‘Branches,’ a Horror Short Story

The visitor promised the people in town that he wouldn’t go into the forest. The warning they gave, that whoever went in never came out, because of a demonic presence left there by a witch centuries ago, was a silly tale; but to make them feel better, he promised he’d stay away from the trees.

He walked along a trail with bushes to his left and a fence of jagged wood to his right, with lush, tall grasses of yellow and green jutting out from behind it. The sky was a greyish-blue, but still, overall the scenery was too idyllic to pass up enjoying. Fresh air all around him was a balm to his skin.

He approached the shady entrance to the woods, then stopped. It’s the end of the line, he thought. I guess I’d better turn around and go back.

But he didn’t.

How stupid, he thought. It’s just a forest, no magic. What could possibly happen to me in there besides getting lost? The owner of the diner had said, ‘You die in there…yet at the same time, you don’t.’ What’s that even supposed to mean? 

“Forget it. I don’t have time anyway.” He turned around.

He took no more than one step away when he saw a flurry of dollar bills blown past him in the direction of the entry. A few bills flew into his hands…hundred dollar bills.

“Holy shit!” he whispered, then looked back at all the others being blown into the forest. Without thinking, he ran after them.

As he entered the darkness, he managed to grab a few more flying bills. He stuffed them in his pockets and went in further, reaching blindly for more, unable to see. Enveloped in black…His hands managed to find three more bills, then he groped about in the air in all futility, coming up empty.

The wind blew around him, caressing his skin, sounding almost like a whisper. “Oh…no…don’t…”

After reaching and reaching for more bills with no success, he finally gave up. He turned the way he had entered to leave.

Black. Everywhere.

“OK, what the f–”

Something whacked him in the ass, hard. It felt like a thick piece of wood. Not a plank. A branch.

Now he was shaking.

He stood there, rooted in the spot for about ten seconds. His heavy breathing drowned out any intelligibility in the whispering wind he still heard.

What felt like the roughness of bark rubbed against his arm.

“God!” he screamed, then ran in the direction of the way he’d come in, even though he now saw as black a void there as he saw everywhere else. He kept running and running, in the exact same trajectory as the curve of the path into the woods, but he ran at least three times the distance he’d come in from the original point of entry. Still, he kept running that way, in total darkness.

Until a thick tree branch ran him through like a sword.

It entered his gut, level with and to the left of his navel, then out his back to the right of his spine. He shook all over and coughed out blood. The branch lifted him two feet off the ground.

But he never passed out.

Wiry thin branches coiled around his wrists and ankles, tightened their grips, and stretched his limbs out to the point of his shoulders and thighs hurting.

Then the screaming began.

Not his screaming…the wailing of what seemed a million souls trapped in Hell surrounded him, impaling his eardrums.

His arms and legs were being pulled more and more…the pain was unbearable…yet he never lost consciousness!

He’d surely lost enough blood by now to die…yet he was wide awake! He felt a sharp, almost popping pain in his shoulders and femora/pelvis, which had just been dislocated!

Still, he didn’t pass out.

Then he remembered what the owner of the diner said: “You die in there…yet, you don’t.”

His arms and legs were torn off. Piercing screams all around…not his screams, though: he had too much blood clogging his throat to vocalize at all.

What felt like about a dozen thin but strong branches stabbed through his chest and guts, one through his heart.

A vine coiled around his neck, choking him tighter and tighter until it crushed his windpipe. It was torture not being able to breathe, and in his thoughts he begged to die…at least to pass out.

But he wouldn’t.

The vine was pulling his head up, pulling…pulling…until his neck-bone cracked, the flesh there tore, and his head came off.

He didn’t stop feeling the pain all over his body, though, even with his head removed…he was conscious of the pain everywhere.

Branches slashed and stabbed through his severed arms and legs, even making multiple stigmatas, as it were, through his hands and feet.

And he felt it all.

Branches stabbed into his face: two from the top-back poked his eyeballs out. A thick one went in his mouth, punched out most of his teeth, and went through the lower back of his head. Thin branches went up his nostrils, tore up his nose, and stabbed his brain. One branch stabbed into his right ear and went out his left.

Yet he never stopped hearing the screaming.

A branch rammed deep into his rectum and tore his intestines apart. All these impaling branches now moved in diverging directions and tore his head, torso, arms, and legs into pieces.

This was not the end of the tearing…

…and fantastically, he was still as conscious as if he’d been unharmed.

His shattered body parts could ‘see’ as if he had millions of eyes, and ‘hear’ with millions of ears, all the screams of previous victims. All the mutilated pieces of his body were themselves tearing and dividing into smaller and smaller fragments, by some kind of magical power that proved the townspeople right.

He felt his scattered drops of blood divide…painfully. He felt his cells being torn apart…were his atoms splitting apart? His body felt as if it were a nuclear bomb going off.

The only things unbroken were his continued consciousness…and his excruciating pain. The only coming together he felt was that between him and his fellow screaming sufferers, a solidarity of souls in a Hades of pain, endless waves of an ongoing throbbing.

Still, he remained so aware of his surroundings that he and the battalion of the damned he’d joined noticed those hundred dollar bills fluttering yet again into the forest from the once-again sunlit entry. A young woman came in trying to grab those bills. All he and his kindred sufferers could do, with their infinitesimally soft chorus of voices, was whisper, “Oh…no…don’t…”

‘Bloom,’ a Horror Short Story

Muir Cantell stared at the new flower he found in his greenhouse late that night. How did it get there? If his wife, Paula, had brought it in, surely she would have told him about it.

It was a beautiful, but unique flower. He’d never seen this kind of flower ever before, in all his years of gardening. It had silvery-gold, shining petals, with touches of bright red along some of the edges. A silvery gold that made wealth seem like poverty, a red like freshly-shed blood.

The flower seemed to stare back at him as it emerged from the black shadows; the bright petals were a chiaroscuro contrast to their home in the darkness. The petals seemed to speak to him.

Their language was their scent, an alien, dirty smell, but a smell that made him want to stay by the flower more and more, the longer he smelled it.

He watered it lovingly, then left to go to bed in his house beside the greenhouse, wanting to stay with the flower, but also afraid to stay.

***************

The next morning, he and Paula went into the greenhouse to begin the business day of selling flowers. He hurried over to the new flower, while his wife stayed at the other end of the greenhouse, as if trying to avoid the flower. When he reached the corner of the greenhouse where the flower was, he noticed an odd thing.

There were now two flowers.

The second was an identical twin of the first. The smell of the flowers was, as would be expected, twice as powerful as it had been the night before.

“It’s a…miracle,” Muir sighed, and stood before the flowers, almost as if in a trance. “They’re magical.”

He picked up his watering can and poured water on the two flowers, grinning at their glowing beauty.

The petals opened wider to receive the water. The flowers were like mouths that were opening not only to drink the water, but to thank their loving gardener. 

Tiny black seeds, ones as small as sesame seeds, flew out of the centre of both flowers and landed in the soil surrounding them.

“Does this mean I’ll get two more beautiful flowers by the end of the day?” he whispered to the flowers, imagining they could hear his words.

“Hey, Muir!” Paula called from the other side of the greenhouse. “We have customers here! Come on!”

“You handle it, honey,” he said, gazing at his flowers. “I’m busy here.”

“You bastard,” she whispered, then turned her frown upside down to meet the customers. “So, Helen, what can I do for you today?”

“What are those flowers your husband is so interested in?” Helen asked. “He looks as if he’s under a spell.”

“Something we got recently. They sure are pretty, but–I don’t know, there’s something about them…”

Muir pulled himself away from the flowers and rushed over to where Paula and Helen were.

Wow, he thought, I mustn’t let myself be around those two beauties for too long. They have some kind of hold on me. He went past the two women without saying a word.

“Good,” Paula said, assuming he was going to serve the other customer there, a man in his thirties looking at some orchids. “It’s about time you did your jo–hey, where ya goin’?”

Muir ran out of the greenhouse.

“What?” the male customer said. “I thought he was going to–”

“So did I,” Paula said. “Maybe he needs to use the bathroom. Well, I guess I have to take care of you both myself. Do you want some orchids today, Mr. Gadd?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Cantell,” he said. “But what about those flowers your husband was obsessing over?”

“Yeah, what about them?” Paula asked, then all three of them went over to those two flowers.

When they came within smelling distance, the dirty reek was overwhelming. The three tilted their heads back and said, “Whoa!” at the same time.

“They are pretty flowers, but that smell,” Helen said. “It kind of pulls you in and pushes you away at the same time.” She held her nose, but kept looking at them.

“All they do is push me away,” Mr. Gadd said, squinting and holding his nose. “They’re a dangerous beautiful. It feels like they’re pulling you in to destroy you.”

“I agree,” Paula said, frowning and looking askance at them. “I remember just one flower. Muir seems to have sneaked another flower in here.” She looked closer before wincing. “And what’s that little stem in the…”

“What are you doing?” Muir shouted as he rushed back to the flowers, pushing his wife and Mr. Gadd to the side to get back to his darlings. “Don’t touch them!”

“Muir, what’s the matter with you?” Paula asked.

“Well, they are lovely,” Helen said. “You just have to get used to the smell. I’d like to buy one.”

“They aren’t for sale,” Muir said. “They’re mine.”

“Honey,” Paula said. “You and I are going to have a talk about those flowers later.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, gesturing to them to go away. He looked down at the soil in anticipation. He was practically salivating.

Paula and Mr. Gadd walked away with furrows of worry on their brows. Helen followed, but was looking back at the flowers from time to time.

“Paula?” she asked. “Before I go, could I please borrow your purple hat? I’d like to take it to the haberdasher to have him help design a copy for me. Your hat is so unique, and so pretty. May I copy it, please?”

