Title: Under the House|
Author/Artist/Handle: Juxian Tang
Category/Subcategory: horror/abuse, original
Fandom/Series Name: original
Warnings: rape, horror, bizarre
UNDER THE HOUSE
He was a small man, 5'8" at most and 120 pounds with the boots. His baggy
jeans and loose shirt only underlined his thinness, making him look like a
twelve-year-old boy dressed in his elder brother's clothes. However, I could
see the minute web of wrinkles around his baby-blue eyes screwed up against the
sun. He didn't have any sun-glasses or didn't want to put them on - and it made
his face strangely open and vulnerable. He stood with his hand resting on the
brink of the raised lid of his gorgeous car and he was absolutely lost.
I would hardly stop for him - and judging upon the feeble wave of his
fingers when I was approaching he didn't hope I would. The thing was that
fifteen minutes ago he had overtaken me on the road - the beautiful
golden-sandy Chrysler-Vision - and as I peered following it with my eyes he
suddenly turned to me - and there was a happy, easy, self-sufficient smile he
sent - not a usual inconvenient smile of an unfamiliar man but something so
warm and accepting that I'd barely seen before.
And now he was standing at his car, in the broiling sun, and his look was
both unobtrusive and unexpecting. I parked my shabby Ford a little in front of
him and walked out. It was not that I knew a lot about the cars - but at least
I could try. I don't know; somehow I hated the idea of him being left here,
waiting for another car - and I was well aware it could take another hour until
it. I would give him a lift, I decided - if he wanted.
"Hi," he made one more reluctant motion with his hand and the corners of his
lips raised in a miserable attempt of smile. "Thank you, really. I was afraid I
would have to wait here for quite a while."
His voice was melodic and intelligent, with a kind of funny blend in it - as
if he was shy speaking. He was rather young, I noticed again. In his twenties,
"What happened?" I came up to the car and looked at the engine.
"I have no notion," at my side I felt his shrug. "It just balked."
"Well..." I mused. The insides of the engine seemed absolutely new and - to
my humble knowledge - not tampered. I set my hand upon the slightly dusty wing
of the car and looked thoughtfully.
When I felt the pain - it was so sharp and unexpected that at the first
moment I couldn't understand if it was hot or cold. The pang shot into my hand
like a great stinger and I glanced there - and it made me gape with what I had
to see. There was a syringe stuck into the back of my hand - and the man was
pushing the last drops out of it into me.
For a blink the utter shock of pain and surprise made me dumb. I did started
speaking - but it was only:
"What the hell..." and then this flabbergasting hot-cold sensation in my
hand suddenly exploded - and the wave flooded my body, leaving it stiff and
I still felt how I flopped on my knees and then on my side - but the last
thing I remembered before my head hit the asphalt was the soft fingers trying
in vain to catch me.
I was sure it took some time until I started realizing something again. I
was in the darkness - but I couldn't say if it was a dark place or if I was
blindfolded. I couldn't understand either if I was tied or fastened in any
other way - or the numbness was the after-effect of the drug that had been
injected to me. I was not able to move any of my limbs. The only thing I felt
was my tongue. And it was pressed to something having distinct rubber taste; I
couldn't expel it out of my mouth. I was gagged. The place where I was rocked
slightly. The boot of the car, I thought. It well might be. There never was
anything wrong with this Chrysler.
After a long while the rocking quitted. I lay still - well, it was the only
thing I could do, even if my thoughts were in a frantic state. And then, very
swiftly, the darkness in front of my eyes retracted - and I blinked painfully
at the yellow electric light I had to face. The black shadow splitting the
light in the middle was the fragile form of my captor.
As soon as I could see I noticed the changes in him. He still was dressed
the same way - and his brown sleek hair was dusty and disheveled with the wind
- but any shade of reluctance left his features. Now he looked at me with the
sharp coldness of an explorer. It made me strain.
"Get up," he spoke and his voice was bleak. I tried to move. After some
ridiculous attempts I succeeded. I tumbled out of the boot and landed on my
knees in front of him. Not only I had a gag in my mouth. My hands were tied
behind my back and my ankles were tied together, too. I didn't feel any
circulation in my feet.
"Crawl on your knees. Forward."
He could seem defenseless on the road. Now he had complete control. I didn't
have any choice except to obey him. I couldn't even ask what was going on.
It was not possible he wanted anything I had, I thought, shuffling one
tiniest step after another. My ankles fastened together practically deprived me
from the advance. I was scraping my knees on the floor moving forward for
inches. He had to be very well off - according to his car and to the vast
underground garage we were in. Ransom? I didn't have no one relative in the
world that could pay it for me. Might he mistake me for somebody? I stuck to
the idea - because it was bringing some hope to me, probably. As soon as he was
going to take the gag out I would tell him my name and he would understand I
was not the one he needed. Whoever he needed.
