1 comments/ 40074 views/ 3 favorites House of the Depraved By: RiverSable **Author's Note: A couple things, just so I don't mislead people. This story is different from most on this site. Before reading this story, understand, it's not intended as a story with quick pay-offs. There's a whole bunch of erotica but it's mixed with horror. Also, despite the seemingly innocuous title and subject matter, this story gets darker and more intense as it advances through the chapters. It's definitely not a happy romp through sexual escapades and there are disturbing elements. Beyond that, hope you enjoy!** *********************Jayce************************* The seven of had made a pact and come hell or highwater they were going to through with it. They'd talked about it over dinner at Famous' Steakhouse. They'd dressed to the nine's for the occasion, the guys in suits and blazers, ties and vests, the girls in evening formalwear, tight dresses and elegant blouses, bared backs and swept-up, teased hair. They were all close; some were closer still. Jaime and Camden had a kind of on again, off again thing while Lane and Jayce were just starting to become aware of the electricity between them. Just the occasional exchanged glance, her blue eyes would meet his grey and it was like time stopped for him. By the curl to her lips he knew she felt it too. Like most things, Camden had arranged the dinner. Or as he called it: The proposition. He arranged most everything: the broomball and volleyball teams, the dorm parties with the pony kegs, rock climbing in the Canyonlands, base-jumping at Alta. Whatever he imagined he made real, and brought his friends along. The kid was a whirlwind, a self promoter, a cocky asshole, an impossible liar and Jayce's best friend and roommate. He'd known Camden two years; or it should be said, he known Camden in as far as anyone can know that kid. Knowing Camden is like knowing a rock star. You know him as much as he shows you, nothing more. Recently Jayce had been seeing him less and less. He was always seemingly wrapped up in one drama production or another, (and some would say one girl or another) sleeping at the theatre most nights. Still Camden had found time to slip the immaculate invites under our doors inviting us to dinner; on the house, it said, and there was no way we were going to miss it. They'd arrived to find Camden seated at a round table in the direct center of the dining area. He was talking animatedly on his cell phone, his tie pulled loose around his neck, the top couple buttons of his white button down left open in purely casual fashion. He was drawing looks from the snooty waitstaff, but in classic Camden fashion, didn't even notice or care. Jaime whispered something to Lane and she snickered, which drew Camden's attention; A look of surprise at his friends sudden arrival, quickly swallowed whole by that smooth player smile he wore as he rose with an effortless ease. "How y'doin', Darlin," he murmured to Jaime, embracing her and kissing her cheek before greeting the group in turn. He welcomed Jayce last. "Jayce," he said with a wicked smile and rigorous handshake "glad you could make it. Haven't seen you in weeks, man." He turned to Jaime. "My boy's lost without me." "Y'know somehow I manage," Jayce said smiling back. He winked and ushered them to their seats. To Jayce's surprise, each of their wineglasses was already full. Camden and Jayce were 20, the rest were 19, all underage. It didn't bear asking how he'd been able to order them. "Camden's charm," Whitney had called it "He hypnotizes you with that good ole boy Louisiana drawl and before you know it, you're lending him your pickup truck, six days of food and a leaky tent, and worst of all you're going too." Everyone seemed to acquiesce to Camden to some degree. Only Camden would've been able to draw out six people to a steakhouse a good mile and a half from campus on the flimsy pretense of a proposition. It was a credit to his charisma. The group of friends indulged in the wine, a cabernet sauvignon Camden informed them, and soon after plates of filet mignon and prime rib were brought out. The food was absolutely delicious, the conversation light and easy. Jayce chatted up Lane, while Camden and Jaime whispered intensely. Whitney was rolling her eyes at some sexist joke that Logan had told but Alex had buried his head in his arm, laughing uncontrollably. It didn't matter that Alex was Korean and city-born and raised or that Logan was born in the backseat of a '78 Chevy pickup and raised on a mustang farm down south; they just clicked as friends and were rarely apart. The dinner was such easygoing contentment, friends just enjoying each others company, being indulged in the kind of finer things that college students rarely get to partake in; that Jayce had almost forgotten the reason they were there. The mood was light, and the wine was flowing freely. Jayce had a lot on his mind; namely Lane. He was lost in her. That night she was something out of an Audrey Hepburn movie. A slender brunette, she was always pretty, but that night she was absolutely jaw-dropping. She'd worn her hair up exposing the smooth line of her neck, and her blue eyes shown so brightly from her fair skin and delicate features, they seemed electric. Her lips were pursed knowingly. No doubt she'd caught my eyes tracing her slender arms, and the soft curves of her perfectly rounded breasts, somewhat petite, but nicely accentuated by her blouse. Everything about her screamed sensual; He had this overwhelming compulsion to touch and hold this beautiful, exotic creature. When he leaned in to whisper, he smelled lilacs