“Sure,” Paula said. “As soon as we’re done here with Mr. Gadd, I’ll take you over to the house and give it to you.”

“Thanks,” Helen said.

Muir just kept grinning and staring at his flowers, and at the soil where the seeds had fallen and sunk into.

On either side of the two flowers, he saw two little thin stalks growing.

******************

As soon as the greenhouse was empty of customers, which was a mere twenty minutes after Helen and Mr. Gadd left, Paula walked over to Muir, who was still watching the flowers. He was gazing at them in his usual, grinning daze.

“OK, Muir, what’s with you and those flow–” she began, then froze with widened eyes.

There were now four fully-grown flowers.

“Muir, where did you get that flower, the first one, I mean?”

“I didn’t,” he said, finally looking away from them. “I thought you got it.”

I thought you got it,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” He stepped back from the flowers, and turned his smile upside-down. “Who gave them to us, or rather, what did?”

“Let’s get away from them,” she said, taking him by the arm and pulling him back. “The smell is awful. That flower–those flowers–are giving me the creeps. How could two new flowers have grown out of nowhere so quickly?”

“Three new flowers. The second grew late last night.”

“My God. I’ve never seen that kind of flower in my life.”

“Nor have I. They’re a gift from heaven.”

“Or a curse from hell. In any case, they’re something completely alien. They’re…scary. Let’s throw them away. Let’s kill them.”

“No!” he shouted, picking up a trowel and aiming it at her heart. He scowled at her like a vicious dog, baring a few teeth like fangs; the hand holding the trowel was shaking.

Her whole body was now shaking.

The whites of almost all her eyeballs, it seemed, were showing as she stared at that trowel, then at his own wild eyes. Her eyes didn’t see her husband anymore, for his eyes weren’t the eyes of her husband–she was sure of that.

“Who…are you?” she almost sobbed, then ran out of the greenhouse and back home.

He looked down at the trowel he’d just threatened his wife with. “Indeed,” he gasped. Tears were soaking his eyes. He ran out after her, wanting to scream out an apology, but too ashamed to speak.

*****************

He’d been lying in bed, shaking, for the rest of the day. He was pale. An itch made him want to go back to the flowers…to see if they were safe and healthy, but he didn’t dare, for he sensed what they were doing to him, and making him like what they were doing.

Paula had been sitting on the sofa all day, rocking back and forth, but relieved that at least he understood he’d flipped his lid, and was staying away from the flowers. By the evening, she was finally starting to calm down.

Then Helen knocked on the front door. Paula answered the door.

“Yes, Helen,” she said with a smile to hide her fear. “Are you finished with my hat?”

“No, not yet,” Helen said. “It’s about those flowers. I know your husband doesn’t want to sell any of them, but I just must have one. I’ll pay you any amount he wants.”

“Well…they’re rather dang–I mean, I have a bad feeling about…” She looked up to the second-floor bedroom and thought about Muir, who, for all she knew, was much better now. “Well, maybe we can spare one flower and see what happens.”

Paula led Helen out to the greenhouse. When they reached the far corner where the new flowers were, they saw eight of them. The smell was overpowering.

“Are you sure you want one?” Paula asked Helen. “They smell awful. Oh!

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Helen said. “If I grow only one, I should be able to tolerate the smell. They’re just so pretty and colourful.”

“OK, but you may find yourself with more than one flower, and sooner than you know. There’s something spooky about…”

“Oh, they’re just flowers. I can kill them if I don’t like them. But I must have one. I’ll give you $20 for one.” Helen held out a $20 bill for Paula, who took it.

“Well, OK,” Paula said. “Pick whichever one you like, not that there’s any variation between–”

Helen had already snatched one and run out of the greenhouse without even saying good night to Paula.

Well, Paula thought, at least we got rid of one of them. Muir won’t miss a flower he never saw grow, surely.

*****************

The next morning, Muir felt unable to stand staying away from his precious flowers anymore, so he ran out to the greenhouse to check up on them.

I saw four seeds fly out of my flowers after I last watered them, he thought as he approached them. I should see eight now. “What?” he shouted. “Only seven?”

He watered the remaining seven with feverish speed, watched seven little black seeds fly out and land in the surrounding soil, then ran back to the house. He found an axe in the basement, then looked up to the ground floor. He was gritting his teeth.

“Paula?” he called up to her. “Come down here.”

“What is it?” she said in a shaky voice as she began descending the stairs. He held the axe behind him as she continued down to the basement. “Are you feeling any better?”

“You sold one of my flowers, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t,” she said with a twitch.

“Don’t you lie to me! There should have been at least eight flowers in that corner of the greenhouse, where I reserved all that extra soil for my flowers. There are only seven there now. You sold one. It’s the only explanation.”

“Muir, if you can replace the flowers so easily with new ones, what do you care if you give up one or two? We could make a lot of money with them. Helen gave us twenty dollars for the one I sold her. She was as crazy about them as you are.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she presented the money in a trembling hand. “Here, I’ll give you her money. Every one of those flowers that we sell, you can have all the money made from them. I won’t take a cent of it.”

He clenched his bared teeth and brought the axe out front. He started walking towards her.

“Muir…what are you doing?” She stepped back with spastic legs. “I-I think, you’re losing your…you need to see a…doctor. The flowers are doing this to you.”

“You sold my flower,” he growled, raising the axe over his head. “Now I have to get it back from her, and that won’t be easy. It’s your fault.”

“Muir, my God! Don’t! No!

He brought the axe down on her head, chopping it right down the middle, separating her cerebral hemispheres and spraying her blood everywhere.

****************

After showering and changing his clothes, Muir drove over to Helen’s house down the street. He had a small knife in his jacket pocket.

Her husband was at work, and their kids were all at school. She was at home alone. He rang the doorbell.

“Mr. Cantell,” she said as she approached the door. She opened the screen door and let him in. “Are you here about the flower, or Paula’s hat? I know you didn’t want to part with any of them, but I loved them so much that I just had to have one.” 

“Oh, that’s OK,” he lied. “I’d just like to see it one last time, if you don’t mind.”

She led him to the back of the house, where she had the flower.

“There it is,” he sighed, his heartbeat slowing down.

“Yes,” she said with a grin as wide as his. “It is so beautiful, and if you look…” she stepped in front and pointed at the surrounding soil with a trowel, “…a new flower is beginning to grow. See the thin, green stem?”

“Yes, I do,” he said as he pulled the knife out of his pocket. He slowly brought it over to her neck.

“These flowers are a gift that keeps on giving, aren’t they?” she said, still gawking at the flower with dazed eyes and a toothy smile as his knife reached a centimetre or two from her throat.

“Yes, but only one person can have them,” he said.

“You’re right,” she said. Me!

She spun around and stabbed him in the gut with the trowel. He’d only managed to slice a shallow, thin red line along the back of her neck.

He fell to the floor with a thud; only the handle of the trowel was sticking out of his stomach. A pool of blood surrounded his body in a growing circle.

She grabbed a nearby tissue and pressed it against her neck to stop the blood. Then she squatted down. “I knew you’d kill your wife for selling me the flower, and that you’d want to kill me for taking it from you,” she said. “Such is the power those flowers have over us. But now that you Cantells are gone, I can take over the greenhouse, and have all the flowers to myself. Oh, don’t worry: I won’t sell any of them.”

She cleaned up the basement, wrapped his body in old, dirty blankets, then took it out to his car, checking to make sure no one was around in the neighbourhood: everyone was either at work or at school, and the only other housewife of their area, a gossipy middle-aged woman named Mrs. Granville, lived far off on the other end of the street, to the far side of the greenhouse; so Helen figured she was safe from being seen.

She had his car keys, put on Paula’s hat, then drove away to a forest out of town to bury the body there. She drove back the Cantells’ house and found Paula’s body in the basement. 

Showing no emotion at the gory sight of the body (for owning those flowers was infinitely more important to her), Helen disposed of it near Muir’s.

Now the greenhouse was hers.

*****************

When the neighbours wondered why Helen was running the Cantells’ greenhouse business, her excuse was that Muir and Paula had suddenly decided to take a vacation, since they’d been stressed lately. The neighbours were suspicious of Helen running the business in place of the Cantells, since she had no experience in gardening or selling flowers. What’s more, Helen was more interested in watching over those new flowers, which by now numbered over thirty, than selling the others, which were dying from neglect. 

When the customers realized Helen had no intention of selling any of the new flowers, which soon became the vast majority of those in the greenhouse, they all left with frowns.

Mr. Gadd stopped by a week after the murders, and found himself concerned not so much from the change from the Cantells’ to Helen’s management, but about how identical her attitude was to Muir’s.

And the smell of that greenhouse, now with only the identical-looking flowers, put him in a staggering daze once he’d entered.

As he walked back to his car, his staggering changing into normal walking after about ten seconds from exiting the greenhouse, he saw Mrs. Granville sitting on her porch, her mouth in a permanent pout and her eyes and ears out like antennae. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gadd,” she called out to him.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Granville,” he said, then put a small plastic bag in his glove compartment.

“Why didn’t you buy any flowers today?” she asked.

“None to buy that are of interest to me,” he said.

“What about all those pretty new flowers they have, the ones that all look like clones of each other?”

“You mean the silvery-gold-red ones? That’s all they have now. Over fifty of them, I’d say.”

“Well, why not buy one of those?”

“Nah. I don’t like them.”

“I don’t blame you. They all stink. They’re evil, too.”

“That’s the feeling I’ve always had of them. They have an evil charm.”