My knee-walk didn't last long. I saw the doors of the elevator in front of
me - and when they opened I crawled inside, with my kidnapper following me.
"Sit on your heels."
I watched him pressing the top button on the panel. There were only three of
them and the middle one was lit.
When the elevator stopped I walked out. I moved where the guiding hand
showed me - so slowly - but it was only in several yards now: a spacious
bed-room with the big wooden bed in the center. I crawled over the threshold -
and at the same moment the piercing feeling bit me in the back of my neck. For
a blink I felt the gentle palm of the man touching me - and I thought "Oh, not
again!" - and stopped feeling and thinking.
This time, I suppose, I was back sooner. And I was able to clarify my
position at once. I was still in the room I had entered before. I could see the
bright window on the right of me and the immaculate ceiling above. I was prone
in the bed and my hands and feet were stretched widely and fixed. I was not
gagged any more. And I was undressed.
When I realized it I felt my cheeks blushed. If I raised my head to look in
front of me I could see my own naked body, shamelessly exposed. Because I was
so spread-eagled my rib-cage seemed prominent - and my belly hollow - and the
worst of it - my fluffy bush of hair in its bottom part and my genitals in the
shadow between the legs were displayed, too. I could move my wrists and ankles
very slightly - the straps that fixed me were leather ones and they didn't cut
into the skin - but I couldn't do anything to cover myself.
Because of shame or whatever I was chilly. It was a weird thing, really.
This summer in New England was the hottest one in ten years - and here in the
room the air was icy cold and wet; it enveloped me all over, making me shiver.
By the time the man appeared again I was already frozen. And I was scared
really deeply, I have to say. The silence in the room was so absorbing that it
rang in my ears - and even though I could hope somebody might hear me from
behind the window (well, for all I knew it could be just one of old houses in
the North-End of Boston) I didn't dare to scream.
The man was clothed in the thick woolen jumper with turtle-neck now - so, at
least, I didn't imagine the cold, I thought. His face was neither hostile nor
kind. He had a square box of the dictophone in his hands and a video-camera.
"Why do you..." I started - at last I had the chance! - and was stunned with
the awkwardness of my tongue. The man dropped a glance at me, turned on the
dictophone and said there:
"16:11. The second application has worn out. The condition is stable."
I became mute. There were several things that made me dumbfounded. It was
four o'clock! And I stopped for him on the road at nine in the morning! Well,
whether there was a day passed or a week didn't make real difference for me.
The classes were over till September and until then nobody would ask where I
But what astonished me the most was the man's tranquil business-like tone.
He was a psycho, I thought. The question was what plans he had for me.
He put the video-camera on the floor but didn't turn it on. Instead of it he
approached and brought the dictophone to his mouth again.
"Joshua Atwood," he said my name. As soon as I started wondering how he
could knew it I realized he had found my driver's license. He was walking along
the bed, without taking his gaze from me. And I couldn't tear my eyes from him,
too. His even voice was hypnotizing.
"What are you going to do to me?"
The man stopped abruptly. Calm blue eyes studied me - and the hand with the
dictophone slid down.
"What do you think I am going to?"
"God!" I realized I tried to shrug - and hurt my shoulders. "I don't know!
Why did you capture me?"
Fear and hope washed me in alternating waves. He looked so frail, his face
alabaster-white, without any shade of beard, and his hands, half-hidden with
the sleeves of the jumper, seemed child-like small. What harm could he bring to
me? And still I knew he could do a lot of harm. The two injections he made left
burning spots on my hand and on my neck, with all my body stiffening in cold.
And the most startling was this serene expression - full of merely mild
"You will know soon," he said placidly.
"What is your name?" in some article I read about people taken hostages or
something like that - and you were supposed to make contact with the captor. I
didn't think he would tell me.
"Lance Mailer," he said. There was some little note in his voice - as if he
was checking whether I could know him. I didn't react. His eyes wandered along
my body and when he smiled - another kind of his smile for me today - there was
something derisive in his lips. "Did you ever make sex with a man?"
"No," I answered quickly. "Do you want me to?.."
I had the thought before. Well, taking into account the position he had me
"I might," he smiled again. "It won't matter. It will even make it easy for
you, maybe. Though I doubt..."
"You can do it," ooh, I knew he surely could do it - and how I hated it! -
but I thought I'd better go along with him. Even in this worst case - it would
be just sex. "You don't have to hurt me. You don't have to be cruel to me."
