, opened the door and saw him standing by the exit, waiting for her. She gave him a little wave, going past the soda and up the snack aisle.
“Come on, daylight’s burning.” He gave her a wink, opening the door. The bells over their heads tinkled as he waved her through. She didn’t notice the six-pack of beer he was carrying until they climbed into the truck. When he set the beer on the floor, her eyes went from it to him. He smiled.
“More fuel.” He winked and pulled a pack of Juicy Fruit out of his t-shirt pocket and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” She started to unwrap it as he popped the top off a bottle of Stroh’s. Annabelle reached over to throw away the gum wrapper and her hand brushed his as he moved to put the cap in the litterbag suspended from the lighter.
She looked up, her eyes widening. Her hand tingled where it touched his, like it had just woken from a sleep. The sensation seemed to seep up her arm and through her body. She saw her own reflection in his sunglasses.
Then a voice, a voice inside her head. Do you…
A car horn blared behind them.
“Sorry,” Lee apologized, pulling his hand away and glancing in his rear view mirror at the Jeep that had just pulled in.
“That’s okay.” She sat back in her seat, her ears ringing.
He was still looking in the rear view mirror as he started the truck and pulled quickly out of the gas station. She had to hold onto the dashboard as he took the first corner, and she felt the truck slip sideways on gravel.
“Easy, cowboy!” She glanced at him, frowning. “What’s your hurry?
“Hate those tiny little stations.” He shrugged, glancing again in the rear view. “Just like to keep moving.”
She sat back in her seat, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t seem to notice her at all. He didn’t even glance her way! He just kept looking up into the rearview mirror behind them.
Annabelle was determined to fill the silence. “You know, my mom used to say that you were really in cow-country when you didn’t have to pay first to pump your gas.” She waited for him to respond, make small talk, something, anything, as she watched the rolling fields pass them by. “Thanks for the gum, by the way. Juicy Fruit’s my favorite.”
She blew a small beige bubble to prove it. “Don’t you hate small towns?”
“Sometimes.” He didn’t look at her, but he asked, “Where do you come from?”
Now we’re getting somewhere. She pulled at her gum with her fingers, making long strands before stuffing them back into her mouth. “Smalltown, USA. It doesn’t even have a gas station. Are you from a place like that?”
He laughed, his eyes still on the road. “No. I’m not.”
“So, where are you from?” She pushed ahead. The tingling in her hand was fading now, and so was the memory of it.
“Not around here,” he replied. “I travel a lot. Place to place. Sometimes I stay in one town for a time, but you get tired of the same faces after a while. So I move on. Like I said… I like to keep moving.”
She looked out over the landscape, fields as far as the eye could see, head-high with corn, farm houses, once-red barns faded gray with weather and time where cows and horses grazed nearby. She knew there were people in big cities that dreamed about lives like this—perfect, picturesque.
“I’d like that.” She pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. “But I can’t live in a small town anymore.”
Lee guided the truck around the corner. This road was bordered by farms and trees, she knew, all the way through until they hit Cloverdale near the state border and the lake.
Annabelle wondered why he hadn’t peppered her with the usual questions. Stuff like, “What’s a nice girl like you doing out here all alone?”, everyone did—eventually. But aside from the one question she practically pushed him into asking, he didn’t seem curious about her life at all before their meeting.
She reached over and grabbed a beer. He smiled over at her as she twisted off the top. She hated beer, but at least it was something to do besides stare at the flash of trees and fields going by.
“Why?” he asked, surprising her with the question.
“Why what?”
”Why can’t you live in a small town anymore?”
“Because…” She hesitated and he glanced at her, his eyes moving over her hair, her tan, healthy arms. “I guess because everyone knows everyone else’s business. I’d rather live where nobody knows me. I want…” She turned her head to rest her cheek against her knees and looked at him. “I want total freedom.”
“Think you can get that in the big city, huh?” His smile was cynical as he tilted his beer up, the sun glinting off the glass.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “But I haven’t found it here.”
“No.” He grinned around the bottleneck. “I don’t imagine you have.”
She looked at him, her feelings jumbled, forming a tight ball at the base of her spine and, not unlike the tingle of his touch, spreading through her.
That voice in her head again: Do you want…
“Do you want some gum?” She held the pack out to him. He looked at her trembling hand for a moment and reached out, covering her hand with his, a deliberate act, again—that warm, tingling flood. Annabelle had never felt anything like it before. It intrigued her.