“C’mere, Mr. Gadd,” she said with a sly smirk and squinted eyes. “I’ll bet I know something you don’t about what’s going on over there.”

“What’s that?” he asked as he approached her porch.

“Y’know how Helen’s supposed to be watching over the greenhouse while the Cantells are in Florida?”

“Yeah, I heard. There’s no way they can afford a two-week vacation in Miami Beach.”

“Well, I remember seeing Helen buy one of those evil flowers, when none of ‘em were supposed to be for sale. She also borrowed one of Paula’s hats, her purple one, the day before she bought that flower. I saw Helen twice driving the Cantells’ car wearing that hat. She’d dragged something big and heavy into the car from the Cantells’ house. Big and heavy enough to be a body.”

“Are you sure?” Gadd asked.

“Yes. I think Helen killed the Cantells to get at those flowers. They’re supposed to return from their ‘vacation’ at the end of next week. I’ll make a million-dollar bet that Helen will still be running the greenhouse business, saying she doesn’t know what happened to the Cantells, then eventually make us believe they were murdered in Miami Beach instead of here.”

“Could be. There’s something about those flowers. Something in the smell. A smell of…covetousness.”

“I agree. That’s what I smelled, and I recoiled instantly upon smelling it. A smell honest people could never stand. You watch Helen over the next week. I sure will.”

“Yes, we should watch her.”

But Helen was watching them from the greenhouse, noting their scowling looks at her.

*****************

Two days later, Mrs. Granville went over to the greenhouse to see what was going on over there. She stood just outside, looking through the glass to see, but not smell, the goings-on inside. 

She gasped at what she saw.

Helen, pale, was swinging a knife at men and women who were trying to take her flowers; worse, the men and women had knives of their own, and stabbed not only at her, but at each other. Helen would need a larger bandage than the one along the back of her neck to cover the bloody gash along her left forearm.

A woman she’d stabbed in the back was lying dead on the floor between her and the other fighting customers, all of whom had cuts and gashes on their arms or legs. All of them ignored the pain, so focused were they on getting control of all the flowers. Some jealously held flowerpots in the arms that weren’t brandishing knives.

Mrs. Granville backed away from the window of the greenhouse when she saw Helen’s scowling eyes aiming murderously at hers. With a shaky hand, she took her cellphone out of her handbag and tried tapping a phone number, grunting in nervous annoyance whenever she tapped any wrong numbers. Finally, she finished dialling.

“Hello?” Mr. Gadd said.

“This is Mrs. Granville,” she said. “The situation with Helen and the flowers is much worse now.”

“How many are there now? In the hundreds?”

“Yes, but that’s not the worst part. She and several customers are swinging knives at each other, trying to take over the greenhouse and have all the flowers to themselves. One woman’s lying on the floor dead…Oh! I just saw a man stabbed and falling–he must be dead, too. All the others, including Helen, are cut and wounded, but still fighting as if they hadn’t a spot of blood on them.”

“They’re swinging knives at each other in broad daylight?” Gadd asked. “They aren’t worried about cops coming to stop them?”

“Of course not. The flowers have driven them all mad.”

“I’m coming over there.”

“Why? It’s dangerous. I should call the police.”

“No! Not yet. They won’t understand what needs to be done. The flowers must all be destroyed.” He sighed, then continued. “Arresting a few people won’t end this problem. As long as there are flowers, people will fight to have them. I’m on my way. Bye.”

He hung up.

Mrs. Granville watched in helpless horror as the fighting continued. She kept backing up slowly, without noticing the curb as her feet neared it.

A man swung his knife in an arc from right to left, slicing Helen across the guts and tearing them open. Shc buckled and fell to the floor, with parts of her intestines snaking out of the wound, coated in blood.

The man reached for the flowerpot she was holding and caught it before she hit the floor, but a woman stabbed him in the back and snatched the flower from him.

“Aah!” Mrs. Granville screamed not only from the violence, but also from tripping over the curb and hitting the road, hurting her right elbow.

A car raced over and was about to hit her in the face. She screamed, but the car stopped, the bumper just a few inches away from her nose. Mr. Gadd got out of the car and ran over to the greenhouse. He had a container of gasoline. 

He began running around the greenhouse, pouring gasoline all along the perimeter. Once he’d finished his tour around the greenhouse, he flicked a cigarette lighter and reached down to the ground.

“Oh, my God!” she said, moaning in pain as she fought to get back on her feet. She limped back to her house, saying, “Still, if those people are mad enough to kill each other over that devil of a flower, maybe they should all burn in the hell of their greed.”

She reached her porch. By the time she’d sat down, rubbing her elbow, she saw a rectangle of fire surrounding the greenhouse. Gadd raced back to his car and drove off.

One woman, the one who’d stabbed Helen’s killer in the back, was the sole survivor of the knife fight…though she wouldn’t survive much longer. 

The flowers by the glass were bursting into flame. As they burned, they made a chorus of squeals so shrill and ear-piercing, they made the screeching violins of horror movie soundtracks seem soothing.

More and more flowers burned and screamed. The woman joined in the screaming as the flames moved further and further inside, inching closer to her and the three flowerpots she was squeezing to her chest in a futile effort to protect them.

“No!” she screamed. “My flowers! They’re dying!”

By the time a fire truck and police cars had arrived, she and all the flowers had burned to a crisp.

Still on her porch and watching everything, Mrs. Granville called Mr. Gadd on her cellphone again.

“Are all the flowers dead?” he asked her.

“Every last one of them, thank God,” she said. “The last surviving woman in that fight perished, too. So awful.”

“Yeah. I feel bad about having caused such a loss of life, but you know as well as I do that those flowers had to be killed, to stop the cycle of human violence. Sometimes you have to make difficult sacrifices to avoid worse suffering.”

“I agree. She was a killer for those evil flowers, so I don’t feel much sympathy for her. Honest people like you and me would never allow ourselves to covet those flowers. Don’t worry, Mr. Gadd, I won’t tell the police what you did.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Granville,” he said. “Well, I have a few things to do, so if you’ll excuse me, we can discuss the rest of this later, OK?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “We both need a rest from all of this violence. Goodbye, Mr. Gadd.” They hung up.

Mr. Gadd took the little bag out of the glove compartment of his car and went over to his garden.

Now that there aren’t any more of those flowers around elsewhere, I’ll feel safe doing this, he thought. I hated having to kill all of them, but sometimes you have to make great sacrifices to avoid worse violence.

He opened the bag and sprinkled little black seeds on the soil.

My Short Story, ‘Violation,’ in the Horror Anthology, ‘Dig Two Graves, Vol. II’

Dig Two Graves: An Anthology Vol. II–Kindle edition by Death’s Head Press is now published! I have an erotic horror short story, ‘Violation,’ included in it. It’s about a group of young men who gang rape and murder a woman in the woods (or so they think), then realize they’ve gotten themselves into something supernatural and surreal, and a revenge ensues to make I Spit On Your Grave seem mild in comparison. That’s all I’m telling for now; you’ll have to read for yourself to find out how they get what’s coming to them.

Other great stories included in the anthology were written by Wesley Southard, Cameron Trost, Gerri R. Gray, Gary Power, Delphine Quinn, M. Ennenbach, Jack Bantry, Charlotte Platt, Cameron Kirk, Susan E. Abramski, Mark Lumby, Lucas Milliron, David L. Tamarin, Lori Tiron-Pandit, Pete Mesling, G. Allen Wilbanks, Thomas Vaughn, Sergio “ente per ente” Palumbo, Duane Bradley, David Owain Hughes, and Betty Rocksteady.

I want to show my appreciation to Death’s Head Press for including my story in their new anthology! If you love horror fiction, Dear Reader, I hope you’ll go out and get your hands on this collection of scary stories!

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Eighteen

Thurston fixed his tie and looked at himself in the mirror. Aren’t we handsome in that suit? he thought.

He left his apartment and got in his car.

As he drove to the 22 Division police station, he reflected on all that had recently happened.

It’s so good to be connected with Agnes, he thought. Close to her, in body and soul. I really love her; and better yet, there’s no more conflict with the beast. That bullet I put in its head sure did the trick. No more resistance.

He parked in the police station parking lot and got out of his car. He sucked in a deep inhalation of fresh air and smiled.

It’s so good to be fully in control again, he thought.

He walked into the police station, passed a number of desks in the direction of his own. He saw Hicks standing near his desk.

Hicks turned around and saw him approaching.

“Good morning, handsome,” Hicks said with a smile.

“Good morning,” Thurston said.

“Still no sign of Surian?”

“Oh, she’s around.”

“Really? Where? I still need to talk to her about her shooting the beast. If you could tell her to come out of hiding, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Thurston said. “You’ll be in contact with her soon enough.”

“Very well, whatever,” Hicks said with a sneer, which then turned into a lewd smirk. “And as for us, when are you going to come over to my place?”

“How about tonight?” Thurston asked with a grin.

THE END

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Seventeen

[Sexual content]

Ten minutes later, Thurston finally found himself free to move. He swung his arms further than he thought they’d go, and whacked them against the steering wheel and door.

“Oww! Fuck!” he shouted, then: “Hey, I can move. It’s about time.”

Claustrophobic in his car, he swung the car door open and got out.

Fuck driving, he thought. I’ll just run over to Callie’s apartment building. He slammed the car door shut, locked it, and left the area.

Running down the sidewalk, he was approaching her apartment building when he saw a car being driven away from where it had been parked, in front of the building’s entrance. It looked like Surian’s car.

That couldn’t have been her car, he thought. If those visions were anywhere near true, I can’t imagine Agnes walking away from demoness-Callie in one piece.