and the floral scent of her hair. "Seeing you in red makes me want to throw you on the table right here, and have my way with you. The hell with consequences," Jayce snarled, loosening his tie playfully. "Oh?" She teased, feigning innocence, touching the tip of my nose "I wonder if they'll clear the dishes for us if you ask nicely." This was how they teased each other. For him it was an outlet of my sexual frustration; for her, it seemed to be pure amusement: testing to see how far he'd go. "I think every male in the room will empathize with me all the same," Jayce said, intertwining his fingers with hers, tracing kisses along her knuckles, up her wrist and along her arm. Angelically soft. She giggled sweetly. "My, Jayce," she whispered breathlessly "it's like you never seen a girl in a dress before." "Never a girl like this," He'd pulled her closer. Their chairs were touching and spurred on by the airy feel the wine had left him he was grazing his kisses up her arm along her shoulder. He could tell she was flushed from the wine and the heat but even moreso his attention. He always seemed smoother flirting with her than any other girl. A clink of a fork against a glass, turned her attention. Reluctantly his as well. "Hate to interrupt you two," Camden had turned a sly smile on them. He was the one who'd called the toast and was standing. Lane and Jayce turned their gaze over their friends, Lane sheepishly, Jayce a touched amused. Jaime was smiling, Logan was snickering and Whitney had pressed her hand over her mouth, embarrassed for them; like they'd been caught. Lane blushed prettily and Jayce downed his up of wine with resounding fervor, motioning for Camden to continue. He did without hesitation. "Bet y'all are wondering why you're here. First you tell me. Why....are you here?" "The booze," Alex boomed, holding his glass up. He was Korean and slim, always well dressed with spiky black hair and a dimpled smile. The kid tried to fight every Asian stereotype he could. He'd adopted Logan's drawl either subconsciously or on purpose and he even bought a pickup; an old rusted and rambling Toyota that didn't always start or stop. Still he couldn't help the fact he was fairly brilliant and musically talented. "The company," Logan said, wrapping an arm around Alex's shoulder, swaying a little from the wine, and no doubt a touch of whiskey he probably had before arriving. He was notorious for carrying a flask around, sipping surreptitiously at sporting events, movies even in class. Not like he was a raging drunk, it was just the way he was brought up. He was the classic cowboy archetype. Always in blue jeans and flannel, well built, handsome and muscular with a thick bull neck and dirty blond hair. He'd been teased endlessly about having to dress up for the dinner, but he wore his rented tuxedo well, even combed his hair. Clearly he was drunk though. "Good wine, good food, but most of all good company." "Yee-haw!" Alex hollered, and the rest of the table hooted in agreement drawing nasty looks from the more sophisticated patrons. They couldn't help themselves, playing up the country-boy persona when Logan was around, and apparently being in a fine restaurant changed nothing. Camden turned his unfaded smile on Whitney. "What about you?" "I'm the one who keeps you guys out of jail," Whitney chided, but her brown eyes twinkled with mirth. She was a small girl, cute in her petite way, mousy comes to mind, pale with a smattering of freckles across her nose with glasses and shoulder length brown hair. She seemed born to be a librarian; except when she got drunk. Then she became a hellcat, swearing like a sailor and making out with hockey players and musicians and whoever else happened to be present. There were a couple nights Jayce and her went out to the bars together and somehow, someway before the night was through she'd ended up on top of him, her lips pressed firmly to his. He couldn't for the life of him tell how it happened. The next day though, like clockwork, she'd act as casual as can be, like nothing happened. Everytime. They all suspected she purposely made herself look innocent as possible just for the shock value later on. Jayce, for the life of him, never knew what to make of her. "Besides, I'm sick of hearing Camden's insane ideas secondhand. I want to be at the groundbreaking. For once." Camden chuckled and nudged Jaime. "What about you, darlin'?" Jaime exchanged a look with Lane, a shared smile. "We made a bet." "Oh?" Camden looked to Jayce to see if he knew anything about it. He met Camden's puzzled look with a twist to his lips and a shrug. "Yeah. See I think you have good ideas, Camden. I do," Jaime said sweetly, bouncing a bit in her seat. The girl was always in a good mood. Blonde, pretty and tan, Jaime grew up in California and seemed to the live part. She was the most athletic of the girls, coltish and lithe with the prettiest legs Jayce had ever seen. Her expressive green eyes were always lit with a kind of inner light, her sunkissed features almost too pretty for the tomboy persona she put on. Everyone seemed to have a crush on her at one time or another to the point it became a running joke: Jaime's harem. She was kind of naïve about the whole deal though, which only added to her charm. "I never know what you'll come up with next, but most of the time it makes my day," she began to laugh. "However Lane thinks you're losing it." Camden turned a mock-hurt expression on Lane. "Seriously, Cam," Lane stammered through her smile. "Like a few weeks back. You wanted to hold a séance around a bonfire to mourn the death of Hunter Thompson and recall his spirit." "A