“Thanks.” His voice was soft and she pulled away, the pack of gum falling on the seat.
“So…” She paused, her breath coming in short gulps.
“Yeah?” He picked the pack of gum up and slid a stick out with his teeth.
“You’re a big city guy, huh?” She turned sideways in her seat, stretching her feet out into his lap.
“Once upon a time…” He didn’t even seem to notice her toes settled against his crotch.
“And they all lived happily ever after?” she teased.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“They usually don’t.” She put one knee up and to the side, resting it against the dashboard. The seam of her jean cut-offs was pressing up tight between her legs.
“No.” He glanced over toward her as she blew another fading beige bubble. His eyes didn’t show any real interest as they slid over her.
She sighed and sat up. “Tell me something, Lee.”
“All right.”
She cocked her head at him, frowning. “Are you gay?”
“Excuse me?” He raised an eyebrow in her direction.
“Are you gay?” she repeated.
He chuckled. “Do you usually start your small talk out with such pointed questions?”
She shrugged and crossed her arms over the word “Angel” on her chest. “Well, I figure we don’t have that much time between here and the next small town and it’s best to know things right up front.”
He nodded. “All right. Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”
“Hm.” She slid a little closer to him, studying his profile.
“Hm? Why hmm?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I just…okay, then tell me something else.”
“All right,” he agreed.
She leaned in and pressed herself against his side, brushing his hair back from his ear to whisper, “Do you want me?”
He flashed a brief, bright smile, shaking his head. “Do you want me to want you?”
Perplexed, Annabelle sat back again with a sigh. “Did I just get lost in a Cheap Trick song?” They sat quietly for a moment; the only sound the tires on the road beneath them.
He glanced at her and smiled. “I bet most men do want you…”
“Well…yeah.” She picked invisible lint of her chest.
He shrugged. “I’m not most men.”
“So that’s a no?”
“I didn’t say that.” He smiled, looking straight ahead again.
“So that’s a yes?”
“I didn’t say that either.” His smile seemed to tease her.
She blinked at him and then turned back toward the passenger door with a sigh. “Never mind.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He patted her thigh lightly.
“You didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Forget it.” She pushed his hand off her leg.
“You’re a beautiful woman.”
“But—?”
“But nothing.” He shrugged. “I just… I like to keep work and pleasure separate.”
“Work?” She gave him a puzzled look. “Picking up hitchhikers is work?”
“Well…”
Annabelle rolled her eyes and said under her breath, “I don’t get it.” The fields passed by quietly and quickly and she watched them, frowning. This isn’t happening. I cannot believe I’m going to ask him this. What am I doing? This isn’t the way this is supposed to work!
“Is there anything I could do to change your mind?”
He shook his head. “Doubtful.”
“Are you sure?” Determined now, she turned herself around and stretched out onto her back on the seat with her head near his leg and her feet out the open window.
“Pretty sure.” He glanced over at her in this new position.
“Really?” She unsnapped the top button of her shorts, slowly unzipping them to reveal a smooth expanse of belly.
“I… hey…” He frowned, as she wiggled back against him, putting her head in his lap. She slid her hand down the V of shorts, arching and tilting her head back, rubbing her cheek between his thighs. He glanced down at her body writhing on the seat, her head angled back over his thigh.
“Hm… maybe we should pull over.” Her hand worked between her legs.
“Listen…” He said the words, but his fingertips traced over her exposed throat.
“I think we should…” She spread her knees, pressing her hips up. “Ohhhh, I definitely think we should pull over somewhere.”
“God… maybe…” His voice was suddenly hoarse.
“Is that a maybe?” She nudged him again, feeling his excitement against her cheek.
He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes.”
“That’s a yes?” she asked triumphantly.
”Yes.” His fingers moved over her collarbone to her shoulder.
“Then come on, let’s go somewhere…”
He looked down at her, understanding, as she knew he would, exactly what she meant.
“If you’re sure?” He posed the half-question.
The voice inside her head again: Do you want to…
The touch of his hands made her tingle. The feeling inside of her was extending itself, flowing warm and thick like the blood through her veins.
“Yes.”
He smiled, turning the truck down a dirt road, one with no name, heading toward the lake.