He ran into the building and raced for the elevator. He pounded his fist on the elevator button over and over again, impatiently with that irrational feeling that doing so would bring the elevator down to the ground floor faster.

“C’mon!” he growled as it floated down floor by floor.

Finally, the elevator arrived. The doors opened far too slowly for his patience, so he pried them open as best he could and squeezed inside. He pressed the seventh floor button.

As the elevator rose with–to him–the same laziness as it had gone down, he shook with rage.

“Come on, for fuck’s sake!” he shouted, then thought, Oh, God, please, let Agnes be OK…at least let her be alive!

The elevator reached the seventh floor. Again, as the doors took their time opening, his impatient hands pried them open faster and he squeezed through.

As he began running down the hall to her apartment, he realized he forgot to hold his breath.

Wait, he thought, stopping halfway there. I don’t smell any pheromone.

Indeed…there was no pheromone smell at all.

He did a light jog the rest of the way to Callie’s apartment, found the door wide open, and took out his pistol. He poked his head in the doorway and looked around. He saw nobody there.

He crept in with wide open, alert eyes. He cocked his pistol as he made his way through her living room area, his eyes darting around everywhere to see if the hairy, clawed beast was hiding somewhere behind the furniture, waiting to pounce on him. He was approaching the bedroom.

Hit the beast dead centre in the heart or in the brain, he reminded himself as he reached the bedroom doorway, the door being halfway open.

Still no pheromone smell at all.

Absolute silence.

He looked past the opened half of the doorway. He saw nobody. He heard nothing.

He turned his head back to get another look around the living room area. No beast sneaking up behind him.

No Surian, either.

Is the beast hiding behind that bedroom door? he wondered, then looked through the crack between the door and the corner wall of the bedroom.

No beast.

He tapped the door open with his foot while pointing the gun straight in front of him, anticipating any possible danger.

The door now all the way open, he saw, on the floor, between the bed and the closet, the hairy body of the clawed beast lying sprawled in a pool of its own blood. That phallic spike was pointing up in a crescent arc from its groin to the ceiling.

Not even a drop of blood was on its sharp tip.

He heaved a huge sigh. I guess those visions deceived me, he thought.

He looked around the rest of the bedroom. Surian was nowhere to be seen, though a fired pistol was lying on the floor next to the beast.

“Where the hell is she?” he said, putting his gun in its holster and taking out his phone. She’s the one who killed the beast, isn’t she? he wondered as he looked for her number in his list of contacts. That’s her gun, isn’t it? It looks like hers. Surely there was at least some truth to those visions, wasn’t there?

He clicked her cellphone number and waited as the ringing repeated eight times before setting him up to leave a message. Beep.

“Agnes, this is Andy,” he said. “Where are you? I’m in Callie’s bedroom with the beast lying here dead. Did you do this? If so, great, but why did you leave the scene? Are you OK? Did the beast hurt you in any way before you killed it? Please call me back ASAP. Bye.” Was that her driving away in her car a few minutes ago? he wondered. If so, why would she just disappear like that, without calling me or Hicks about the beast? I guess I’ll have to get the police over here, instead of her.

Twenty minutes later, the room was filled with police. The beast’s body was taken away on a stretcher, to be driven to a group of doctors and biologists who, having followed the story in the news, were eager to do a necropsy on it to learn whatever they could about it.

Hicks was with Thurston, both of them baffled as to where Surian could possibly be.

“I can’t believe it,” Thurston said. “She found the beast, presumably, shot it, and just left? No calls, no messages as to where she is or what she’s doing? What the fuck?”

“I guess this ‘Callie’ was somehow involved with the beast after all, though she’s as missing as your girlfriend,” Hicks said.

“Where the fuck is she?” Thurston said.

“I guess she ran off with somebody else,” Hicks said. “Try someone else. Try a new experience.” He smiled suggestively at Thurston.

“No offence, but even if I was gay, I doubt you’d ever be my type,” Thurston said. “When we’re done here, I’ll drive over to her place and see if she’s there.”

“And I’ll be at my place tonight if you change your mind, Andy.” Hicks winked at him.

Thurston rolled his eyes.

***************

That night, the doctors and biologists were sighing and puffing in frustration as they looked down on the hairy body on the table.

“We’ve been examining every inch of this thing for hours,” a woman among them said. “It cannot be classified as any known species that has ever existed.”

“It doesn’t even qualify as Bigfoot,” a man standing next to her said.

“Is it a hermaphrodite?” a man standing on the woman’s other side asked. “It seems female, but is this spike in its crotch supposed to be a penis?”

“It’s totally baffling, anyway,” the woman said. “I give up. What do you guys think?”

“I agree,” some of them said together.

“It’s late. Let’s go to bed,” the first man said.

“I doubt we’ll gain any more insights from it through further examination,” the second man said. “I say we bury it and forget about it.”

“Yeah, OK,” she said. “If any new insights come in the future, we can always dig it up then and look at the skeleton.”

*****************

One night later that week, Thurston sat slumped on a chair in his apartment with a frown.

Still no response to my message on her phone, he thought. Every time I go to her apartment, she’s never there. She didn’t die, did she? Ballistics confirmed that the bullet shot to kill the beast was from her pistol. But God, where is she?

Suddenly, his cellphone rang; he checked it–it was her.

“Agnes!” he said into the phone. “Where are you? Are you OK?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she sighed, as if irritated by the question. “I’m in my apartment.”

“So, you shot the beast?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Are you proud of me?”

“Of course, but…why’d you leave Callie’s apartment?”

Because…the sheer terror of seeing that thing, with its…spike-dick…almost stabbing into my pussy, made me want to get as far away from the scene as I could. I needed to lie low for several days, with nobody to bother me…just to calm down.”

“I see,” he said. “Just needed to recover from the trauma, eh?”

Exactly…but I’m OK now. You, Hicks, and the others took care of the rest of the problem all right?”

“Yeah, of course. Everything’s sorted out, though I’m sure Hicks would like to talk to you. So, you’re at home?”

“Yeah. Wanna come over?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He hung up.

***********

Ten minutes later, he was standing in front of the front door of her apartment. He rang the doorbell.

She opened the door out wide. His jaw dropped.

Her face was brightly made up, she was in a pink see-through babydoll nightie revealing black lace underwear. She wore white high heels.

He reminded himself to be a gentleman and look back up in her eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “I j-just never realized how…curvy you are under your…normal clothes.”

“Why, thank you,” she said with a grin. “You can look if you want. I don’t mind.” She turned around for him. “You’ve always liked me, and now that the hairy beast is gone, I can confess that I’ve always liked you.”

“Why couldn’t you confess it before?”

“Because I was afraid of falling for you when the beast might kill you. That clawed, hairy animal reminded me of a bear that attacked and killed my old teenage boyfriend in the BC woods–speaking of trauma. If the beast had killed you, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. It’s gone now, so I don’t have to worry about it. And you and I can celebrate our success.”

“OK.” He was grinning like a high school kid.

“Well? You gonna stand out in the hallway forever? Come on in.”

“Oh, yeah, all right,” he said, then entered her apartment.

“That’s a nice perfume you’re wearing,” he said.

“Thank you.” She took him by the hand and led him into her bedroom.

“Are you sure you want to do this now, Agnes? I mean, I’d love to, but we seem to be going really fast here.”

“You may be old-fashioned, but I’m a modern woman.” She removed the nightie and tossed it on a chair near her bed. He removed his gun and holster and put in on her bedside table, between the chair and the bed. “I’ve been through hell recently; I need some heaven to heal me.”

She kicked off the high heels. She then looked down at his crotch and giggled at the bulge in his pants. He blushed.

She removed her bra and wiggled her perfectly formed breasts with pride.

“Holy shit, Agnes. You’re better endowed than I thought.”

She giggled as she pulled down her black panties to reveal a hairless crotch. She now stood proudly nude before him.

“You’re shaved?” he asked with wide open eyes.

“I did it for you earlier today.”

“Wow.”

“OK, big boy. Now it’s your turn. Don’t be shy.”

“OK.” He stripped down to reveal a hairy body and a full erection. She giggled at it, then licked her lips.

“You’re hairier than the beast…and spikier, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“OK, Andy. Let’s fuck.”

They got on the bed in the missionary position. Up close, her perfume was a powerful scent.

When he pushed inside her, she let out a shrill wail.

Oh!” she squealed each time with his first thrusts. “That’s…more…like it! Ah!

“What…do you mean, ‘more…like it’?” he panted.

“The beast…with its…spike-dick…almost did…what you’re doing…now. Oh!

“Yeah,…you said…before. It tried to…rape you?”

“Yeah, but…I shot it.”

“That’s good. Oh!

“But it tore…a hole in a…good pair of pants.”

“At least…it didn’t hurt you.”

“No. Ah!” She came, splashing all over his cock. He pulled out. “OK,” she panted, then turned around to be on the bed on all fours. She looked back at him, and with a lewd twinkle in her eyes, she said, “Fuck me in the ass.”

“You’re into that?” he asked with a slight sneer.

“You aren’t?

“Oh, I’m game, it’s just…I never imagined you to be that kind of girl, Agnes.”

“Are you disappointed in me?”

“N-no, it’s just…well, you’re one surprise after another.”

“Andy, how much of my sex life have you ever known about? Like, none of it?

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Look, the trauma over killing–and almost being killed by–the beast kind of fucked with my head, OK? Wild and wicked sex helps me process trauma, as weird as that must sound to you. I dunno, I’m just funny that way. Can you try to understand that?”

“Yeah, I guess that explains it.” He looked down at her ass. “You’re lubed?

“Yeah,” she sighed. “That’s how horny I am. Terror and trauma tend to get me hot. Now, c’mon, do me before I change my mind.”