controlled burn," Camden shrugged. "While we danced around it," She was speaking slowly now, emphasizing each point. "Naked, but for body paint and ornamental beads" "You boys can see why, right?" Camden appealed to the guys in the room. They nodding chuckling. Jayce remembered that well. Camden seemed so earnest in his suggestion. Anyone else, he would've assumed they were joking, but Camden... "So wadja bet?" "I bet Jaime that whatever you suggested there was no way in hell I was going to take part. Jaime bet I would." He was nonplussed. "And the terms?" Lane blushed then and Jaime laughed. "It's about our Halloween costumes," Jaime said meeting Camden's gaze, smiling beatifically. "If I win she has to wear the costume I want her to. You guys would like it. A country girl outfit we saw a couple days back, daisy dukes and all." The guys hooted; Logan was slapping the table howling like a wolf, which drew a withering look from a couple bluehairs in a booth behind him. "If she wins," Jaime continued, fiddling with the tight black choker around her neck "I have to feed the Psych department's pigeons for a week, getting my fingers bit and my hair pulled by those little demons while she sits back with a lemonade or good book or whatever." "And you took this bet?" Alex asked Jaime. She nodded. "Even though it's completely dependent on Lane's feelings? She controls the bet!" "See, I don't think so," Jaime said with a knowing smile. "I got faith in Cam. Whatever he came up with, whatever all this anticipation is about, I got a feeling it's going to be good. Laney's going to want to lose the bet. I trust this." "And here's hoping she does," Jayce said, toasting his glass against Alex's and Logan's as Lane slapped his shoulder playfully. "Funny you should mention Halloween," Camden said softly, tapping his finger against his lips, pausing for effect. His dark eyes were inscrutable. "That's what this is about. How many of y'all have heard of The House of the Depraved?" Bemused looks were exchanged. No one seemed to have any idea. "Andy! More wine. Please," Camden gestured to the waiter as he was walking by. He returned a few moments later to open a fresh bottle, refilling each of our cups. Camden waited until the waiter left before continuing. He paused as if trying to find the right words before pursing his lips resolutely and drumming his fingers against the table. "What about Andal's Crossing?" More bemused looks. Suddenly Logan slammed the table, lifting an intense gaze on Camden. "Shit-Yeah, Andal's Crossing! That little shittown just across the county line. Freak-show used to come through there back in the day. My folks even took me once when I was knee-high. Albino dwarves, Living Doll women, legless boys that walked on their hands, the 'missing link'. Scared me half to death," He shook his head, eyes unfocused. "Hadn't thought about that since the nightmares stopped." An awkward silence filled the table. No one seemed sure what to make of that. Suddenly, Whitney broke out laughing; a kind of helpless, breathless uncontrollable gale that left her doubled over. The suddenness of it broke the tension like a window pane; soon the whole table was laughing easy, even Logan smiled a little. The group was thoroughly drunk which only fueled everyone's amusement. There was nothing funny about what Logan said, but it was so out of place with the genial vibe of the evening that they couldn't help themselves. "You ok, Whit?" Jaime touched her shoulder. Whitney had been laughing so hard, she was wiping tears from her eyes as she struggled to regain her composure. "Yeah," she tried, only moderately successful in her attempt to repress another wave of giggling threatening to bubble to the surface. "Just reminded me of something. Inside joke. Just ignore me." Camden had been waiting patiently. He was smiling wanly and his voice was soft. "He's right. There used to be a freakshow there. Lived on long past the others of its breed died out. Folks in this area seem to have an unquenchable thirst for the taboo. Eventually the state shut it down but the building remained." "It was an eyesore but for whatever reason no one had the heart to knock it down," Logan interrupted. "Eventually someone will put it to good use I imagine." "Someone has," Camden said smoothly. "They turned into a haunted house. The House of the Depraved." He slipped a flyer out from his jacket pocket and placed it face up on the table. The picture was blurred, but a building could be seen: a tangled mass of stone and rotting wood paneling under a thatch roof that loomed large in the foreground. Beneath the picture in Antiqua font were the words: House of the Depraved: Bring a Friend. "Looks like the place is about to collapse," Whitney murmured, eyes transfixed to the image. She wasn't laughing anymore. It almost seemed like there was something she recognized in it. Like seeing a forgotten photo of a long-dead relative. "It's been there 80 years. I think it'll last through Halloween," Camden said dryly. "Here's the deal: It's been rated the best haunted house west of the Mississippi, but it's fantastically intense. Last year a couple girls from this school couldn't hack it and suffered a breakdown of some kind. They're fine now, but they won't talk about it. Believe me, I tried." "Says you," Alex scoffed. "Says everyone. Check the internet if you don't believe me. They do one thing and they do it well: Scare the living bejeezus out of anyone who goes in," Camden leaned back interlacing his fingers at the nape of his neck. He could see the flicker of interest in the eyes of those assembled. "I've heard it described as a cathartic