* * * *
The small stretch of sand around them was deserted, a wooded area rising behind them, and not a person or house in any direction. Sailboats on the lake were just dots upon the horizon. The road they had traveled was more of a path surrounded by trees on both sides. It was secluded and quiet, the waves gently lapping the shore as they walked toward the water, silent.
The sand was almost too warm under her bare feet. She stopped at the shoreline, watching the water rush to cover her toes and then recede. She could feel his presence behind her and she trembled. Lee touched her hair, letting his hand rest on her shoulder before slipping it downward to touch her wrist. She turned to face him.
She saw her own reflection in his sunglasses: the tousled hair, the wide eyes, and the parted lips. She felt weak, as if he were drawing all of her strength from her through her wrist, like a magnet.
He leaned in and kissed her, his lips brushing hers as she closed her eyes. His mouth traveled her jaw line on a downward path, reaching her collarbone. Warm tingling spread through her. He made a noise deep in his throat, and she stayed that way, eyes closed, head down.
He tilted her chin up with one hand, taking his sunglasses off with the other.
“Open your eyes, Annabelle.”
Her eyelids felt too heavy to lift. His hand under her chin felt like fire, and it was hot, so hot. She could feel the sun on her face and she could taste the salty sheen of her own sweat as she licked her lips.
“Look at me, Annabelle.”
She opened her eyes.
He was smiling that easy smile, but all of the life in him seemed to have been sucked up into his eyes and they were radiant with the light of a thousand shades of gold. Annabelle stood, transfixed.
“Do you want your freedom?” he asked her. She couldn’t stop staring into his eyes, the warm, swirling beauty of his eyes…
I never told him-my name-Inevertoldhimmyname
His hands stroked her hair and he was sucking her down into his eyes. It was impossible to look away from the warm, delicious relief in them. The voice in her head was strong now.
Do you want to…?
She was floating—her legs felt like water. She couldn’t look away. She couldn’t—
“What are you?” she whispered as he buried his hands in her hair, exposing her vulnerable throat, sweat trickling to disappear beneath her t-shirt.
Do you want to die?
“Your freedom,” he said, his teeth so white, still smiling as he leaned in to her. She was tingling all over wherever his hands touched her. It was so warm.
His mouth found hers, his teeth nibbling at the soft skin, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips. His hands roamed down her back, leaving that tingling trail of heat wherever he touched her. Annabelle craved more of it, wanted to feel his hands against her bare skin. She pulled her t-shirt up, exposing her breasts in the bright light of the sun, her pink nipples stiff in the breeze. She arched her back, making them stand up proud for him.
His eyes brightened, and she didn’t know that was possible, the glow of them turning orange now. He reached out to hold the weight of her breasts in his hands and she sighed, his touch against her bare skin astonishing, in no way a disappointment. It was a low, buzzing bliss spreading through her body and she wondered what it must be like to have him pressed full against her, inside of her.
Eager, she tugged his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulled it off, tossing it aside to join hers in the sand. He was so pale, his nipples dark circles on a milky surface, and Annabelle marveled at the tingling of her fingertips as she ran her hands over him.
“What are you?” she whispered again as she hooked her leg around his, pressing her breasts into his chest. She moaned at the sensation, his hands circling her back and pulling her in tight.
“I told you.” His mouth moved over her throat and she gasped when she felt his teeth nibbling her there.
She fumbled with his belt, her body aching to have him, her hunger growing as her hand released his cock. She stroked him and he growled against her neck, his fingers digging hard into her ribs, his teeth biting into the soft flesh of her neck.
“I need you,” she murmured, unsnapping and unzipping her shorts. She slid them, along with her panties, down over her hips and kicked them into their pile of clothes. His jeans and shoes joined the pile and he stopped for a moment, looking at her standing nude before him, her bronze, sun-kissed body like a beacon. Annabelle reached out for him and he cupped her ass in his hands, lifting her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He carried her the few steps from the shoreline to the edge of the woods, pressing her bare back against the trunk of a wide maple tree. Annabelle gasped, the sharp bark digging to her flesh as he leaned into her, his mouth on hers, his tongue probing. He moved his mouth to her neck, biting and sucking his way toward the hollow of her throat.
His cock was trapped between them; she could feel the tip of it resting against her belly, throbbing there. She had to have him. “I need you inside of me,” she said, reaching down to guide him.