“OK,” he said, then slid in. “Ooh! That…feels…good.”

As he moved in and out, he looked over at her face to see if she was showing any signs of feeling pain. She had only a lascivious smirk on her mouth.

I can’t believe it, he thought. I always thought she was the nice, girl-next-door type, like my teenage crush, the one Agnes physically reminds me of. Well, I guess what I imagined of the crush was just an idealized fantasy who has nothing to do with the real Agnes. I’ll have to accept that, and let Agnes just be herself.

Her moans grew louder as he moved in and out, faster and more forcefully with each thrust. Those loud moans began to sound a little bit like grunts.

“Am I…hurting you?” he panted, looking over at her face.

“No, I’m fine,” she said in an unusually husky voice.

“OK.” He kept on screwing.

His legs were as spread out as hers, and his ass was pushed out like hers, too, as if he were willing to get what he was giving her. This would seem appropriate…

…for suddenly, he felt a sharp, bone-like sensation stabbing into his asshole, ripping the anal walls and burrowing deep inside. “Aaaah!” he screamed hoarsely. Blood was dripping all over the bed between their legs. Shaking all over, he looked over at her face.

Agnes turned her head around, revealing the wild, hairy face of the beast, a face combining the features of Callie, Visner, and Agnes. Hair had grown all over the now hermaphroditic body. With painful effort, Thurston straightened up and looked down to see that the curled spike in his ass was coming from her groin…that phallic claw he’d seen on the beast.

He reached for his gun on the bedside table. To his surprise, the demoness helped him get closer to it…by using the phallic spike to pull his body onto her back, merging their torsos together.

Umph!” he groaned when their bodies collided.

He managed to get the gun out of its holster, but Kluh used her power to draw his two arms back to merge with hers, causing him to drop the gun on the bed to the right of the pillow. Their arms slapped hard together.

Ungh!” he groaned at the pain.

He felt his hands and fingers sticking to hers; when he tried to pull his apart from hers, it only hurt, so he gave up on that quickly. His palms felt as if glued to the backs of her hands. His chest was sticking to her back in the same way.

Soon, he could no longer voice his pain from merging with her body, for his face was buried in her hair. His nose disappeared into the back of her head; his lips kissed her neck so hard as to disappear inside it, too.

A bullet, dead centre in her brain, will kill Kluh, as the Yamas told Agnes and me, he thought as he reached with the greatest effort for the gun, fighting against Kluh’s pulling back of their now fully merged right hand. If I kill her, maybe my body will be freed and not killed with her…maybe Agnes will be freed, too. I have to try. If I die, too, at least I won’t live with Kluh possessing me.

His chest and belly had dissolved into her back; their hearts were merging. He felt his still-erect penis elongated and burrowed deep inside her body, plugged into her, as it were. His balls and her vulva were merged; that spike up his ass no longer felt like a stab wound, for it was as ‘plugged into him’ as his cock was plugged into her. Contained and containing flesh was intermingling. Their eight limbs were now four, fully merged.

We’re sharing one heart now–I can feel only one beating, he thought, grasping the gun. If I shoot myself through the chest dead centre, I’ll die with Kluh, presumably. Our brains aren’t yet one, though. If I can point the gun above her ear–which hasn’t merged with mine yet, and if I can put a bullet in the middle of her brain, I have a hope the demon will release me before leaving the physical world.

Despite Kluh’s resistance, he managed to wrap his fingers around the gun, his index finger touching but not squeezing the trigger. His whole face had disappeared into the back of her head. Their torsos were fully merged into one. Only their ears and brains were still doubled, the ears coming closer together, and their brains about to touch.

I don’t have much time, he thought.

It took all his strength to raise the arm with the pistol up to their merging head. No longer on all fours, the body was straightened up by Kluh to be on its knees on the bed. Its fingernails were lengthening into strong, sharp claws.

When the claws were fully formed, the left hand moved over to try to stop the right hand from firing the gun into the brain Kluh was controlling. The back of her brain was now starting to touch the front of Thurston’s. The left claws tried to stab into or slice off the right hand. Because he still had some control of both arms, she was so far only able to slice deep cuts into the right forearm.

She screamed their shared pain.

***************

At about the same time that night, the beast’s buried body–the one examined by the doctors and biologists, and thanks to Kluh’s power, not decomposed in the slightest–lay there underground, with its hair slithering back into its follicles. The phallic claw had already shrunk and disappeared into its groin. Its shape was bloating out in the middle.

***************

Thurston summoned all his strength to wrest control of both arms from Kluh. Not only was she no longer able to use the left arm to reach over to the right one to slice at it, but he managed–by tapping the tip of his gun on her ear as a reference point to feel his way around–to aim it at the head, the barrel of the pistol pointing more or less at the middle of her brain…which was beginning to merge with his.

Still, it was hard for him to stop the hand holding the pistol from shaking.

I don’t have much time, he thought. Gotta keep my hand steady.

Kluh no longer tried to cut off the right hand with the left. She chose instead to give him a false sense of confidence in his aim. Let him shoot, she thought. But keep his hand shaking…and have it shoot at the right time, putting the bullet either in his brain, or if it hits mine, let it be off-centre. Either way, he’ll be assimilated into me with Sandra/Callie, Visner, and Agnes. All options are working in my favour.

Still, he pushed himself to keep his hand steady. The pistol was barely wavering.

He cocked it.

Keep a rhythm, he thought. When my hand sways forward, it’s pointed at the centre of her brain; when it sways back, it’s off-centre or aiming at my brain. Back, forth, back, forth, back, f…

He pulled the trigger.

***********

The buried body was now completely transformed into the fresh corpse of Sandra Brahms.

A Horror Short Story of Mine Published in ‘The Devil’s Hour’

The Devil’s Hour is an anthology of horror short stories recently published by HellBound Books. I have a short story included in it, one called “The Pet.” I don’t want to tell you too much about it, since I’d rather you got a copy of the anthology and found out for yourself; let’s just say that the pet is always hungry, and he’s a growing boy…

The other sixteen writers in the anthology are these talented people: M.U.Nib, Nick Manzolillo, Richard Raven, Pamela Scott, Thomas S. Gunther, Tim V. Decker, Marc L. Rissmann, Ken McGrath, Brandon Cracraft, James R. Gardner, Lex H Jones, Sergio ‘ente per ente’ Palumbo & Ernesto Canepa, Jim Towns, Sarah Cannavo, Feind Gottes, and J.N. Cameron. 

Above all, I want to thank Xtina Marie and James Longmore for accepting my story. You two rock…and…roll!

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Sixteen

[Some sexual content]

Dr. Visner, as nude as Callie now, got on the bed on top of her in the missionary position. Her eyes squinted shut and her mouth wide open, she sighed huffs of excitement, in rising pitches, as he slid inside her.

This sucks so badly, still-immobilized Surian thought as she strained to see the action through the two-to-three-millimetre-wide slit separating the closet’s folding doors. I can’t even watch the show.

The bed creaked to the rhythm of their sighs, moans, and grunts as the lovers rocked back and forth on it.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, the psychiatrist thought as he looked down in his patient’s eyes. I shouldn’t be doing this.

Callie played more mind games with him. The demoness would make him see–every ten seconds or so at a time, and each time about a second or two in duration–that black-haired, brown-skinned, curvaceous Thai beauty he’d had when he was young, instead of seeing blonde Callie.

So every time he saw a flash of black hair and brown skin, instead of the usual blonde hair and peach skin, he twitched in guilty agitation. With each successive switch from light to dark, he never twitched any less. He could never get used to it.

She gave him an evil grin with his every twitch, not just because of the sadistic pleasure she got from tormenting him, but because the union of opposites–his psychological agony and his physical pleasure–were giving her more power.

The same was the case with what was going on in that closet: the juxtaposition of life and death–living Surian huddled together with the headless corpses of the Yamas. Furthermore, Surian planned to shoot Callie, but Callie could easily kill Surian.

***********

Immobilized Thurston was fidgeting in his car no less than Surian was in that closet. What was worse, Callie flashed images before his eyes of Surian there.

He saw, from Surian’s point of view, her first sight of the headless corpses when the light was turned on, the jagged claw-cuts on the stumps of the Yamas’ necks.

He screamed, realizing this is what she’d seen.

“Agnes!” he gasped.

From that sensing of her point of view, he also felt how immobile she was in that cluttered closet, not his own immobility, but from the same cause–the power of the demoness Kluh inhabiting Callie’s body. He fidgeted violently, frustrated that he still couldn’t move.

Now Callie showed him flashes of Surian’s face up close.

He saw her agape eyes and mouth.

He felt her fear.

“Fuck!” he grunted, still able to do no more than fidget.

************

Callie screamed with pleasure when she came, splashing her ejaculation all over Visner’s cock.

He shook, imagining for a split second that that scream was her about to have a psychotic episode. Still, he kept thrusting, for she made him do it. He couldn’t refuse to screw.

He pulled out of her, then saw the Thai prostitute’s body for a second. Callie laughed when she saw the jolt she’d given him.

She may have traumas from being raped, he thought, but if anything, she’s raping me.

She rolled over and got on all fours. She stuck her ass out, pointing it at him. He looked at it: it changed from her peach buttocks and brown anus to the brown buttocks and black anus of the Thai prostitute.

He got another jolt. He looked at what was now the face of the Thai girl, who had a lewd grin and a sparkle in her black eyes. “You want fuck my ass?” Callie asked in the girl’s Thai accent and ungrammatical syntax, just as he remembered it from years back.

