The New Neighbor

again.

He bit his lip and fought back the urge to close his fist and drive the splinters in deep, just to feel the pain and have something real to scream about, because a scream was rolling inside him – a bright flaming red scream – building up, pressing at his throat from below, and he was opening his mouth to let it out when -

– Karen sat up in bed and croaked, 'Whahappened? What's… why's it so cold in… the window… Monroe… did Monroe get out?'

'I hope so,' he growled in a voice like two wet rocks being rubbed together hard. 'And I hope his fur's lining somebody's fucking tires.' He stormed out of the room, not bothering to don his robe. His erection was still pounding uncomfortably, almost painfully. In the bathroom, George found the tweezers and began to pick the splinters out one at a time, holding his hand close to his face, cursing and wincing with each biting tug, then tossing them into the toilet.

And his penis remained rock-hard.

He finished his left hand and started on the right, fingers trembling, lips moving rapidly and quietly as he breathed obscenities -

'… fucking splinters… like picking hairs from a goddamned caterpillar… shit-eating reporters with their fucking vans and fucking microphones… goddamned window, what the fuck happened to the goddamned window… '

– and grew steadily angrier, moving faster, as if he were pressed for time. He was, in a way; George knew that if he did not finish the tedious plucking soon, he was going to put his hand through the medicine cabinet mirror, just slam his fist through the glass, that ought to take care of the fucking splinters, that ought to cut the little fuckers out, by god, then he wouldn't have to -

'Want me to do that for you?'

The voice was so soft, it almost failed to penetrate George's intense concentration, and it was only when he realized he was no longer alone in the room that he knew he'd actually heard it, but he still wasn't sure what the voice had said, so he looked up, frowning.

Jen stood in the doorway smirking, wearing a tight blue crop-top and panties, her eyes half-closed, blonde hair a medusa-like tangle around her face.

'What?' George barked. 'Oh, uh, yeah, I've just, um… got some… splinters, is all.'

'Want me to do that for you?' she said again. She wasn't staring at his hand.

Suddenly, George became aware of his nakedness again, crushingly aware of it, and he dropped the tweezers into the sink to reach for a towel, but Jen stepped in front of him and took his hand.

'I promise I won't hurt you.' Her eyes darted between his face and his cock, lingering below his waist a bit longer each time.

George said, 'Just go on, okay? I'll do it, just go -'

She reached out casually and wrapped her fingers around his erection, 'It's a lot bigger and harder than Robby's.'

George blanched and slapped her hand away, stepped back abruptly and blurted, 'Robby's? You've – you mean you've – Robby's been – what have you -' His fingers curled into hooks and his jaw worked, clacking this teeth together, 'Oh, yeah,' he hissed, thinking, There's a sickness in this house all right, but it ain't the fuckin' fluuu! 'Get out!' he roared. 'Go on, get out, I'll deal with you later. And Robby, too. Where's Robby? Where the hell is Robby?'

She stumbled backward, her eyes opening to their full size and a little beyond. 'He's… in his ruh-room.'

'Well you tell him to stay there because I'm gonna be coming for him in just a few minutes, you understand? Now get your ass out of here!'

Jen backed out of the bathroom and pulled the door closed.

“Son of a bitch!' George rasped, pacing the bathroom. 'I've got a seventeen-year-old son who's – my god, what's happening? What the fuck is -'

He stopped. Stood in front of the mirror, his chest heaving. Stared at himself for a moment.

He was pale, thinner than usual, and the creases in his forehead seemed to be deeper than ever before.

And his cock was pounding…

… tingling…

… echoing the touch of Jen's cool hand…

'Sshhhit,' he groaned, sitting on the toilet, his right hand stinging.

The tingling. It wouldn't go away.

He touched his cock, rubbed it as if he could wipe the feeling away, but he only leaned his head back, closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing it again. And again. And again, squeezing out its thick fluid and slicking it over the shaft as he thought about Jen’s hand… her smooth, cool hand…

'God,' he whispered, and it sounded a little like a sob, a dry, sickened, miserable sob. 'My… god.'

When he came, George moaned behind closed lips and collapsed against the side of the sink, pressing his cheek to the cold surface of the counter and drawing long, deep breaths.

* * * *

Robby sat on his bed in his robe, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clenched together. The local news station, KQMS, was playing on the radio and Robby rocked back and forth, tapping a knuckle to his pursed lips as he waited anxiously for the story. He'd heard a teaser earlier, but nothing more.

It would come soon enough, he was sure.

Pastor Quillerman had told him to leave Prosky's car parked at the curb outside -'It won't be the first abandoned car on this street,' he'd said – then he'd driven Robby home and told him to get some sleep. But that had been impossible, so he'd just gone to bed and stared at the ceiling until dawn. He had not even wanted to come home.

'You should be there, Robby,' the pastor had said. 'You should all be together now, you need one another.'

Robby had been surprised by Pastor Quillerman's reaction to his story, by his immediate acceptance of it as truth.

After collapsing in Quillerman's doorway, Robby awoke several minutes later on the sofa with Quillerman kneeling beside him, waiting with a cup of hot tea and an encouraging smile.

'I think you're going to be okay, Robby,' the pastor said. 'But you look like you've been through one very unpleasant experience. Want to talk about it?'

Robby sat bolt upright, swung his legs off the side of the sofa and leaned toward Quillerman.

'Pastor, you've gotta help me, you've gotta help my family, all of them, my whole neighborhood, th-they're… something's wrong with them.'

Quillerman frowned, handed Robby a tea and sat on the sofa beside him. 'Exactly what is wrong with them?'

Robby didn't know how to tell him. 'I don't know, they're all so… angry. Everyone is fighting or yelling all the time or not talking at all and… and… ' Robby closed his eyes a moment, embarrassed. 'There's a lot of, um, sex going on in my neighborhood these days.'

'Do you know what's causing all this?'

Robby nodded. 'The new neighbor.'

Quillerman released a long, heavy sigh as he looked down at his maimed hand. 'Tell me, Robby. Everything.'

So Robby had done exactly that, although he choked on the word 'succubus,' certain the pastor would think he was on drugs. But Quillerman nodded slowly and listened. When Robby was finished, Quillerman was silent for a long time. Then he looked Robby in the eye and said, 'You were right to come to me. You should have come