His cock was like holding tempered steel right out of the fire. Her hand burned with his heat and she opened herself up to him, pressing the tip into her aching hole—the very place where her ceaseless appetite was centered. He moaned as she slid him inside of her, his mouth moving over her collarbone, urgent now, greedy, suckling up toward her ear. Annabelle gasped and writhed as he began moving in her, driving her against the tree.
“Yessssssss,” she hissed, grabbing his hair in her hands, her legs tightening around him, drawing him deeper into her. He grunted against her throat, his mouth exploring the muscle that ran from her shoulder up toward her ear.
“Harder!” she demanded. His flesh was like a white-hot poker inside of her, thrusting into her over and over. The tingling sensation she felt when he touched her had become a constant vibration between them, a rising hum. She had never experienced anything like it, and she never wanted to let him go.
Annabelle looked down at where his flesh was driving into hers, their bellies slick with sweat as they ground their hips together. She kissed him, licking at his lips, his teeth. She gasped as her tongue raked over something tantalizingly sharp. She could taste her own blood. Lee pushed against her hard, his mouth moving to cover her neck. She felt a sweet sting there, a momentary burst of something. She moaned, squeezing herself around his cock as she saw the trickle of blood running down her breast.
“Look at me, Lee.” Annabelle moved her hips in a slow dance, grinding the heat of him between her legs. It was exquisite torture. She wanted to see his eyes, those strange, mesmerizing eyes. She could hear him swallowing, swallowing her. She wanted to swallow him, too.
He looked at her, his fangs showing now. His mouth was wet with her blood, his eyes the deep, dark orange of a sunset as he shook his head, as if to clear it. She pressed her hand to her neck, to the place where he had bitten her, smiling, her eyes locked with his.
“More,” she murmured, digging her heels into his back and pushing him deeper inside of her. She clamped her muscles tight around the wet fire between her legs and he moaned, his eyes widening.
“What are you?” he whispered as she worked herself on his cock, faster, harder, greedy for him.
“Your freedom.” She arched her back, taking him all the way to the hilt, the sensation between her thighs moving to an impossible, dizzying zenith as she crushed him against her, her muscles locking down on him like a vice.
He screamed as the teeth buried deep inside of her pussy released and sank into his flesh with her shuddering orgasm, wave after wave and row after row of teeth buried into his cock. He sank to his knees and she sank with him, pressing him back into the sand as she rode him still, the juices of her orgasm mixing with his blood between their legs.
The light in his eyes was fading as she watched, her smile dreamy as she stroked his pale flesh with her fingertips.
“Vampire?” She rubbed her neck where he had bitten her.
He nodded, his face frozen in a twisted look of shock.
“I thought they couldn’t come out during the day.” She looked up at the sun, as it was moving directly overhead now.
“It’s a myth.” His voice was fading. “Succubus?”
“Yes,” she smiled. The waves of her pleasure were subsiding, the teeth tucked away deep within her receding, then releasing him.
“I thought… succubus… only come in dreams?” he murmured, his eyes closing.
“That’s a myth.” She leaned over and kissed his lips. He opened his eyes to look at her; the beautiful light there growing dim. “Can vampires bleed to death?” she wondered aloud.
“Guess so.” It was the last thing he said.
“So, I’m guessing the stake in the heart thing is a myth, too?” She stood, his blood running down her legs as she watched the light in his eyes go dark.
* * * *
The black pick-up stopped and the passenger door opened.
“Do you need a ride?”
“Thanks!” Tyler Lewis climbed into the truck. “I thought I was going to be out there forever! You’re a life saver!” He smiled at the woman next to him, seeing his own reflection in her mirrored sunglasses, noting how attractive she was.
The woman smiled at him as he shut the door.
“I know what it’s like, being out there,” she told him as she put the truck into drive and accelerated, leaving only one of an infinite number of small towns behind them.
The Laundry Chute
“I wish it would rain,” Nicky Davis said under his breath, squinting up at the sky.
There weren’t any substantial clouds to offer much protection and the ones that drifted about were lazy, seemingly careful of crossing the sun’s path.
Nicky sat on the edge of the cracked cement pond in his backyard with Sam, Eric and Jesse. They were all wearing cut-offs, their feet dangling in the shallow water, shirts flung aside in a damp pile of color.