"I don't want to hurt you," he said. There was something in his voice that
made me shudder - even though I stopped feeling cold a while ago. It was not
that I didn't believe him. I believed him.
"I won't tell anyone," I went on hastily, trying to reassure him from what
he could have against me.
"So, you will cooperate with me?" Lance said levelly. I stopped babbling.
And what else could I do?
"Yes," I said. To hell everything, a lot of guys do it with men just because
they like it!
"Will you enjoy it?"
"I don't know. Why not?" my voice became as flat as a sheet of paper. I
guess I was quite pale in face by now.
"You said it yourself," he resumed. I stared at him when he stripped quickly.
He shivered and chuckled involuntarily with cold.
Now I want to say, he didn't look disgusting to me. With me being rather
skinny I always admired the guys with muscles and so on - but I guess I would
be far more terrified right now if one of these would claim his making love to
me. The thing about Lance was that he looked almost boyish - white-skinned,
with very few hair, in his arm-pits and on his pubis mostly, and bony.
His cock was not childish, however. It was about 7", uncircumcised and rigid
- and it was the sight of it that brought some sickness to me.
"I will like to do it to you, you see," he said - and I registered the shade
of his previous reluctance back. "You are so very nice, Joshua."
He lay over me, finishing his speech. His light body was pleasantly hot,
even though he already had gooseflesh. He crawled back a little and covered us
with a blanket that was folded in the foot of the bed. His soft palm lay on my
cheeks and he closed his face to mine.
Now I cloud see he still was pretty young. I couldn't even define his age
exactly. He could be as young as twenty-four or something. It was his eyes that
were deceptive - the most tired and... and knowing eyes I've ever seen.
"Kiss me, okay, Joshua?" his lips whispered and I felt his gentle tongue in
my mouth. His chest was pressed to my chest, his legs stretched between mine -
and his erect organ was poking in my belly above my own flabby genitals.
"You are sweet, you know," Lance muttered breaking our kiss that never
became mutual. "Just as I thought you would. I enjoy you. And he... he will,
His breath was hot sliding down along my neck. I felt he licked me - my
collar-bones and between them. I didn't look at him - I had some pains because
I had been cold and now I started warming up. He took my nipple between his
thumb and forefinger and rolled it gently. It couldn't turn me on. I continued
to look upwards, feeling him squeezing my nipples. He sucked one, then the
other for a little while.
When his hand slunk to my perineum I flinched really. It was not of pain.
Under my balls his soft-skinned palm felt very hot and almost puzzled me. My
former girl-friend never touched me like this. But he didn't stop. As soon as
Lance's careful fingers found my anus I clamped myself shut.
I knew I didn't have to do it. Let him have what he wanted. But as the thing
was so close I started panicking. I sucked breath so noisily and without
control that it annoyed me. I heard Lance whispering something to me - or I
only fancied it. He spat on his palm and wetted me there. It almost made me
dizzy - the feeling of his saliva against my crack, cooling there. He moistened
his cock next - and here we go! - I felt him pushing it to my hole.
It hurt a lot when he got himself in - but, well, I could stand it. The
sensation of something of this size filling me was dazzling. I breathed with
his movements. Lance had his hands on my shoulders, digging his fingers in my
skin - but it was not too bad, his nails had to be really short.
His warm belly was slapping against my pubis - and there was a smacking
sound of his member thrusting into me. I didn't know what squelched so loudly
there. Rather repulsively some liquids were leaking out of me. Every time he
sent his shaft through the ring of my anus I felt some sharp minor pain. But,
apart from it, the feeling of something penetrating me, stuffing me from the
wrong end, was just stunning.
Lance started panting and the slamming motions of his bottom belly speeded
up. I made a guess he was coming. He inhaled sharply, as if he had sore throat
or something - and he mumbled some words under his nose; I could discern them
but I didn't understand them:
"Chaugnar Faugn! Nyarlathotep! Cthulhu!"
He breathed in - and then he dropped his head on my chest and bit me there.
It really made me wince. His teeth injured me. But I could stand it, too, I
thought. Lance banged me really heavily several times more - and then more warm
fluids washed me inside.
For a while he lay on me without taking his cock out. The little flow of
blood trickled on my chest. Both his and my breaths normalized.
"Aah," he moaned thinly dragging his prick out of me. The feeling was odd.
To tell the truth, it seemed to me he fucked a channel in me, empty now. "Oh,
Joshua!" he moved his face seeing how he had bitten me and there was some
remorse in his tranquil voice. He lapped on the blood casually. "I was looking
for you for so long!"
"Lance," I called him. "You didn't do it before, right?"