He looked at her ass again, with Callie’s peach and brown again, then back up at her face, with her blue eyes and golden hair. “W-well, I’d like to, but your step-father–“

“Oh, I’ve forgotten about Mort. Stick it in. I’m lubed.”

He looked back down there. She was.

Voodoo girl, he thought. Demon girl. I can’t say no.

He pushed in slowly, carefully, checking her face to make sure she wasn’t in any pain.

Callie wants anal? Surian thought. Doesn’t ass-fucking make her violent? She remembered the time she and Thurston watched her and that other lover of hers through his apartment window, when his attempt to force anal made her change into the clawed beast. She wants Visner to provoke her into killing him, doesn’t she?

She fidgeted, and still could do no more than budge slightly.

Visner moved back and forth, loving the tight, hugging sensation, but looking in her eyes with concern, for she was looking back at him. Her eyes sometimes told him of her desire, and sometimes of her fear.

His face would mirror that fear back at her.

Sometimes, her fearful face was that of the Thai prostitute, her dark lips in a frown, and her black eyes full of shame.

Again, Visner felt a jolt of fear and guilt shoot throughout his body, with her every change to the Thai girl.

Then, she’d change back to blonde, lewdly-smiling Callie. Though his arousal was rising, he found her changes back not very reassuring.

Surian squinted her eyes trying to see what was going on outside those folding closet doors. Is Callie’s skin switching back and forth from white to black, and back to white again, or am I seeing things? she wondered.

**************

Thurston was too exhausted to fidget anymore, so he let his body sit loose in his car. He’d budge every ten seconds from now on, to see if Callie had set him free.

Sometimes, he’d budge on other occasions, such as when Callie made him see such split-second visions as this:

Surian being stabbed between the legs with a phallic claw.

“Agnes!” he yelled with a jerk.

**************

Visner heard, after giving her a strong thrust, a grunt of what sounded like pain. He checked her face when she looked back at him. He saw a frown, like the kind the Thai girl would give him.

He thrust hard again, feeling forced to do so by Callie, in spite of her apparent discomfort. He saw another frown…and he heard a growl.

He kept moving back and forth. All he wanted to do was pull out, get off the bed, grab his clothes, and run, but he couldn’t. Her power was forcing him to continue with the sex.

She looked back at him, moaned, and gave him a ‘reassuring’ grin. His fear and arousal were merged and strengthening each other. And that merging of opposite feelings made her all the more powerful.

He felt himself nearing orgasm. Then he heard another growl. A shot of terror went through his body as he shot his first ejaculation. He saw hair growing on her arms as his come kept firing out. Claws were growing from her fingernails, making his eyes and mouth open wide. She looked back at him with a wild, hairy face.

She let out a loud roar.

He screamed. Then he felt his face being forcefully shoved into the hair on the back of the beast’s head.

Surian was shaking in that closet with all her might to overcome, still in all futility, her immobility. “C’mon, goddamnit!”

She peaked through that slit between the closet doors. All she could make out was his relatively hairless body seemingly stuck to her hairy body.

The odd thing was that there didn’t seem to be any slashing or stabbing with those claws, no blood splashing anywhere, just the two bodies clinging together.

***********

Thurston saw split-second visions of Callie and Visner, seeing the two lovers face-first as if he were sitting at the head of the bed, only she was getting hairier with each flash of them before his eyes. Her claws got longer and sharper with each flash, too. Strangest of all was how Visner grew closer and closer to her, as if glued to her.

“Fuck!” Thurston shouted, shaking in his car still with the same futility as Surian’s. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Where’s Agnes! What’s happened to her?”

***********

“Let me out of here!” Surian screamed.

The reply she received was a growl and the calm words, “Soon, Agnes. Real soon,” only they weren’t with Callie’s voice, but with Visner’s.

The shaking on the bed had stopped. No more creaking, no more fucking. Just the sounds of the clawed beast’s grunts.

Surian strained again to see through that crack. Visner’s body seemed to lie limp on the beast’s hairy back, from what Surian could make out. What she could no longer make out was where Visner’s body ended and the hairy beast’s began, for the one seemed to phase into the other.

She wasn’t sure, but it also seemed that Visner was now beginning to grow long hairs on his torso, ones similar to the beast’s.

The width of the two torsos, one on top of the other in profile, seemed to be narrowing.

**************

Thurston’s visions of Visner and Callie on that bed now showed split-second flashes of what seemed to be one huge hairy body, with his head merged with hers from behind, as if Visner’s face were lost in the sea of Callie’s hair on the back of her head.

“What the hell am I seeing?” Thurston asked, sneering.

**************

Through that slit between the closet doors, Surian saw what seemed a singular, hairy figure get off the bed and stand in front of her, the closet doors the only things separating her and the beast. She heard a grunt.

Finally, she felt free to move. The demoness had let her go. She shoved the doors open.

Before her stood one naked, hairy beast with breasts and a curvaceous figure, but with Visner’s gut. It had a face that was a cross of the female beast’s and Visner’s, and between its thighs was a long, sharp, thick claw for a phallus, pointing up in an arc at her, ready to stab.

Eyes agape, she screamed an ear-piercing wail, then pointed her pistol at the beast’s chest, frantically trying to find the dead centre of its heart in so short time.

Her eyes and mouth still wide open, Surian couldn’t stop screaming, but the beast would end the noise. Its red, slithering tongue shot out of its mouth and went deep into Surian’s, a tongue of seemingly endless length, flying at her face like a snake racing inside a hole in the ground. That spike of a phallus reached for her crotch.

Gagging, she shook all over, but kept her aim: she fired a bullet in the hermaphrodite beast’s heart, as close to dead-centre as she could hit it, just when the point of the phallus had punctured a hole in her pants and underwear, between her legs, meeting her vulva.

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Fifteen

“I’m gonna end this once and for all,” Detective Surian whispered to herself, then jumped in her car and raced over to Callie’s apartment building.

Detective Thurston didn’t even notice her car drive away when he arrived at the Yamas’ dry-cleaning shop. He got out of his car and, eyes and jaw agape, looked at Vanessa’s and Raymond’s heads on those poles stabbed into the front door of the shop. He retched.

When the other police cars arrived, he’d be too busy explaining what happened to the two owners to think about Surian.

************

She parked her car in front of Callie’s apartment building, got out, and took out her pistol. She ran up the stairs and through the front door, got into the elevator, and went up to the seventh floor. She pushed open the slowly-opening elevator doors to get out faster and squeezed through in her frantic impatience.

As she ran down the hall to Callie’s room, she noted that the pheromone smell was as powerful as ever, but it wasn’t weakening her will at all; indeed, after forgetting to hold her breath, she was surprised at not feeling in any way controlled by the demoness.

In fact, Callie’s front door was open.

She wants me to go in, Surian thought, remembering the opened door to Dr. Visner’s office when she’d gone in to plant the hidden camera. This is a trap. Still, I’ve got to try to stop her. There seems to be no other way, and I’m sick of this shit. A memory of that bear killing her teen boyfriend flashed before her eyes again, as did that dream of the hairy, clawed beast attacking Thurston. A bullet fired directly dead-centre into her heart should kill her, as the Yamas said it would.

She went into the room, her eyes darting around everywhere to see if Callie was there. Her pistol was cocked.

The apartment seemed empty of people.

The bedroom door was wide open.

She went in.

Nobody was there.

She checked behind the bed.

Nobody.

She went over to the closet, which had two folding doors. She opened the right-side one.

No Callie hiding in there.

The pheromone smell was so powerful, it cancelled out any other possible competing smells.

There was enough room for Surian to slip in and hide on that right side; the other side seemed crowded with clothes on hangers, and with boxes on the floor, so she figured she’d have no unwelcome company while hiding there.

She went in and closed the closet door.

She’d wait for Callie to return, then surprise her with bullets in the chest.

After a few minutes of waiting, she came to her senses and realized she should have properly checked the other side of the closet; the pheromone smell had interfered with her thinking after all.

She moved a few of Callie’s dresses aside, then groped around in the darkness with her left hand. She felt what seemed to be an arm. She raised her pistol in her right hand, ready to shoot, but realized the body wasn’t responding to her touch. It didn’t move at all.

She moved her hand up the body, above the shoulder, and felt around for the neck.

She felt only a stump, and the jagged, bloodless cutting-through of claws.

She gasped.

Just then, the bedroom light was turned on, and enough light shone through the crack to let her know that she was standing next to not only Vanessa’s headless body, but Raymond’s behind it.

Surian stopped herself just in time before screaming. She wanted to kick open the closet door and point her pistol at Callie, but found herself suddenly incapable of any movement beyond fidgeting of a few millimetres all around.

“Not yet, Agnes,” Callie told her from the other side. “Don’t worry, though: we’ll all be together soon enough.”

It took all of Surian’s effort to remain calm while paralyzed in that closet indefinitely, tolerating the proximity of those two corpses. She just shook and shook.

Callie, nude as usual, sat on her bed, closed her eyes, and–from what Surian could make out through the narrow slit in the closet door–began meditating.

Come, Dr. Visner, Callie thought, using the mana from the semen she’d swallowed during her sexual encounter with the psychiatrist. Come to me. Let’s make love.

************

Visner left his office like an automaton and went down to the underground parking lot to find his car. He didn’t need to know her home address: her power would guide him there.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, behind her remote control of him, a small voice was whispering in his mind’s ear: I shouldn’t be doing this. He also saw images of that Thai prostitute flashing before his eyes, flashing between the changing of the traffic lights.

************

Surian kept trembling in that closet, cringing at the thought of those two bodies she couldn’t distance herself from. She felt a presence inside her stomach, some kind of energy that felt connected in some vague way with Callie’s ejaculation in her mouth when Callie had manipulated Surian to perform cunnilingus on her; it was forcing her to stay in that immobile position, able only to jiggle a bit. Is this that ‘mana’ that the Yamas were talking about? she wondered.