“Yeah!” Sam agreed. “A storm, even. The power could get knocked out. That would be boss!”
“Cool!” Eric perked up. “We could tell ghost stories!”
“It’s not gonna rain,” Jesse told them. “It hasn’t rained since the middle of July. Why would it start now?”
“Yeah.” He agreed, looking up at the nearly cloudless sky. Their bored silence ensued.
It was August. School started in two weeks and summer had lost its luster. They had a pretty good team for stickball and touch football for a while there, but some kids had drifted away. It was the heat. It made everyone listless. No one wanted to do much. They had a fort out in the woods that ran next to Nicky’s house, but it was made out of sheet metal and in ninety degree weather it felt about a hundred and twenty inside.
“How about your basement, Nicky?” Jesse asked.
“I don’t know.” Nicky looked over at his five-year-old brother, Jeremy, who was poking around the garden with a stick. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on him.”
“So take him with us. No sweat.”
Nicky thought of how cool the basement would be compared to out here. He could taste his sweat.
“All right, let’s go.” Nicky got up. “But remember—any sign of my mom and dad and you guys high-tail it out the basement window.”
“Cool,” Eric agreed.
They gathered up their shirts and started toward the house.
“Come on, Jer!” Nicky called. “We’re going in.”
Jeremy looked up, holding some sort of bug between his fingers. “But Ma said—”
“Come on!”
Jeremy shrugged, dropped the bug and brushed his hands off, straightening the Detroit Tigers cap on his blonde head and trotting into the house after them.
The kitchen, a mess as usual, was to their right as they crowded into the side door. The basement stairs were in front of them.
“Go ahead, guys.” Nicky flicked the light switch. “Me and Jeremy’ll get some Cokes.”
The three boys made their way down the basement steps while Nick and Jeremy hunted for sodas.
“Here they are!” Jeremy held up two from their mother’s hiding spot in one of the vegetable bins.
“You take those down,” Nicky directed. “I’ll get three more.” He grabbed the three remaining cans, giving only a moment’s thought to the consequences of the empty plastic rings sitting in the bin before following his brother down the stairs.
Sam and Eric were still arguing. Jesse was lounging against the pool table. Coke was passed around and Nicky rolled the can across his forehead before taking a long swig. The basement was unfinished, but it was a lot cooler than outside.
“So, now what?” Sam asked after a few moments of gulping and silence.
“We could play pool,” Eric suggested.
Nicky shook his head. “My dad locked up the cue sticks.” His three older brothers had gotten into a fight and broken two of them.
“Monopoly?” Sam suggested. Everyone groaned.
“Twenty one? Five card stud?” Eric offered.
Nicky shook his head. “No cards. I took my last pack to the fort, remember? Anyone want to go get ’em?”
No one volunteered.
Eric flipped Jeremy’s prized Detroit Tiger’s cap off.
“Hey!” Jeremy cried. “Quit!”
“Stupid kid never takes it off,” Nicky snorted.
Eric tossed it to Sam, and Jeremy charged after it. Sam tossed it back to Eric just as Jeremy almost reached it.
“How about monkey-in-the-middle?” Eric grinned, holding the cap out of Jeremy’s reach as Jeremy jumped up and down for it.
“Gimme it back!” Jeremy cried. “Nicky, I’m gonna tell!”
Nicky rolled his eyes. “Give it back, you guys. The little tattle-tale will get me in trouble.”
Eric tossed the cap back to Sam, anyway.
“You asshole!” Jeremy yelled, using the worst word he could think of, his face on fire as he heard himself say it.
The boys stopped and looked at each other, wide-eyed, and then cracked up.
“Where’d you hear that?” Nicky asked Jeremy.
“You!” He stuck out his tongue and lunged for his hat again.
“Hey!” Jesse reached out and caught the cap as Sam was flinging it back in Eric’s direction. He slapped Jeremy’s head with it and dropped it to the floor. “Here, ya big baby.”
Jeremy stuck out his tongue, his face red from racing back and forth. He picked up his baseball hat, shoving it back on his head and going off to sulk in the corner.
“I got an idea.” Jesse was staring toward the workroom at the back of the basement. They all waited. Jesse’s ideas were always good, although rare. “How about dive bombing?”
“What?” Eric and Sam echoed one another.
Nicky grinned. He knew what Jesse was talking about. They had done it one afternoon earlier this summer when no one was home.