experience. Boys and girls come out changed." There was a palpable buzz at the table. Jaime and Jayce exchanged an excited smile and Logan slapped Alex on the back so hard it caused him to spit out the wine he was sipping. Even Whitney seemed intrigued, her lips were parted in an almost smile, and she was glancing over at each of her friends in turn, eyes widening a bit, seemingly encouraged by reactions around her. Jayce toasted her and Jaime excitedly threw her arms around Camden's shoulders, excited. "What's the catch, Camden?" Lane crossed her slim arms over her chest. She was trying to hold Camden's gaze. It was clear she was drunk and struggling to keep eye contact, or the mock seriousness of her pressed lips. "Who says there's a catch, dear?" Camden almost looked innocent at that moment. "'Cause it's you, Cam," Lane chided. "There's always a catch." There was a pause. "She's right. Here's the deal," Camden said softly. The revelry died down a bit. Even Jaime disentangled herself from Camden then to sit on the arm of her chair; green eyes pinned on him, clearly as curious as Lane. "You have to sign a waiver when you go in stating to the effect that you are entering on your own volition and that were made aware of and agree to the three stated bylaws." He went silent. "Which are?" "Rule 1: They're allowed to touch you." There was a shocked buzz at the table. Sarah's mouth was a perfect "o" and Alex wore a bemused half-smile trying as if he was trying to decide if Camden was playing a joke on them. "Alrighty," Logan said in his slow drawl, seemingly speaking for the assembled. Jayce had heard of this kind of thing before at all the best haunted houses. If they can touch you, that's one more limit they can cross to frighten you. "Rule 2: They're allowed to manipulate you." Jaime cocked her head, bewildered. "Manipulate us? What does that mean?" Camden shrugged casually, downing his glass of wine before dabbing at his lips with his cloth napkin. "Beats me." "You don't know!?" Whitney was incredulous. "Could be anything!" Camden met her gaze firmly. "Could be. Don't shoot the messenger though. The way it has been explained to me, is that they're fully convinced they can cause you to do things you wouldn't do ordinarily." His smile looked awfully white at that moment. The bizarreness of what Camden was describing was too much. Jayce hid his smile behind my wine glass. Some of this was probably true, some Camdenesque Bravado. He just hadn't decided which yet. The girls seemed to react most intensely. Sarah's mouth was still agape, her brown eyes wide and unfocused. Jaime had self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest, apprehensively moistening her lips as if running through possibility after possibility. But Lane was absolutely still. Her lips were tight, her expression enigmatic and her pretty blue eyes were locked to every movement Camden made as if weighing his soul. Jayce, entranced by her intensity, dabbed at his lips with a cloth napkin, thinking not for the first time how head over heels he was. House of the Depraved Ch. 02 October 31st Logan cursed himself. He was blazing down the dirt road in his Sierra pickup, trying his damnedest not to skid out into the wall of trees on his left, or fall off the embankment on his right. He was running late. It wasn't the first time he'd fallen asleep fishing Silver Creek; nor the first time he woke up, sun-burnt with a horrendous tan line around his sunglasses. He looked to the clock. 4:15. There was time, but only if he hurried. He took a chug of his beer and roared the engine up an incline, spraying pebbles and fallen leaves in its wake. The trees were absolutely asunder in color: reds, yellows, orange, and the sunlight filtering through lit his windshield like a prism. He'd swear it was just about the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. But no, actually that wasn't true. He'd been down these roads before a different autumn nearly 14 years back. Unbidden, the memories came flooding back. *** He was six, riding in the bed of his daddy's pickup under a tunnel of autumn trees, not so unlike the canopy he was driving under just then. His daddy was up front. The silver can of his PBR reflecting the sunlight like some kind of brilliant diamond. Coy was sitting up front too, and he'd occasionally tap the glass of the rear window and a make a face at Logan just to make him giggle. The thing he remembered most about that day was just how so free and happy he was. They were going to see the freakshow; his dad had been promising for months and now they finally would. Logan was old enough now. Finally. He loved riding in the back of the pickup, how the wind whistled through his hair and how if he sat in just the right spot near the wheel wells, every bump would send him flying, like he was riding in the very last seat of a wood roller coaster. It was warm that day and the chirping insects were so loud and out in such force, he felt like he was driving through some desolate jungle. It was an adventure. The world he lived in was benevolent and beautiful and endless, and Halloween was only a few weeks away. Life was good and getting better. When the pickup lurched over a final rise, he saw it then: The house of the freaks. It seemed small at first, but as they neared it kept growing and growing, until it loomed several stories over the dirt road and extended back further than he could see. Even at that young age, he knew the design was strange. The top half seemed like the upper stories of a classic Victorian mansion, but the ground floor was old, tightly packed stone. The wooden upper-story was