She saw Callie still sitting cross-legged on her bed, her eyes closed and concentrating on something.

Come to me, Doctor, she thought. Come make love to me.

That mana in her belly, from Visner’s ejaculation in her mouth, was like a doll she could move around any way she liked, and Visner was the doll outside, his car nearing her apartment building.

**************

After enough discussion with the police about the Yamas’ heads, Thurston finally remembered Surian.

“Agnes!” he said with a jolt.

“Yeah, what about your girlfriend?” Detective Hicks said. “She found this horrible display, then just took off? Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know,” Thurston said. “I imagine she got so upset, she just went over to Callie’s apartment to arrest her.”

“We have no proof, apart from your hocus-pocus bullshit, that this ‘Callie’ is in any way connected with all these deaths,” Hicks said. “Hairs of the animal weren’t found anywhere near that apartment this time.”

“Still,” Thurston said. “I should go over there and help her. She’s putting herself in danger.”

“She ain’t interested in you, Andy,” Hicks said, then put his hand on Thurston’s shoulder. “Try a new experience. Open your mind.” He smirked lewdly.

“Sorry, Hicks. I’m not into men.” Thurston ran to his car, got in, and drove over to Callie’s apartment building.

As he was driving away, Hicks watched his car disappear. Andy’s an idiot, just like his girlfriend, he thought. He is good-looking, though.

************

Dr. Visner arrived and parked his car by the park across from the apartment building. As he crossed the road, he thought, This is dangerous. She really has killed people during sex, hasn’t she? I’m not in control of my body; she’s controlling it.

He went through the front door of the apartment building and approached the elevator.

This is some kind of voodoo magic, and I don’t even believe in such things, he thought.

He remembered fucking the Thai prostitute in the ass, then reading the news of her death in the paper.

What if my fucking of Callie triggers a rape trauma of her step-father, and she uses these powers to kill me, or do some other terrible thing to me?

He got in the elevator, and Callie willed him to push 7. See? he thought. How do I know she’s on the seventh floor? I have no control over my movements. I can’t stop myself from having sex with her. I’m putting myself in danger; she’s making my mind want to have sex with her. What is her plan?

He reached the seventh floor, got out of the elevator, and went straight to Room 717, knowing that’s where she was.

The door was still open. He went in.

“Hello, Dr. Visner,” Callie purred as he entered the bedroom.

Oh, shit, Surian thought. I should have known Callie would be luring him here. And I can’t stop her.

Callie spread her legs and lay on her back. Dr. Visner felt compelled to begin undressing.

***********

Thurston was a few blocks from Callie’s apartment building. All of a sudden, though, he felt himself being controlled by an alien intelligence, making him park his car in a parking lot in the area, instead of in front of her place.

“What the fuck?” he said. He budged to get out of the car, but now couldn’t move beyond slight budging.

Not yet, Callie’s voice whispered in his mind’s ear. Don’t worry, though: we’ll all be together soon enough.

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Fourteen

[Some sexual content]

After leaving two…mementos…of her encounter with the Yamas at their dry-cleaning shop, the hairy beast ran and jumped down the streets in the direction of The Gold Star. Though she was seen by onlookers, including cops in patrol cars, throughout Toronto, the growing power of her pheromone smell kept everyone too dazed to follow her.

Eventually, by about midnight, she stopped her running and jumping, calmed down, and began shedding hair. Her claws shortened into normal fingernails. Her pheromone aphrodisiac, though adding to the erotic pleasure of seeing her transformation back into shapely, nude Callie, nonetheless kept its dazed sniffers at bay as she walked, in the most carefree, insouciant way, towards the front door of the strip joint.

One of those sniffers of her sexy smell was none other than Dr. Visner, who felt compelled to see her again at The Gold Star. In fact, he was walking on the same sidewalk that the balls of her pretty bare feet had just tapped on, so he noticed the growing amount of wisps of her bestial hair.

He picked up a few and sniffed that arousing pheromone smell. “Callie,” he sighed with a smile.

He looked further ahead down the sidewalk, and saw a beautiful nude female figure from behind. The street lights and shadows worked together to caress her buttock cleavage.

He walked faster towards her.

She sensed his approach and grinned.

When he was about five feet behind her, she turned around to face him. She grinned when he stopped and let his eyes roam down her body to feast on those wiggling breasts and that hairless crotch. Embarrassed by his lust, he yanked his gaze up to her eyes.

“You can stare at my body if you want to,” she purred. “Enjoy yourself. I won’t be mad.”

“Yes, but…you’re my…patient,” he panted, resisting the temptation to let his gaze drop back down below her neck. “I shouldn’t–“

“Come here,” she cooed. He did.

She put her arms around his neck. He put his hands on her ass and gave the cheeks gentle squeezes as they French-kissed.

She pulled her tongue out of his mouth and said, “Let’s go into a VIP Room. My services to you are free of charge tonight.”

They held hands as they walked into The Gold Star.

They went into a VIP Room, he sat on the couch, and she sat on his lap. Rubbing her buns against his erection, she leaned back with her flowery-fragrant hair (another example of Kluh’s growing powers, to smell so lovely after having just been the sweaty beast) brushing against his face. She turned her head back and looked in his eyes.

“I love revealing…all my secrets to you,” she sighed in his ear. “I revealed all my…private pain to you…during our therapy. Now I can…reveal my…private parts to you.”

“Yes, but is it…the real you…that you revealed to me?” he asked. “Is this some game?”

She frowned and stopped lap-dancing. “Of course it was the real me. All my private feelings.” She turned her frown back into a smile, then resumed rubbing. “Now I can…reveal my…private parts to you.”

“I’d love that, but…,” he grunted from the sensation of her massaging bottom. “I still feel…as though…I’m taking advantage of…a vulnerable, fragile patient.” The memory of that Thai prostitute he’d had when young flashed before his eyes.

“Dr. Visner, it is I who am taking advantage of you.”

“You are?

“Yes,” she said, grinning as she got up and turned around to face him. She rubbed her breasts against his face and slid down between his spread-out legs. “I’m practically raping you.”

“Oh,” he said with a slight smile.

She unzipped his pants. Another image of that Thai prostitute appeared in a flash before his eyes, a memory of her about to perform oral sex on him.

“Wait,” he said, stopping Callie’s hand. “Not here. People in the bar might hear us.”

“Oh, they’d hear my screams for sure, if you put it in my pussy.” She moved his hand out of the way and put her fingers inside his open fly. “That’s why it’s best if it’s only your moans, drowned out by that metal music the DJ’s playing.” She took his cock out and wrapped her wet lips and tongue around it.

Her hypnotic eyes stayed fixed on his as her head went back and forth.

As she continued blowing him, he saw her face shift back and forth between Callie’s and the Thai prostitute’s. His heightened guilt augmented his arousal as those moist lips and tongue slid and slithered back and forth along his length.

Is this me seeing both girls? he thought. Or is Callie somehow making me see this?

Finally, he came in her mouth, his body shaking as he shot every squirt down her throat. She swallowed every last drop greedily, as if dying of thirst. Grinning, she put his spent dick back in his pants and zipped him up. “OK, Doctor. I guess that’ll be all for now.”

“OK,” he panted, unsure whether to smile after getting the most amazing head, or to frown from his guilt. He took out his wallet.

“No, no,” she said, waving her hands. “I told you: my services are free tonight, as they will be from now on.”

“Very well, then. I’ll see you in my office next time.” He left the bar, still holding that wisp of beast hair between his fingers.

She grinned from the feeling of his ejaculation inside her body. Its energy, its mana, would be useful to her very soon.

***********

The next morning, Detective Surian was woken up by her ringing cellphone.

“Hello?” she said into it.

“Remember me, Detective?” the caller said in a rush. “I’m Sam. I helped you find the Yamas.”

“Oh, hello, Sam,” she said after a yawn. “What’s going on?”

“Hurry over to the dry-cleaners!” Sam said with agitation in his voice. “Something terrible has happened. You’ve got to see it. It’s too awful for me to describe. Hurry!”

She rushed over there in her car so fast, she forgot to call Thurston.

When she got there, though, she took out her phone to tell him. “Get over here, Andy,” she said. “I’m at the dry-cleaners. I know how the exorcism attempt worked out.”

She stood before the entrance to the dry-cleaners. Vanessa’s and Raymond’s bloody heads were on steel poles stabbed into the top of the wooden front door.

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Thirteen

“I never asked you before: how much did it cost you to fix the dent?” Thurston asked Surian as they got in her car with the Yamas, who brought with them a small gong, a jingle bell (to be shaken on a handle), and incense sticks.

“It cost far too much,” Surian said with a frown, then she put her key in the ignition.

“What caused the damage to your car?” Raymond asked.

“Not what, who,” Surian answered, starting the car.

“Was it Kluh?” Vanessa asked.

“Yes,” Thurston said. “She jumped high in the air and came down on the roof.”

“Don’t remind me,” Surian said, remembering also the bear attack from her teen years as she got the car on the road.

“What else can you tell us about Kluh?” Thurston asked.

“What else do you want to know, specifically?” Vanessa asked.

“Like, what motivates her to kill sometimes, and other times, just to lure you in for sex?” Surian asked.

“Well, there are many motives for her to kill,” Raymond said. “Revenge on, or protection from, a rapist. Also, any threat to her growing power–“

“Which means, my husband and I are putting ourselves in danger,” Vanessa said.

“Since you know the danger, are you sure you want to go through with this?” Surian asked.