Their house was big and old and nestled between the woods and Interstate 75, and it had all sorts of strange nooks and crannies that the newer pre-fab houses like the ones Eric and Sam lived in down the road didn’t sport. One of its odd features was a huge laundry chute that ran from the second floor bathroom all the way to the basement where his father had rigged a kind of wooden pen to catch all their clothes.
Jesse had come up with the idea that they could jump down it—if there were enough clothes gathered in the box to cushion their fall. The chute pointed straight down and spilled out into the makeshift box onto the cement floor below, keeping the laundry from flooding all over the basement when it landed. With five boys in the house, there were usually so many dirty clothes on laundry day that they piled way up into the chute.
They had both done it twice that day before Dennis, one of Nick’s older brothers, had come home from work. Luckily, they hadn’t been caught. When Nicky explained to them what “dive-bombing” was, they were all eager to try.
“You guys aren’t going to turn pussy, are you?” Nicky came out of his father’s work room with a flashlight.
“No way, Davis!” They scoffed, following each other up the two flights of stairs to the bathroom. They crowded in the doorway as Nicky flashed the light down the chute.
“Three-quarters full,” he reported.
“Enough,” Jesse said with the voice of authority.
“So, who wants to go first?” Nicky asked. They were quiet now. Two stories was an awful long way.
“Me!” cried Jeremy. “I want to go!”
“You’re too young,” Nicky said.
“I am not!”
“Come on, Jer. Don’t make me hit you.”
“Why don’t you go, Davis?” Sam asked him.
“Sure.” Nicky shrugged. “Hold this.” He handed the flashlight to Jesse and swung his legs into the opening so that he was sitting on the edge, the door opening downward, almost touching the floor.
He had a flash of memory—one of his older brothers hanging him by his ankles over the banister and the delicious rush of fear that came with it. He used to beg them to do it again and again. This was like that, sitting on the edge of that anticipation, facing the real danger of falling but knowing you were gonna be okay—probably.
The chute itself was about five feet square. There was a pipe that ran across the top. Nicky wasn’t sure what it was for, but it was secure. He grabbed the bar and slid in, dangling there for a moment, his Nikes touching the pile of clothes. They were all peering anxiously into the chute.
“See ya, pansies!” He grinned and let go of the bar.
He was falling, falling…
The sensation that his stomach had somehow been left at the top of the chute came over him. He pulled his knees up to his chest as clothes and sheets surrounded him, slowing him up. Slower, slower…
His mind seemed to be working at a much faster rate than his descent. What if I hit the floor? His mind raced. What if there aren’t enough clothes? What if—
His body slowed and he was in darkness, clothes all around him as he came to a stop. He was nearly to the bottom and he knew he would have to dig through the tightly packed clothes beneath him before the guys could slide the wooden box over and let him out.
His stomach was tight and his heart was quivering somewhere near the back of his throat—but his grin stretched from ear to ear. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal side.
“Nicky?” It was Jeremy’s voice, far away.
“Nicky?” Jesse this time.
“Nicky!” All of them, a chorus.
“Sissies!” He yelled up, jubilant, looking into the light of the flashlight that someone was shining down the chute. “Somebody come help me out!”
He heard cheers upstairs.
They had a blast for a good hour, although it was a lot of work, packing the clothes back in so the next guy could drop down. It was almost as bad as having to drag your sled back up the hill after sailing down to the bottom.
Jeremy kept pestering them to get a turn, and Nicky kept promising, “Next time.” Of course, Jeremy knew what that meant: never! Nicky said he could be “lookout,” but that just meant he got to sit on the toilet and watch them all get a turn while he ran one of his Matchbox cars over the windowsill. That was how he saw his parents’ truck pull in the driveway, and he stormed down the stairs to the basement, where the boys were pushing stray clothes back into the chute.
“The windows!” Nicky hissed when he heard the pick-up’s tires on the gravel drive. “Quick!” The windows were in the back of the house, so the boys could climb out and hop the back fence into the alley.
Nicky prayed that his parents were going to unload the truck full of groceries and would park up by the side door instead of pulling all the way back into the garage.
“Hurry up!” Nicky sent Jeremy to hide the Coke cans somewhere.
Sam, Eric and Jesse climbed up on to the pool table and wiggled out the two windows. Nicky breathed a sigh of relief as he stood on tiptoe to slide the latches shut.