freshly painted a pale lavender, and at its highest point there was one semi-circular window, with a small balcony. This was the only window that was open; all the others had their drapes pulled shut and the bottom story had none at all. The building was longer than it was wide and the grounds were well-kept, elaborate topiary in the shape of the two prowling wolves, extending their paws out to make an arch before the entryway. When they pulled into the dirt parking lot along side of the building, Logan noticed he still couldn't tell how big the building was. It's back half disappeared into a tightly gnarled overhang of old boles and oaks, making the building itself look like some kind of trapped creature half free from the forest, half ensnarled. He hadn't realized he'd been staring at it apprehensively, but then his daddy was there, hands bracing him under his arms to lift him out of the pickup bed. Then they were walking, but in a different direction than the house. "I thought we were gonna see the freaks?" "We are Logan," his dad said with a hearty chuckle. "That's just where they sleep. C'mon the big tent is up this way. Sure enough, there in an open field surrounded by the trees sat a large red and white circus tent. Outside there were clowns with balloons, and unicyclists and cotton candy vendors, and he only then noticed the smell of funnel cake and popcorn and hot dogs. He hadn't realized but he'd been holding his breath and he didn't know why. His eyes had gone wide with excitement and the apprehension was forgotten, replaced by wonder. Butterflies had been doing jumping jacks in the pit of his stomach. His dad bought him and Coy a root beer and a hot dog each, and picked up the tickets from a man wearing a top hat and a fake mustache. He watched the tendrils of light illuminate the man's face as he walked by, and how the man tilted his head just so, an old world greeting, and how as he did so, the shadow of the circus tent came over him. *** And strangely his memories stopped, like a projectionist forgot to switch reels. But he realized he'd pulled over to the side of the room and was sweating profusely. It was just a memory. Why was he so riled up from it? Besides he couldn't remember the rest. How frightening could it have been? He pulled off the dirt road and onto route 50, following the line directly into the setting sun. It would be a warm night, just like it was a warm day then. He wondered if the insects would be out in the same numbers as last time. It didn't bear thinking. He still had a ways to go. The rest of rest of the ride, he decided to focus only on the road ahead and the beer in his hand. It wouldn't be long now. *** He arrived at the designated meeting spot, the front stoop of Kinser House, a few minutes before 6 PM. Dusk was descending fast, just a reddish glow over the distant mountains and the moon was out early. Logan saw that Jayce had been the first to arrive. He was leaned up against the side of the wall, sipping from a beer bottle, looking both relaxed and bored. Jayce was decked out in purple and black bell-bottoms with a cheesy matching disco jacket, gold chains and a black afro placed against the wall by his platform shoes. Logan chuckled at Jayce's get up. "What is up, brother? You John Travolta?" "The sixth member of the Jackson 5," Jayce clinked his beer bottle against Logan's with an amiable smile. Logan was amused that Jayce brought a bottle of beer as well. He was pleased not to be the only raging alcoholic in the group. Jayce appraised Logan's get-up. "Nice makeup, Logue." He'd gone as a vampire-cowboy. He'd wanted to go just as a cowboy, but Whitney wasn't having any of it. She said that was what he wore anyway, and there's no way in hell he was getting with just that. So he'd gone with the usual: Jeans, flannel, Stetson hat, but he threw in some plastic fangs and black mascara for his eyes, and white makeup for rest of his face and neck. He was actually kind of proud of how it turned out. He tipped the rim of his hat to Jayce, "Thank you, sir." "Lookie, lookie," Logan could hear wonder in Jayce's voice. He was looking behind the cowboy. Logan turned. His jaw dropped. Lane and Jaime were approaching and showing far more skin than Logan had ever seen. As promised Lane was a country girl. She wasn't an especially tall girl, only about 5'7", but the daisy dukes she wore were clearly meant for a girl much shorter. They barely reached mid-thigh and exposed the entire creamy length of her legs down to her sandals. She was wearing a flannel shirt of her own that was unbuttoned nice and low, exposing the swell of her cleavage and tied at her midriff baring the flat line of her stomach. She went all out clearly: her chestnut brown hair flowed loose, teased to a feathery Farrah Fawcett look. Unbidden, Logan felt a swell in his jeans; he'd never seen Lane look this good. "Oh sweet mercy," he heard Jayce whisper. He would've been unable to turn away had Jaime not been there. She'd been promising the guys she'd wear the catholic school girl outfit she'd worn through high school and it did not disappoint. She wore black church shoes, and her white socks were pulled up nearly to her knees. There was a tanned expanse of knee and thigh visible, giving way to the blue and green plaid flannel skirt. She wore a tight virginial, fabric-thin, long-sleeved white shirt that conformed to every curve of her body beautifully. Her sleeves were pulled all the way up to her shoulders and bunched there, contrasting sweetly with the tanned, exposed flesh of her arms and neck. Around her neck, she wore the same tight black choker as always and she was actually