He exhaled sharply through his nose and I felt his head nodding.
"No, I didn't."
I didn't know what to say. I knew only one thing - well, only one thing I
wanted to know: he didn't hurt me too bad until now. I wanted to ask him if he
would let me loose - but I feared to frighten him off. He curled half on me,
half on the bed, with his head on my chest, and he fingered my chest hair
"Why is it so cold here?" I asked after a while.
"Ah, this..." he paused a little and answered absent-mindedly. "He needs
He tinkered with me some more, kissing my mouth and pinching my tits. My
muscles ached with the stretching but I could bear it nevertheless. I was
thankful that he stayed with me - because like that I was covered with the
blanket almost entirely. My hands, fixed a bit above, were icy, however.
When Lance pulled the blanket open it was dark behind the big window. I was
mildly surprised how many hours we spent like that. He dressed quickly, without
taking care about me. He turned the light on. Under the electric lamp he became
to look older again. His face seemed remote to me.
"Now I'll untie you," he said. "You are not going to do any silly things,
"Okay," I said. Was he letting me go? I saw him turning some lever at the
bed post - for a moment the stretching of my limbs became unbearable - and then
the shackles hung slack.
"Stand up slowly," Lance said. When I did it - God, the floor under my bare
feet was like ice! - I understood I wouldn't be able to do silly things
regardless if I wanted it or not. After the half-day in the rack-like position
I barely could toddle.
Lance had the video-camera in his hand. Somehow apprehensively I looked at
it. I knew he didn't film us - but even the thought about it was bitterly
"Go to the lift," he said passing me forward. That was it! He was releasing
me. Or he was going to kill me, suddenly I thought with sickening feeling. But
I still hoped. I linked my hope to the comparative kindness he showed me in bed
- and to the time we spent together even without doing anything.
"My clothes..." I started in order to comfort myself.
"Don't worry," he cut me short.
It was too near to the elevator for me to become mad with fear. Lance waited
for me to step inside. He didn't follow - and I felt hope again. He put the
video-camera on the floor instead.
"When the lift stops," he said calmly and deliberately, as if urging me into
obedience, "put it on the gap between the doors, lens outside, and push the
button. Then get out."
I didn't know what his instructions meant. But it looked like a good sign
for me that he trusted me to do something, even incomprehensible. He reached
his hand and pressed the button on the panel inside the elevator - the bottom
one. I looked at his face while the doors slid together.
"Joshua," he said. "I am really fond of you, you know."
It was a long way. So long that I couldn't count if it took minutes. So long
that it was only possible if I were going to the top floor of a sky-scraper.
But I was going down. And when it stopped moving it was so cold that it hurt. I
stepped out and set the video-camera the way Lance told me.
* * *
"June 27, 199..." I breathed at my fingers, noticing the thin cloud of warm
air coming out of my mouth. The stream of coldness emanating from the lift
meant that Joshua had left the camera in the required way. Well, I thought he
It was twenty-six minutes since I sent Joshua to the lift. After all these
films I've seen I could guess what was going on right now. And, as always when
I thought about it, some dizziness overwhelmed me.
You see, I could spare myself from knowing. Well, as much as it was
possible, taking into account what my duties were. But since I had done it for
him for the first time - and mind you, when our father told me, I didn't agreed
at once, no, I was too afraid - since then year after year it fascinated me. I
put the photo-camera down at first, with the treat and simply alone. A lot of
pictures failed - taken too early, or with wrong recourse, or the lens was in
his shadow. But when I got one at last I yelped.
You know, when I was tiny he came upstairs some times. And then he seemed
hideous to me - a figure from nightmares, even though our parents tried to make
me get accustomed to him. Our father was always with him, keeping close to his
back as he stood in the doorway of my room and his expressionless eyes were
glued to me.
On this photo he was not expressionless. I had the picture framed and on the
wall now - and little by little I got used to seeing it. I put it on the wall
to get used, whatever it cost me. He was sitting on his haunches and looking
right to the camera with his small reddish eyes. It was when I for the first
time realized how big he was. It could be the reason why he didn't go up any
more - he could be too big for the lift cabin.
But what shocked me the most - not his form or the texture of his skin - it
was the clear and easily recognizable grimace on his face. He was contented. He
was ironic. And his upper limb was a little raised, as if he greeted me.
A while later, when I used the video-camera, I found out that he still could
speak - and sometimes - not often, fortunately - I heard my own name coming
from his strangely-shaped lips. I ran my fingers over the shelves in my working
room. Everything I knew, everything I found out, every name and every clip - it
was here, written and saved and stored. It was another thing that made me go
on, I thought sometimes. That I was the only one who had this knowledge.