“Nicky! Jeremy!” They both jumped.
“Down here, Dad,” Nicky called.
“What are you doing down there?”
“It’s cooler down here,” Nicky replied. “If you hadn’t noticed, it’s like a million degrees outside!”
“Don’t be smart!” his father snapped. “Get up here and give us a hand with these groceries!”
“Yeah, okay.” Nicky looked at Jeremy. “Not a word, right?”
Jeremy shook his head. As much as he wanted to tell on them sometimes, the way they teased and picked on him, he had learned—with four older brothers, he knew when it was best to keep his mouth shut. Nicky started up the stairs.
“Coming, kid?” Nicky asked. Jeremy nodded, gazing at the laundry chute. It fascinated him. They called him four more times before he moved.
Sunday, August 17, 2003
Thunder rumbled, followed by a quick flash of lightning. Rain had finally come, and it had shown up in full battle gear. Strong winds whistled outside and rain came down in slashing sheets.
“What a great day for a wedding,” Leila Davis muttered as she shrugged on her raincoat.
“It’s not an outside service,” her husband, Raymond, replied, taking umbrellas out of the closet. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, we need it.”
“Not the day of my niece’s wedding, we don’t.” She shot him a dark look.
“Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day…” The little sing-song voice came from near the kitchen window and it startled her. She glanced into the darkened kitchen.
Jeremy was standing there, the curtain pulled back, looking out into the rain. It was noon, but outside it looked like night. He looked so tiny standing there, his nose pressed against the glass, his body encased in Winnie-the-Pooh pajamas, the kind with feet, his Detroit Tiger’s hat tipped back on his head.
“Come on, Jeremy,” she called. “Away from the window. I just washed it and you’re fogging it all up.”
Jeremy stepped away, letting the curtain fall aside.
“Come here,” she said. He came, his feet shuffling along the linoleum. “How do you feel?” Her hand went to his forehead. “Better?”
“A little.” They could hear voices and the pounding of feet on the stairs. “Is Martha coming?”
Martha was their next-door neighbor. Jeremy figured she was at least a hundred. She had babysat for all the kids at one time or another, from Ray on down. She was old, and fat, and Jeremy didn’t like her.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang.
“I don’t like her, Mom,” Jeremy whispered. “She’s mean.”
“Shh!” his mother hissed. “That’s not nice.”
“That’s okay, champ.” Steve flicked Jeremy’s baseball cap off. “We’ve all had to put up with her. You get to do some time, too.”
“Can I stay home, too, Mom?” Nicky pleaded. Anything was better than a wedding—even Martha.
“No, you can’t.” His father opened the front door for Martha.
“Hey, look at the baby in his footie jammies!” Dennis reached for Jeremy’s baseball cap before he could and tossed it behind him to Steve, who held it out of Jeremy’s reach as he clamored for it.
“I’m not a baby!” Jeremy yelled, kicking Steve in the shin to make him drop the hat.
“You little—!” Steve grabbed for Jeremy, but their father’s voice stopped them both.
“Knock it off! You boys go out to the truck. Your mother and I will be a minute.”
“You big baby!” Steve threw his baseball cap across the room as the four boys went out the side door into the rain. Jeremy went to get his hat, hearing his brothers’ hoots and catcalls.
“Hi, Martha.” Leila greeted the old woman at the door. “Thanks for coming.”
“Come on, Li, we’ve got to run.” Ray touched her arm.
“Okay, I’m coming,” she insisted, turning back to Martha. “Bedtime is eight o’clock. I’ll call to check on him between the service and the reception.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Martha replied.
“Be good,” Ray told his son, twisting the cap that Jeremy had put back on his head so it was facing backwards. “Take care of the house.”
“Sure, Dad,” he replied, following them to the door. “Bye.”
“Bye!” Leila called as the side door swung shut behind them. Martha had already settled herself on the couch with her crocheting. Jeremy went to the kitchen window, pulling the curtain aside.
The truck, with the camper on it so his brothers wouldn’t get wet in the back, was pulling out of the driveway. The tail lights made long scarlet streaks on the wet pavement. Lightening flashed.
“Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day,” he said under his breath.
He picked up his Matchbox cars from the table and went to the living room. He sat in a chair across from Martha. “See this car? Its hood opens.”
