She’s okay. She’s okay. She has to be okay.
“Come back to me, Mommy,” I whisper into the pool of tears in my hand. “I can’t do this without you.”
Plumes of colorful smoke waft through the foyer as screams of terror ring out, filling the room with shades of greens, purples and reds. Strobe lights flicker, inducing a terrifying effect as monsters chase after guests. They look like creatures flickering in and out of portals from Hell, their bodies being pulled back and forth between the human realm and their true home. Giggles, screams and stomping footsteps follow soon after.
They run from monsters as if they have anywhere to hide.
I linger behind the walls on the bottom floor where a group of four enters the house. I watch them closely through the peepholes, inhaling their essence.
A garden of flowers. Sweet, innocent, pure.
I smile, watching them scream their heads off and push into each other, trying to escape from the monsters chasing after them. One doll carries a kitchen knife in her hand, fake blood dripping off the sharpened point as she slowly stalks after the girls. They’ll run from the doll, but they won’t be able to escape her.
I let the group of girls move on, staying in my spot and await the next group. The first group of five that came before the four girls are on their way out. While not every single person from the first group smelled like fresh flowers, they didn’t reek of evil, either.
The second the first group leaves, the door opens, and six people stumble in. Two men and four girls. The girls are already hunched together, hanging on each other’s arms with their hands linked so tightly, their knuckles are bleached white. Nervous giggles emanating from their pretty mouths. The two guys behind them are attempting to act macho, though I can see the whites of their shifty eyes from here.
Satan’s Affair is a world-renowned fair for a reason. We are known to have the scariest haunted houses in the country—short of the few places that allow their employees to lay hands on the guests, even going as far as torturing them.
Those haunted houses are classless. We don’t need to touch our guests in order to scare them half to death.
The hours pass by slowly. Groups of people coming in and out, their throats turning hoarse from screams. At one point, a girl peed her pants and had to walk out with a huge wet spot in her jeans. I wanted to rip a couple people’s throats out from laughing at the poor, embarrassed girl.
But I refrained because none of them were evil—just callous.
Of all the people that passed through my dollhouse, none of them have the telltale rot emanating from them. Frustration grows, and I’m beginning to feel restless.
I want to feel blood soaking into my flesh, feel my knife cutting through sinew and muscle and tearing apart delicate skin. But I can’t just kill anyone. I refuse to kill innocents. I’m not an evil person.
I pace behind the walls, restlessness making my skin crawl. Mortis leaves his post at one point, feeling my shot nerves through the walls, and offers to lick my pussy just so I’ll calm down.
“I can’t be distracted!” I snap at him. His expression doesn’t change much, never one to be affected by my attitude. It’s one of the things I like most about him—his endurance for my mood swings.
The next thing I know, I’m being slammed against the wall opposite of where I can see the guests come through, with a hand wrapped tightly around my neck, and the other covering my mouth. Hot breath fans across my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
“Your pacing is going to attract attention if you don’t fucking stop. I can hear you on the other side of the house,” Mortis snaps harshly, his hand tightening around my throat until I can hardly breathe.
I wriggle against him, my anger rising like a wave in a storm. But the lust feels like a fucking tsunami. My chest heaves, though there’s nowhere for the oxygen to go.
The hand on my mouth slides away from my face, past the valley between my breasts and down my nightgown. When he reaches the edge of my dress, he hitches up the bottom and pauses.
“Make another noise, and I’ll tell the boys not to reward you with their cocks for a week, got it?”
I feel my face turning cherry red. Because there’s nowhere for the blood in my head to go. Because of his audacity, and the threat. Because I can’t fucking breathe. But mostly because I want him to fuck me already.
He lifts my head forward just to thump it harshly against the wall again. Hard enough for stars to glitter across my eyes and the little breath I had to escape. “Got it?” he repeats through bared teeth.
I nod my head, gritting my teeth against the storm of emotions swirling in my head.
“Good girl,” he whispers, easing up on my throat a fraction, just enough for me to get a good deep breath before he tightens it again.
His fingers trail up my thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The mere seconds it takes for his fingers to reach the juncture between my thighs feels like forever. But when the tips of his fingers whisper across my clit—my legs nearly give out. My knees tremble. If it wasn’t for Mortis’s hand wrapped firmly around my throat, I’d be a puddle of lust and cream on the floor.
“Fuck,” he groans, dipping the tip of his middle finger in my pussy before spreading the cream up to my clit. “You’re so