I rubbed my hands against each other. Like dead things they were - white and
wooden. It was what I never could get used to - since I was a little boy -
cold. Well, I was not cold with Joshua under the blanket. Ooh, when I thought
about it - he was not just one more poor doomed waiting in the bed for the
hour. When I thought about it pleasure tossed and turned inside me in a tight
ball. He was so lovely - so light and slender and fair. I liked feeling him
under me when I fucked him. So patient he was, pliant and accepting.
But why, of course, he was not just one of many! He was one of us. Our kin.
There was a notebook I took from the shelf. The neat family tree drawn in
ink. Names and names and names. Our father started it - and I went on. It took
so long for me to find Joshua. Elsa Mailer, one of three sisters of Robert
Mailer, my grand-grand-father, married Douglas Atwood in 1912 and left the country.
I didn't know how to call this relationship. I called him my cousin for me. And
he didn't even grown with his family! He was turned away and adopted. And alone
now, with his foster parents dead. I felt the swell in my heart. A great ball
of warmth. Joshua.
"It was the first time for you, Lance?" he asked me.
Of course. It should have been like that.
I sat over the notebook for hours. Sometimes I caught myself on the thought
that I was listening to what happened under the house. There never was a sound.
But I heard when the elevator went up. I shook and stretched myself, waiting. I
knew I would need every bit of my strength.
Usually he returned them to me dead. I liked it this way much better then
when there was no much left of them - but they still breathed and annoyed me. I
learned how to finish them quickly - knocking out their vertebrae. But the worst
thing was when they were mad. It was really not to my nerves, you know - and I
started thinking then if I really needed it all, if my kin feeling was so sharp
- and if my promise to our father meant anything.
But, you see, I knew meanwhile that the issue was not the promise - or the
pity I felt to him - and really, he didn't have anyone except me - and I didn't
have anyone except him - but I liked to do what I was doing. It brought the
sense to my life - and it differed my life from anyone else's.
Joshua was not dead. I mean, he had to know who Joshua was - and what he was
for - and he restrained himself, as much as he could. When the lift stopped and
the doors slid open I stood for several seconds looking at the curled body on
the floor. I stepped inside. I checked the tape. The camera did its job okay. I
retrieved it and bent to my cousin.
His pretty-looking longish body was defected. I looked at his flaccid limbs
- he had at least one shoulder dislocated and one of his ankles was in the ring
of dark swelling, so, I guessed it could be broken. You see, I didn't know why
he broke them - and I couldn't say exactly even when I had the tapes. I guess,
maybe, he liked it.
I slid my hand around Joshua's neck, under his long fair hair, matted and
tangled now. I couldn't raise him, of course, but I tried to minimize the pain
while I would drag him. He made a sound. He had to be in his senses, even if he
didn't move. It was a kind of hiss coming out of his throat. His body was
burning cold and I thought that it could done at least the same damage to him
as the injuries.
There was only one his eye in the socket - and some bloody mess instead of
the other. His gaze was turned to me - but I was sure he was not able to
recognize me. Then his mashed, blackened lips trembled as if he wanted to say
If he was not what he was - if he was not supposed what he was supposed for
- I would turn him on his face and stop his life, at least because he was so
good with me by day. But I pulled and tugged him, and made him uncurl. His
belly was the purple blue mass of bruises and tender flesh - and I found the
place on it - two inches above his pubis. He quivered helplessly when I pressed
my hand there - but I felt it already. I felt the tiny beat of pulsation
against my palm from insides of his belly.
I exhaled. I stood up and grasped his body and tugged to the bedroom, making
myself deaf to the tiny heart-breaking wails he made.
* * *
The horror was with me even when the pain was abating. I was not conscious
all the time - but the last thing leaving me and the first coming back was the
realization of what was being done to me. I felt every little thing this being
was doing to me - cold, pain, taste, reeking, voice, blood filling my mouth,
pain again. I remembered it. I remembered it the same clear when I regained
consciousness in the bed of Lance Mailer.
It didn't kill me - and he didn't kill me either. I knew he had been doing
his own things with my body - probably fixing it. It hurt so much. While at
first I was stunned with the enormousness of pain and it seemed to flood me all
over, after a little while I started registering the separate sources of it. I
knew what this thing did to me to inflict this or that - but at times I
wondered remotely how could I realize it and still be in clear mind. I felt the
burning ball of pain instead of my genitals and I understood it must have torn
me when it penetrated me. I knew that more than one of my bones was broken.
It was twilight in the room when I was able to open my eyes. Well, my eye -
I felt the wet cloth clinging to my face in the place where the other had been.