“Mm-hmm.” She didn’t look up from whatever god-awful purple mess she was making.
Not interested.
“I wish I was old enough to drive.” No response. Martha was no fun. He got up and went into the kitchen. He wasn’t really that sick, anymore. He wished he could have gone with them. Anything was better than here—with Martha.
“What are you doing, Jeremy?” she called.
“Nothing.” He wandered back into the living room. “I’m gonna go to my room now. I’m tired.” It was a lie, but he didn’t want to be around her.
“All right, dear.” She adjusted the glasses on her nose. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Un-hunh. Sure.” Jeremy went upstairs. It was dark and shadows scaled the walls when lightning flashed.
He went into the bathroom and flipped the toilet seat up, unsnapping the bottoms of his pajamas. Baby jammies, he thought, fumbling with the snaps. He urinated.
Lightning flashed again, startling him. He flushed the toilet and pulled his pajamas up. Snapped the snaps. The shadows of branches, like fingers, moved across the ceiling. Rain, rain, go away, he thought.
He paused at the sink to wash his hands. The water came on full blast and he turned it off with a startled cry. Wet now. Great. He peeled his pajamas off, rolling them into a ball as he pulled open the laundry chute.
How far do they fall? How far would I fall?
He looked at the laundry chute, contemplating it.
Was there any laundry in there? He couldn’t remember. When did mom pull all the clothes out? He flipped on the light and tried to look down. No good. Just shadows. And darkness. Couldn’t tell. He flipped it off again.
Could get the flashlight—but it was downstairs, and Martha would want to know why he wanted it. No good. When did mom pull the clothes out? Think!
Then he remembered. The wedding! She kept saying she was never going to get all the laundry done and it was going to have to wait. So there were clothes down there!
“I’m not a baby,” Jeremy whispered as he swung his legs so they hung over the edge. His feet dangled for a moment. He was cold. He reached out for the bar and grabbed it with both hands, sliding himself in.
He dangled there, a little boy in Fruit of the Loom briefs and a baseball cap, his heart pounding in his ears.
The anticipation crawled up his insides and a hot, dry excitement burned its way from his stomach to his genitals.
Are you sure?
No, but…
He considered, for a moment, going back. He could. No one would ever know. He heard his brother’s voice in his head: “Sissy!”
Uncertain, he looked back into the bathroom. Lightning flashed, followed by a loud clap of thunder that seemed to shake the entire house.
Jeremy was startled and he let go, his hands slipping off the cold steel bar.
Rain, rain, go a—
That was his last thought as he plunged two stories to meet the cold cement floor.
Tuesday, August 1, 2006
The sun slanted brightly through the open kitchen windows and the heat was stifling. The side screen door slammed shut and Renee Houston looked up from where she was peeling potatoes at the kitchen table.
“Hey, hon.” Jim greeted her, unlacing his work boots in the landing before coming into the kitchen.
“Hi, babe. How’s your day?” She set her potato peeler on the table and wiped her hands on her apron.
“All right. Smells good. What is it?”
“Food.” She got up and put the potato peelings into the garbage under the sink.
“Very funny.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her forehead. “So, how are things here?”
“Well, everything is finally all unpacked, I think.” She smiled. “This house is so perfect. I still can’t believe we got so much space for this price!”
“Yeah, well.” Jim frowned. “The history doesn’t bother you?”
“Not anymore.” She shrugged. “It’s starting to feel like home.”
“Good.” He moved toward the kitchen window. “How’s Chad doing?” He stood looking at their six-year-old sitting in the driveway. He had just waved at his dad when Jim pulled into the driveway instead of running to meet him, like he usually did.
“All right.” She washed potatoes in the sink. “There aren’t any kids around his age, and you know how shy he can be about going and making friends.”
“School starts soon.” Jim watched as Chad ran his trucks in the gravel drive.
“Oh, and I met our neighbor,” Renee went on. “She’s an old woman, and she lives next door with her granddaughter, Denise. She offered to baby-sit.”
“The old woman?” Jim asked, starting to turn away from the window, thoughts of a shower and a hot meal in his head, when he saw something that made him look back. “Who in the hell is he talking to?”
“Not the old woman, the girl. She just graduated high school.” Renee joined her husband and smiled when she saw Chad sitting at the curb, apparently talking to no one. “That’s his new friend—his imaginary friend.”