wearing blush, lipstick and eyeliner: a rarity for Jaime. Her golden hair was tied back from her face in a high ponytail that bobbed as she walked. She was smiling at the expression on the guy's faces. "Logan, you're going to catch flies in there," she chided, approaching to hug him warmly. "Y'look good." He slid a strong arm around her small waist. "Look who's talking. God, you sure you don't want to leave Camden for me?" She giggled and leaned back against the opposite wall. "If he doesn't hurry up, I just might." Logan noticed that Lane had approached Jayce smoothly, pressing her fingertips against his chest, as he encircled his arms around her. He leaned in and kissed her deeply, oblivious to world beyond her. He'd seen the doe eyes they'd given each other before, but actually viewing them as an item would take some getting used to. He'd known that Jayce had been head over heels for months now, obsessing about everything she did, everything she said. Apparently he must've worn her down or something because they were as thick as thieves. Jaime saw him watching the couple: "Weird to see, huh?" "Yeah, really is." She shrugged amiably, taking the half-empty beer bottle from him and drawing a swig. "Sometimes opposites attract." "You should listen to her Logan," it was Alex. He hadn't heard him approach. "The girl knows what she's talking about. She's with Camden after all." Alex was decked out in loose, flared red leather pants and a hipster-style satin button-down shirt, complete with a repeating huggy-bear design over the front. His hair was spiked up and he was wearing makeup to make it look like he had a bruise around his eye, and a cut lip. Logan knew exactly who he was and it made him grin. He gave Alex a bear-hug lifting him off the ground as he laughed. "Awesome, man. You pulled it off." Jaime was bewildered. "What is he?" "Don't you know Tyler Durden when you see him, Jaime?" Logan could see she was still confused. "Remember, from Fight Club?" She nodded then, a slow smile spreading across her features. "Well done, A-lex!" It was Jayce. He had an arm draped over Lane's shoulders and was grinning appreciatively at the getup. Alex did a little step-twist dance move and sidled up next to Jaime. "Mmm, looking good, baby. You're like what, 15, 16 years old?" She rolled her eyes and gave him a hard shove. "Careful there, Alex," Logan said with a bit of a smile. "School-girls bite." She slapped him. "Abusive too." Alex caught her wrist before she could slap Logan again. "Hey, Jaime, where's your boy?" "Yeah, where he is?" Lane piped up. "This was his deal after all." "Give him some time," Jaime sighed, smoothing out a wrinkle in her skirt. "You know how he is. He likes to make an entrance." Logan turned then to see Whitney running up the walkway. Seeing her friends were still there, she slowed to a dignified walk. He could see why. She was dressed in a modest brown business suit and skirt, stockings and dress shoes. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her glasses gave an air of sophistication, especially when she walked smoothly, swaying her hips and pursing her lips just so. As she approached, Logan could see she wasn't entirely the picture of erudition, her shirt was cut dangerously low and the slit along the side of her skirt ran high. "Well?" She stepped up before the group, posing with a hand on her hip. Logan and Alex exchanged a glance. "Sexy....lawyer," they said at the exact same moment, causing Jayce to break out laughing. "Close enough," Whitney sashayed next to Logan and gave him a hip bump. "Let's get this party started, mm?" "Still waiting on the conductor," Logan said, sliding an arm over her shoulders as he swigged the last of his beer and tossed it behind him in the bushes. "You shouldn't litter, Logan." Logan turned to see a man approaching in a smart black pin-stripe suit with a vest, cufflinks and a purple and gold tie. Behind him was parked an old-fashioned light blue Cadillac with fins, fenders and all the rest. A beautiful car; Logan could never say he'd seen it's like before. The man's features were obscured by a 40s style rimmed fedora, and his hands were gloved. The look was of a classic film noir gumshoe detective. He looked up, with a gleam in his dark eyes. It was Camden. "Just isn't nice." "Wow," Jaime said slowly. She hadn't recognized him approaching either but seemed stunned by this, well, to be honest, this stranger among them. His thin smile and dark eyes were classically Camden, but something about the way he carried himself, the way he eyed the group gave Logan the distinct impression of someone different, someone older, perhaps even colder. Whitney's eyes were following his every move, and Logan could see that even Lane's lips were parted slightly, eyes tracing his approach. Camden lifted the fedora off his head before smoothing it back down over his inky black strands. He approached Jaime and kissed her cheek turning his eyes over the assembled as he calmly removed his gloves and pocketed them. "Glad y'all made it. Was wonderin' if I was gonna end up findin' you here, or would arrive to find an empty porch. It's good to see," a satisfied smile curled his lips. "And my, my, my...look at you girls. Mm. Ain't you the prettiest things?" He took his sweet time looking each of the girls up and down, seemingly finding them to his satisfaction. He winked at Jayce, turning to the guys. "Boys, looking debonair as always. Who's ready to go for a little ride?" Whitney smiled sweetly. "Hells yes." Nods of assent and apprehensive smiles abounded among the group. Camden laughed with genuine amusement at the group's