It was the same bitter cold as always - but it was minor for me now; I could
dispense it. I felt some very urgent ache in my belly, approaching cramp-like,
as if wringing my bowels. I tried to move. Not that I wanted it - but I had
some vague idea that I had to know my position.
I was tied to the bed again. My arms were spread in crucified position but
my legs were not. There were some white bandages on them. In the vein of my
left hand there was a needle stuck - and I followed the tube with my eyes - to
the bottle of strange-looking dark-green liquid fixed over the bed. It made my
arm numb where it was coming in.
All my body was battered distastefully. Everywhere where I looked I saw it.
Part of me was terrified with it - and part disgusted. There was a visible
bulge on my stomach, right below my navel. It was prominent on my flat belly.
In the door I saw Lance Mailer entering. For a moment in silence he looked
at me with screwed up eyes - and then he turned on the light. I saw the box of
the dictophone in his hand again.
"June 28, 18:00," his soft voice didn't hold any emotions except mild
curiosity, maybe. It hurt to look at him, I found it almost unendurable - but I
followed him with my gaze. It hurt to speak with my burnt mouth but I thought I
"Why did you do it to me?"
For a split second it seemed that there was some embarrassment in his short
smirk - but then his expression became cold again.
"Because I had to."
I looked at him, swimming in pain and fear, and so tired that it almost
seemed all the same for me. Suddenly there was some animation in his calm
porcelain-like face. He stooped to me - and I cringed thinking that he could
touch me and hurt me.
"Do you know who he is?" he sounded fascinated. I convulsed inside, with
some immense effort taking myself under control. I shook my head. His tender
lips became curved ruthlessly and he almost sang. "Right! Nobody knows!"
His pale face was so close to mine - as if he was going to kiss me. I
watched the alteration of expressions on it.
"You know, our family lived here since 1700," suddenly he said
straightening. "People always thought us strange. The Mailer family, I mean.
There were rumors. About the children. Very wrong children. The ones nobody
never sees. Did you hear about it?"
It was so hard to speak - but I whispered hoarsely to him:
"How can I?"
He smiled again.
"But you are one of us, you know."
I lay exhausted. The conversation was wearing me out - and it didn't
distract me from the pains flooding my body. Lance stayed close to me - silent
for a while - and his soft palm lay down on the bulge on my belly and patted
"You could be my brother, Joshua," he said. "My on-the-earth brother. You
know what?" he bounced excitedly all of a sudden. "Look here! Look, will you
He moved. In front of me the two sliding doors moved apart and revealed the
huge screen of the video center. I saw him pushing the tape in. I was mute for
a moment when it started. Just dumbfounded. And in this pause he spoke pointing
at the screen:
"Look, what is it? What he is doing to you? Explain me!"
I heard my own scream rising in my chest. It rang in my ears louder than the
sounds coming from the screen. I screwed my eye up shut and screamed again. I
was in more pain than before - making such fierce movements - but I didn't
care. I wanted to die - of pain or of anything else - just so that not to have
to look at it.
Perhaps I fainted because when I looked again there was nothing on TV. Lance
was at my side, his gentle hands pawing my face, quite delicate with my empty
hurting socket. I realized my face was wet - with sweat or with tears.
"Don't," Lance said almost tenderly. "Don't, my dear cousin."
He readjusted the needle in my forearm and left.
Next time when he came back I was struggling with the pain. The most part of
my body felt it getting dull, calming down almost imperceptibly. The only one
thing that was going wrong was the pain in my belly. I tried to reason myself
that it couldn't be - I was recovering, not getting worse. But it grew - and it
seemed to me that the swelling inside me became bigger, as if my belly was
bloating from inside.
Lance had a glass with him and he brought it to my mouth. I was bitterly
dehydrated by them - but the pain when he touched my burned lips was
unendurable. He grasped my head and held my this way while I drank. His
emotionless eyes slid over my body.
"What is it?" I asked when I finished the drink. "What is it with my
His face changed.
"Ah," he dropped easily. "It is his baby. You are bearing a child."
His words didn't make sense. He went on.
"He came into you, remember it?"
With a flash of black lightening I recalled how after this thing had
splashed its boiling semen onto my body and in my mouth - then it stayed in me
while coming - and I felt the fluid fire ball burning out my insides.
There was nothing funny in it - and still less in the pain that was mauling
my bowels - but somehow I giggled.
"But I am male," I said wearily. Lance's hands were on the roundness of my
belly again, palpating and caressing it.
"It doesn't matter," he said. "He doesn't need womb to grow. It is in your
abdomen. Feel it?" I jerked with the cramp that shot pain through my insides.