“Yes, we must do this. Only we can stop Kluh,” Raymond said.

“And if she kills you?” Thurston asked.

“You’re all screwed, not just you two, but everyone,” Raymond said. “Vanessa and I are your best hope to send Kluh back to the spirit world. Of all the people in the Polynesian community in the Toronto area, we are the most knowledgeable in how to perform the kind of exorcism that can defeat this demon.”

“If you two fail, and she kills you,” Surian said, “Andy and I will be standing by to shoot her if necessary.”

“No!” Vanessa shouted. “You drop us off at Callie’s apartment, tell us her room number and the floor she lives on, and Raymond and I will do the rest. You must drive far away when we begin the ritual.”

“Why can’t we be with you?” Thurston asked.

“Because you’ll distract us,” Vanessa said.

“We’ll be quiet and stay out of your way,” Surian said.

“No!” Vanessa said. “Your very presence, your psychic energy, your mana, will contaminate the ritual. With any luck, no one else in the halls outside her room will interfere, psychically or physically. I’m hoping anyone she may have made love with in the apartment will not be anywhere near there.”

I’ll have to make sure ‘Super-stud’ isn’t at home, Surian thought, assuming what the Yamas is saying isn’t total bullshit.

“You see, she is acquainted with both of you,” Raymond said. “Certainly with Andy, in an intimate way. The more intimate you’ve been with her, the more you’ll contaminate the sacred space.”

I guess I’ll have to stay far away, too, Surian thought, remembering her encounter with Callie.

“Kluh can exploit the mana she’s absorbed from you, to thwart us in our attempt to exorcise her from Callie’s body,” Vanessa said.

“From Sandra Brahms’s body, as I told you before,” Surian said, then handed Vanessa a photo of Sandra. “This, I believe, is how ‘Callie’ originally looked.”

Vanessa looked at the chubby teenage girl in the photo, then showed it to Raymond before giving it back to Surian. “If our exorcism is successful, we can expect to see Callie’s body change into this Sandra girl’s,” Vanessa said. “But as I said before, you two mustn’t be present. We also fear Kluh will try to kill you if she kills us.”

“OK, we’ll stay away from your exorcism, if you insist,” Surian said. “We’ll wait for a phone call from either of you, and if we don’t hear anything by tomorrow, we’ll go to your dry-cleaning place, and if you’re not there, we’ll assume Kluh has killed you.”

“OK,” Raymond said.

“But what else can you tell us about Kluh?” Surian asked. “Why d0es she have sex with some people, and lets them live?”

“Well, sometimes she does it for pleasure, of course,” Vanessa said. “But always to take some of her lovers’ mana, and now that Kluh seems to have a permanent female body–that is, she isn’t moving from one girl’s body to another’s with every sexual encounter–we can assume this Sandra, or Callie, is her ideal female, her female mate, so now she’ll be looking for an ideal male as a mate, to make herself complete.”

“So, she’s looking for Mr. Right?” Surian asked.

“That’s a good way to put it,” Raymond said. “Remember that she builds power by merging opposites.”

“And the fusion of male and female is one of the most powerful kinds of a merging of opposites,” Vanessa said. “I’ll bet that psychiatrist she got naked for in the video is her chosen male mate. He doesn’t seem to be a lover she wants to have only one time.”

“Oh, yeah,” Thurston said, remembering the night of his encounter with Callie. “I saw her say goodbye to Dr. Visner in The Gold Star.”

“She’s getting regular psychotherapy sessions with Visner, too,” Surian said. “What will happen if the two of them…mate?”

“Kluh will be almost unstoppable,” Raymond said.

“Oh, come on!” Thurston said. “Can’t we kill her by filling her chest with bullets?”

“Only a hit dead-centre in her heart, or right in the middle of her brain, will send Kluh back into the spirit world,” Raymond said.

They arrived at the front of Callie’s apartment building, Surian parking at the curb of the sidewalk there. The Yamas got out of her car with their things for the exorcism ritual.

“Are you sure you don’t want us in there with you, in case Callie turns into that thing, claws you to death, then goes rampaging through the night?” Thurston asked, looking up at the setting sun.

“We’re absolutely sure,” Vanessa said with urgency in her face. “Drive far away, and don’t phone us until tomorrow morning, if you hear nothing from us tonight. Or, you can try to contact us at our shop tomorrow.”

“OK,” Surian said, looking around the area. “I have to make sure ‘Super-stud’ isn’t in his apartment…oh, wait. There he is; he’s leaving.” She spotted the first-floor neighbour who’d had Callie; he was walking away from the apartment in a uniform, about to do the night shift, apparently. “That’s convenient.”

“OK, we’ll contact you tomorrow if you haven’t said anything by then.” Thurston said. “She’s on the seventh floor, Room 717. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” the Yamas said together, then watched the detectives drive away. Once Surian’s car was far enough away to have disappeared from sight, Vanessa and Raymond felt comfortable to begin the ritual. They heaved a huge sigh together. They then each lit an incense stick for themselves, to carry with the gong and jingle bell stick.

They went through the front doors of the apartment building, and as soon as they were inside, Raymond began hitting the gong with a mallet, getting a gentle, ringing bass tone from it, and Vanessa began shaking the bells. They were playing a triple-time rhythm of one gong beat for every three shakes of the bells.

Vanessa pressed the button to bring the elevator down to the first floor. They got in the elevator. As soon as it began going up to the seventh floor, they, always playing their 3/4 rhythm, began whispering a mystic chant in their native Tahaiwi language.

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!” (Kluh, go back! [to the spirit world]) The whispering grew louder as the elevator rose up the floors.

By the time they reached the seventh floor, the door opened, and they stepped out of the elevator, the whispering had grown to a loud, vocalized chant.

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!”

They smelled the powerful pheromones, but their incense protected them from its hypnotic properties.

Vanessa began a twirling, hopping dance as she and Raymond went down the hall towards Callie’s apartment. They hadn’t needed to know the number: both the growing smell of the pheromones and their ability to sense the presence of Kluh led them to the right apartment–Room 717.

Vanessa continued twirling and hopping in front of Callie’s door. The Yamas were shouting the chant now: “Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!”

No one else in the apartment opened his doors to find out where the shouting was coming from. Everyone sensed the effectiveness of the ritual intuitively, even without a conscious understanding of the nature of Callie’s power. There was a collective feeling of hope that their apartment was soon to be freed of a vaguely evil presence.

Callie, nude from head to toe as usual, opened her door to receive the Yamas, as if she were being compelled to. She reacted to them almost like an automaton.

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!” They entered the room.

Raymond had to use all of his strength to resist the temptation to enjoy looking at her shapely, buxom body, to focus on the ritual, to remember that he loved his wife. Callie, having closed the door and turned around to face the exorcists, flitted back over to him, and danced around in front of him to entice him with her body.

Still, he and Vanessa carried on with the ritual, not allowing themselves to be distracted by Callie.

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!” they shouted to the 3/4 rhythm, over and over again, him hitting the gong, and Vanessa shaking the bells and doing her twirling, hopping dance.

“Don’t you want me, Raymond?” Callie purred at him, gyrating her hips and jiggling her tits before his eyes. “That wife of yours looks like a little elephant-lady, she’s so chubby. Don’t you think I’d be more fun in bed?”

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!” the Yamas repeated, as if Callie hadn’t said anything.

Callie frowned. “She’s mine!” she shouted. “Sandra Brahms is mine. You’re not taking her from me. Make love with me, Raymond, and I’ll let you live.”

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!”

Callie began faltering in her counter-exorcist, erotic dance. Now scowling, she said in the Yamas’ native Tahaiwi tongue, “Sandra is my mate. I searched a long time, all over the Earth, for centuries, to find the ideal female body to control, and Sandra Brahms is she! She’s perfect. A pretty face with a chubby body: beauty merged with plainness. She would have been modest, avoiding sex, but her stepfather made her into his whore: chastity and unchastity combined. She’s suffered, but I’ve made her happy: joy and sorrow united. She’s the perfect merging of opposites, to give me enough mana to make me more powerful than anyone could ever know. She’s my mate, she’s mine! I have her male mate in my sights, too, and he’ll be mine soon!”

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!”

Callie fell to the floor in front of the living room sofa, on which a white blanket lay. She began shaking all over, as if having an epileptic seizure.

“Please,” she said in the whining, pleading voice of a frightened teen, “Get this demon out of me. I just want to be Sandra again. Please, help me!”

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!” The Yamas drew closer to her as they continued chanting.

Callie’s body started changing. She became shorter. Her pubic hair grew back. She lost her shapely curves, her body growing rotund, like Vanessa’s.

Nude Sandra looked up at the two chanting exorcists, who were staring at her with ritual intensity. Blushing, she pulled the blanket over herself.

“Thank you,” she said in a tremulous voice, her eyes avoiding theirs as they continued their chanting, shaking the bells, banging the gong, and dancing up close to her.

The chanting of “Kluh, sa-bang, Kluh, sa-bang” grew softer and softer until becoming the whisper it had been in the elevator. The Yamas, even closer to Sandra now, bent down to get a good look at her to make sure she really had Kluh exorcised from her.

Raymond was still hitting the gong, though softer, and Vanessa was still shaking the bells…softer and softer. They looked into Sandra’s eyes.

They never noticed the hairs snaking out of her arm follicles.

“Unh!” they grunted together when they felt her stabbing claws dig into their guts.

The tall, curvaceous, hairy beast grinned, looking down at the two bloody bodies lying on the floor.

**************

Late that night, Surian and Thurston were sitting together in a café with their cellphones lying next to their half-drunk coffees.

“Come on, Vanessa,” Surian said. “Call me!”