reaction. "Well, there's no time like the present," he said smoothly turning on a heel back to the car, expecting the group to follow suit. He'd taken his gloves out of his pocket as he walked, and with an almost refined ease, he languorously slid them over his fingers. He turned back to his friends with a dark smile, his eyes hidden beneath the rim of his hat. "And there ain't no turning back now." *** Sitting in the backseat snug between Whitney and Jaime, Logan found his thoughts once again turning back to the last time he'd been down this dirt road. The Cadillac hummed like a sleeping lion, but it absorbed the bumps so completely that it felt like they were driving on a highway. With the top down, he found himself watching the canopy of trees pass overhead. He knew the stars were out but the foliage was so thick and tangled that the only light came from the car's headlamps, like they were driving through a tunnel and were the only car in existence. Everyone was unusually quiet, even Alex seemed subdued. He could see Lane's head on Jayce's shoulder. He wondered idly if she was sleeping. The building came into view over the same rise just like he remembered. It started small and grew larger, but so much had changed. The basic design was the same, but everything had gone to ruin. Ivy and weeds grew insinuated itself along the stone of the ground floor, and the wood of the upper stories seemed to be rotting. The drapes were across all the windows, even the highest one, but they all looked torn and ratty. Even the majestic topiary wolves were missing. It seemed like Whitney right, the place looked gone to ruin. However as Camden pulled up next to the building along a bare, grassy knoll, Logan noticed one thing remained the same. It was just as big as he remembered. *** The night air was cool but musty, the chirping of cicadas a neverending cacophony that was beating into Logan's skull. The forest behind the house was blacker than sin and so overgrown and primal that he couldn't even hear the roar of the car's engine over his own beating heart. What was wrong with him? He wasn't the type to jump at shadows. Camden opened the trunk of the Caddy pulling out a dull silver canteen. He handed it to Jaime. "Try some liquid courage, darlin', I think we'll all need some of it." She opened the top and sniffed the inside, and deciding it agreed with her, she quaffed a long sip, wiping her lips afterwards as Camden smiled. It got passed among the group, each indulging in a brief sip. Logan thought it tasted strange, like the licorice flavor of Jagermeister mixed with something sweeter. Camden chugged last, emptying it with a flourish before throwing it into the back seat of his car. "Stay here," Camden commanded. He sauntered over to a dimly lit carnival booth placed back up against the forest. Logan figured it must be the ticket booth. Nervous smiles were exchanged among the group, and Jaime had crossed her arms over her chest in a self-conscious gesture. Whitney was just staring intently at the upper windows of the house as though she could pierce its inky blackness through sheer force of will. Any haunted house Logan had ever been to had a line of excited revelers out front waiting to get in. That's what was bugging him. It was a ghost town, no sign of anyone but them, and even queerer no signs from the house liked it sucked up all the sound in its vicinity. No chainsaws or screaming woman or spooky music. If it was for the dimly lit booth, Logan would've sworn the place was abandoned. Camden returned to hand out pale purple ticket stubs. "Don't lose these," he cautioned. "It's your ticket in," A pause, "and out." Nervous laughter. "Well, let's not keep 'em waiting." Without another word, he turned on heel and stepped up onto the veranda. The group could only follow suit. Loudly, Camden banged the iron knocker on the thick oaken, iron hinged door. A narrow slit opened, but Logan couldn't see the eyes behind the door. Camden held up his ticket, and the slit slammed shut, but the door opened just a creak. Camden turned back and met Logan's gaze, amused smile creasing his lips. Logan steadied his breathing some. That kind of flourish was more what he'd expect from a haunted place. Always dramatic, Camden kicked the door open and it swung wildly inwards. Camden stepped through the void followed by Logan. He peered in. The room appeared at first glance to be similar to a hospital waiting area, chairs and small tables up against the walls, a flickering, dim florescent bulb overhead. That was more than passing queer; to step into a Victorian house and feel like the entry foyer is a waiting room. There were two doors along the back wall and one along the left wall, but strangest of all was that whoever the soul was who'd opened the outer door was nowhere to be seen. Not even a trace of the person lingered. The room was empty and bare and clinical. "Um, what now?" Alex said as he stepped through, bemused gaze flickering over the emptiness. "Now we choose," Camden said smoothly, walking over to the doors along the back wall, toying with the knobs as though there was a fire in the house and he was checking to see if it was hot behind the door. "They're all unlocked. Which way do we go?" He posed hypothetically, lyrically. No one spoke up. "Here's what I think," Logan said, feeling like as the biggest of the guys, he should be asserting himself more. "We take the door on the right. That's the best way I can think of to ensure that if we ever get split apart from each other, we always take the door on the right, and eventually we'll all be following the same path." Nods of assent all around. It made