"Don't worry. This is your guts giving way to it."
I didn't believe him. I couldn't. He came after a little while again and
measured the bulge with the roulette and he recorded to his dictophone:
"Day three. The egg's diameter is eight comma three inches, the blunt edge
is turned down. The pulsation is stable and steady."
I was incoherent. The pain was pretty wretched - and it was only increasing
with every hour. Lance made me drink again and restored the liquid in the
bottle attached to the needle. He looked light and fresh for me - close to
eighteen-year-old. Or, maybe, it seemed - because I felt so worn-out and
desperate. The thing inside me grew - whatever it was - and I couldn't deny it
any more. It was prominent under the stretched skin of my belly - and I could
already discern the egg shape Lance spoke about.
"It hurts," I said to him next time when he came. I knew he wouldn't
sympathize me, still less do anything to relieve me. But my torment was too big
to be silent.
"I know," his hands were soft on my moist cheeks. "It is because it crumples
your organs. They are being rearranged for the child."
I was vaguely aware about time passing - the light and the darkness
interchanging behind the window. My belly was huge blown. Every time I looked
down at myself I saw only the round bulging sphere of my stomach. It was
prominent not only below my navel but above it, too.
I had problems with breathing. When Lance came to me I tried to say about it
- but my words robbed me from even this little amount of air. I felt thick
blood leaking out of my nose.
"It is your diaphragm," his expression was a bit solemn. "I can't do
He sat for a while with me, stroking my belly with his palms and pressing
his lips to it. His breath and his smooth cheek was stunningly warm on my icy
skin. He spoke something into my belly - but again I didn't know the words or
With more time passing I became so hypoxic that my vision was blackened. My
own shallow, helplessly frequent breath was the only sound I was aware of. I
couldn't moan because I didn't have air for it. But even if I had I wouldn't
probably. The pain was for so long that I was past vocalizing it. I knew that
my bladder was so squeezed that it didn't keep anything in - I was seeping piss
all the time. I felt that there was something expelling out of my rectum - but
it was minor in comparison with the pain and lack of the air.
I didn't know if it was dark or I just couldn't see anything when I got to
know Lance's presence in the room. The pain in my horribly bloated belly came
to the new turn. I felt the steady rhythm of pulsation inside me - so strong
and insistent that it was tearing me, tearing my unbearably tensed skin. I
groaned feebly with every insufficient breath I still could make.
"Yes, yes, it is coming," I heard Lance hissing over me. There was tiny
clinking of some metal things close to me. And then there was a great sharp
pain gnawing in me from both sides - from outside and from inside of me. I
thrashed as much as I could - and I couldn't much. The pain was ripping me
open. I felt blood flooding my belly - and through the pain there were soft
palms of Lance Mailer submerging into me. And I felt him taking something huge
out of me - and though I was half-mad I knew what it was - he was receiving the
"Here, here, you are my beauty," I heard him repeating.
I lay open, knowing that my belly was cut in the middle, displaying all my
destroyed guts there - and blood was getting cold on my body. And I listened to
the screechy inhuman voice crying close to me. And then I felt the weight that
was put on my ripped stomach - and even with all the wetness of my blood I could
feel the clammy texture of the little body on me. The little sharp claws stuck
into my skin, under my ribs, pulling the body upwards. The familiar scent -
something like from depth of the sea, rotting water-plants, maybe - I felt it
again. I felt the slimy muzzle approaching my face, as if looking into it - but
I had my eye tight shut. Every my muscle trembled.
And then the being crawled downwards on me again - and I felt his keen tiny
teeth clasping on my nipple - and on the drawn blood it started sucking.
When I came back again there was almost no pain. I didn't know if it meant I
was dying - practically dead - or what. I was still and letting my senses
return to me slowly. Cold. Cold was here every moment, even when I was not here
enough to feel it. My stretched numb arms and wrists were fixed tightly. I was
in the same bed again. Well, I guess I never left it.
Carefully I raised my head. And what I saw made me understand how much time
had to pass since I fainted. I had the scar on my belly that was absolutely
flat again - on the left of my navel, very long and very rough looking, ugly.
But it was not too fresh.
So, I survived, I thought. I went through it - I remembered, oh, it was not
something one could forget. Was it over? I didn't know.
There was Lance Mailer entering the room. His lips curled in smile when he
met my gaze. It was uncomfortable to look at him with the huge dark spot on the
place of my right eye and I turned my head awkwardly. He approached me - and
there was some exhilarating expression on his white face.
"You know," he said, "I am proud with you, Joshua."
I didn't answer. I waited.
