Succubi

They had his penis out, which was already erect, pulsing. Melanie ran her hands up over his chest. Wendlyn was stroking his face, suspending a big nipple over his mouth. And Rena, whose own giggles sounded muffled, was fellating him.

This was all wrong, part of him knew. It didn’t matter that they’d come on to him. They were teenagers. He could lose his job for this, even go to jail. But that part of him faded. He lay there as if staked to the ground. He couldn’t move.

“Lots of muscles,” Melanie cooed, rubbing. “He’d make a great wreccan.”

“Shit on him,” Wendlyn said.

“He’s big,” Rena stopped long enough to say. “Look!”

They giggled, appraising his penis whose glans already shined wetly with a glaze of pre-ejaculatory drool.

Now Rena had his service piece out, a Colt Python. She cocked its gridded hammer, prodded his testicles with the barrel.

Byron was shivering, terrorized. He felt the cold end of the barrel poke into his scrotum, trace his shaft.

“Don’t worry, little baby,” Melanie said.

“We won’t shoot it off,” Wendlyn promised.

She and Rena traded places. Wendlyn mounted him. “Ooo, you’re right. He’s real big,” she commented, and inserted him into herself. Rena straddled his head, pushing the nearly hairless furrow against his lips. “Lick it, lick it,” she commanded in glee, then began urinating.

Byron felt pinned down, buried in madness. Hot urine streamed against his face, into his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. Wendlyn rode him ferociously, slamming her hips down against him. Both Byron’s heart and his genitals felt like they would explode at the same time.

Rena climbed off. Melanie was getting something out from under a log. Wendlyn rode him faster, harder, eyes turned up.

She shuddered, then shrieked—

Byron exploded into her sex—

As Melanie slid the sharpened cnif against his throat, cutting immediately and right to the bone.

“Wihan!” Rena celebrated.

Byron’s blood spurted out of his neck precisely in time with his orgasm. He died a minute or two later, when they began to slice his belly open.

«« — »»

Erik scouted the woods. The sun was going down. He had pretty good bearings now. He could even see the Slavik house from here. He’d need to go in soon, but he didn’t dare yet. A big Fleetwood had pulled up as he watched. He didn’t want to go into the house when a lot of people were there. They’d have plenty of preliminary rituals before the actual rite. That should give him enough time.

He knew the cops were onto him; no doubt Bard had found the brygorwreccan’s body—they knew he was close. He went back deeper into the woods, to conceal himself until it was time.

But what was that he heard? Erik stopped, poised himself to listen. Voices, it sounded like. Quiet voices.

He followed, moving as lightly as he could. Soon he thought he detected movement, pale shapes in the darkening light.

He looked past some trees, into a dell. A girl, naked, was walking away. Two more stooped over something. It didn’t take Erik long to realize that what they were stooping over was a corpse.

A cop, he thought. They were eviscerating him, putting certain organs into a plastic bag. The thinner girl seemed to be sawing something. This, too, did not surprise Erik. He’d seen it all before. The slender girl sawed off the cop’s head and put it in the bag.

Wifhands. Younger ones. He thought he recognized them.

Then they rose. They turned slowly, grinning. Their pendants dangled. Their white flesh was smeared with blood.

“We know you’re there, Erik,” the older one said.

Rena Godwin giggled. “We can feel you.”

The other one was the wifford’s kid, Wendlyn. “Come here.”

“No,” Erik said. He raised the shotgun. “You bitches don’t have me anymore.”

The two girls laughed.

“We have you. You’ve been blessed.”

“You’ll always be ours.”

No… I…won’t, he determined. He could feel it already, their pull on his brain, like the moon.

“Come to us, Erik,” Rena said.

“The little brygorwreccan.”

Their young faces beamed, the stare of their eyes sinking into his head like daggers, like cnifs.

“Come to us.”

Erik stepped forward. The shotgun was charged, but he scarcely even felt it now. It felt like something he was holding in a dream.

“Let us give you fulluht. Let us make you holy again.”

Kill them, he commanded himself. He tried to aim the gun, but his arms barely moved.

“The doefolmon is coming.”

“The Fulluht-Loc.”

“You’ve come back to be with us. We welcome you, Erik. We will take you back into the cirice.”

No, pounded the thought like hammer to stone. I’ll kill myself first.

He would, he knew he would. Anything to be free of them. They were so strong against his will, much stronger than before.

They began to come forward. Wendlyn outstretched her hand, smiling softly. Rena came up behind her.

Kill them, he demanded of himself. Kill them before they—

“Little peow. Kneel—”

—change, he thought.

Erik squeezed his eyes shut. His mind felt released from a fetter. His forearms shot up, brought the shotgun to bear.

“No!” Rena shrieked.

His finger contracted. The shotgun jumped behind a great flash and concussion: ba-BAM!

The round socked a hole into Wendlyn’s throat. Blood flew out of her like thin, flailing tentacles. Rena, screaming, flew at him with a small glinting ?sc.

He racked another round and fired. The hand holding the spike flew off the end of her arm. He cycled the shotgun once more, raised it to her face.

Her face…

His teeth clacked shut.

The third round of 12-gauge exploded in her face. Her head blew apart in wheeling, wet chunks.

Gunsmoke shifted up like a ghost. It tinged in his nostrils. Before they change, his thoughts continued to tick. His face felt like a flat plate of stone when he looked down at the two naked forms. Their dark blood pumped slowly into the soil.

The part of his mind that still belonged to this world told him, You just killed two kids.

“No, I didn’t,” he answered himself in voice. “I just killed two monsters.”

He racked another round into the chamber and stalked off back into the darkening forest.