"You are even closer to our kin now," he said confidentially. "You fathered
my nephew, you know it?" and then his voice became sing-sang again, as it
happened before. "Ain't I great? I healed you - I managed! I could keep you
I didn't feel like speaking. And thanks God - he didn't insist. He washed my
body - his hands with the wet rag sliding over my chest lazily, caressing. He
was saying something to me; something almost tender.
He gave me to drink. After he had taken the glass from my lips he kissed my
mouth, licking the residuals of the drink from my lips. When he touched my face
I felt there was no bandage on my empty socket any more.
"Lovely, my lovely cousin!" he whispered in my mouth, fingering my hair. I
was prone and motionless under what he wanted to do. There was no pain in my
body - and he didn't hurt me. He lapped on my torn nipple, even though there
was no blood here and his gentle fingers nibbled on the freaky seam on my body.
He didn't take off his clothes when he lay down on me. His woolen jumper was
soft on my skin.
Lance was playing with my scar, passing his tongue over it up and down, wet
and warm. His smooth tender cheek pressed to my pubis and he breathed into my
hair and chuckled mildly and licked me there. He took my prick into his mouth -
but it stayed soft and useless all the time. I even thought he didn't want me
to get hard - and I couldn't. Maybe, I would never be able to. His small
delicate digits groped for my balls. It was not painful - even though I had
thought once it would be forever.
I felt him touching my anus - and I knew I had stitches there, too. He
caressed me there, his hand light and playful.
"I am crazy about you, Joshua, you know," he whispered. "I want to fuck you
so much that I go mad. But I won't. Not today. You see, I was asked to restrain
for a while."
He lay in the same pose - with his head on my chest and his slight body
curled at my side - as he had lain on the day before he turned me to his
brother under the house. I didn't say anything. I didn't feel anything - and
somehow it seemed pleasurable for me - to be spared from pain.
When it was evening he got up, left and returned with the video-camera in
his hands. I shivered seeing it. I couldn't stand the sight of it. He put it on
the fixture and said before raising his dictophone to his mouth:
"I am not supposed to be here, I guess. But I would like to see it. July 15,
199... Joshua Atwood," he was speaking to the dictophone, "and Taarkh Gwaan
He walked out. I lay and didn't think and wandered my eyes around the room.
It was quite a while after when I heard the elevator going up. And even
before that I felt the current of freezy cold filling the room. It was
long-long while the elevator was going. Then its doors resounded sliding to the
sides - and on the floor I heard the steady slap of the steps - wet and heavy.
I didn't shut my eye from it. I faced it when it entered.
It was bigger than me. Not so big as the adult one, however. Its bones under
dark skin resembled human. Its face didn't, however.
I was regulating my breath with effort. I put all my strength and my
thoughts into the process of normal breath. It stopped at the bed and looked at
me - right locked with its eyes on my own. And then the place of his head where
his mouth could be stretched aside - and even though there was nothing human in
his expression I understood the mimic. It smiled to me.
It was swarming on my body. The heaviness almost prevented me from breathing
- but he was not rude. Not like that one. When he was so close the reeking was
unbearable. He held my face in his huge long-fingered hands. His lips moved. He
was speaking to me. Mostly I didn't understand the words - but as I caught the
recognizable ones sometimes I knew he was speaking English.
His half-foot long tongue wound out of his mouth and touched my empty
socket. I couldn't breath with the smell. I shuddered under him unable to
control myself. He put his mouth upon mine and filled it with his tongue. His
claws were not small any more - and even if he didn't want to injure me I felt
the little trickle of blood on my cheek-bone from under one of them. He was
licking with his tongue inside my mouth and deep in my throat.
I felt his organ erect. Solid as one more limb and the same big it was and
it was heavy on my belly with its round blunt tip. I knew what I would feel
when he raised himself on his upper limbs and rearranged it into my perineum. I
didn't stay still. I thrashed and arched under him when he thrust this thing
into me. I felt the stitches and my flesh torn and blood soaking into the
sheets under me.
He held me tightly with his weight and with his claws when fucking me - and
I felt more blood running from where his claws entered my face. It was how I
had lost my right eye then.
The speed of his thighs beating on my body was inhuman. And the same was the
pain that was ripping my rectum under his organ. He was fucking me into
helpless doll, flat and broken.
And then he suddenly yanked his rigid cock out of me and I convulsed with
pain of my rectum tearing out of me. But he raised once again - and I felt the
splash of his burning semen leaking out on my belly.
I gasped. I was mute with the pain of the scalding liquid steaming on my
skin. His clammy huge body dropped on me again - and the low strange voice
whispered into my ear:
"Sorry, father. I don't want to make you pregnant again. At least not yet."