sense. Hearing the strength in his own voice calmed his nerves a little. What could a guy like Logan have to fear from a kiddy-haunted house? "Well then after you, cowboy," Camden gestured languidly to the rightmost door along the back wall. Logan nodded and crossed the room. The door was stuck. The door handle turned but he had to really pull to jam it open. House of the Depraved Ch. 02 A narrow hallway was revealed before him, lit by a disorienting, flickering, strobe light coming from the ceiling. It flashed in incessant rhythm. Flash on, off, on, off, on, off. With a moment hesitation he stepped into the tunnel, trying to orient himself to the nausea inducing flickering light. His movements seemed jerky beneath the strobe, unreal. Like he wasn't getting anywhere or was moving in slow motion. He stopped at one point, turning back to see if his group followed. At first they seemed miles away, but as he stood there, his friends, without seemingly moving at all, appeared next to him; first Camden and then Jaime and then the rest. He was transfixed to the strobe light flickering off Lane's pale flesh, casting her in silver and metallic. He looked around; the room was featureless, and while the strobe light was bright, for whatever reason it barely seem to delineate any features of the walls or floor except for the threadbare maroon rug that was missing patches like they'd entered the hallway of a one star hotel from the 1920s. Satisfied his group was still with him, he forged on deeper into the hall. The wall to the left began thumping with a steady rhythm, so loud that Lane jumped and Jaime gasped. They all stepped away from it as though it were alive before coming to see that nothing else was accompanying this. It was just a thumping wall. Eventually they became used to its steady rhythm, and a couple of them let out breaths of relief before continuing on. When the door appeared on the right wall, Logan couldn't believe it. He felt like they'd been walking down this hallway for miles and that it was a mirage. Under the flickering strobe light he could never really be sure what he was seeing. One moment there was nothing there, and then all of a sudden there's a door. He reached out for the wall, just trying to judge its distance, finding to his surprise that it was actually several feet further from where he thought it was. He touched the door frame to be sure it was real, and fingered the knob as he waited for the group to magically appear next to him. When they did he shoved it open. Everyone turned an expectant gaze to the new room, only to find it was just the same as the one they were in, only differences being that a new strobe light lit this one, and it was going in a different direction. When Logan stepped in he realized there was one other key difference. A scarecrow was lying on the floor directly beneath the strobe light. Straw was spilling out from under faded flannels and jeans, one arm splayed carelessly across its lifeless form. It was lying perpendicular to the door, such that if they wanted to get past it, they would have to step over it. What froze Logan in his tracks was that even though its body was facing one way, its face was pinned right on him as he stepped in. Coal black eyes were watching him impassively from the straw face, its painted-on mouth a bemused squiggle. Camden hadn't realized he'd stopped and ran into him, pausing as he became aware of the scarecrow. A couple gasps rose from the group. After so much monotony it was strange to see it broken by something substantial. The tension had been getting to them. Logan breathed out and approached the scarecrow warily, expecting to get up and dance a jig right before them. He stepped gingerly, trying to judge the scarecrow's distance and for awhile it seemed like he wasn't getting any closer to it. Then all of a sudden it was right there, by his feet, so close that he almost tripped over its splayed form. It was bigger than he thought, probably 8 feet tall if standing upright and its jeans legs were so thick that he would have to jump to avoid stepping on it. He looked back to Camden who nodded with encouragement, motioning for him to go for it. He took solace in the fact that based on how the scarecrow was positioned: its eyes were no longer directly on him. Bracing himself, he leapt. And then he was falling. He misjudged the distance again, and landed directly on the scarecrow. He could hear Jaime gasp loudly. The fall was sickeningly soft as he crunched into the straw. Sudden panic rose up within him and he tried to get up, but every time he'd tried to push off of the scarecrow, his hands would sink into its straw of its chest. And there was something on his hands, something wet. Still the scarecrow didn't move. Maybe it truly was inanimate. Trying to get a grip, he managed to pull his hands free and slither off of the scarecrow. His heart was a jackhammer in his chest as he scurried to his feet, seeing his wide-eyed gaze reflected in that of his friends on the far side of the scarecrow. By the looks on their faces, he wasn't the only one unnerved. Still he made it across, and brushing the straw from his clothes he began to steady his breathing. He was even about to give Camden a thumbs up when suddenly he heard the whirr of machinery starting up. He spun around trying to find its source but clearly it was coming from the floor. Or maybe the ceiling, or maybe the walls. He couldn't tell, but something had queued up something mechanical and enormous and he didn't like it one bit. Suddenly there was a loud scratch of a record player, and then the song filled the room. It was the carnival anthem, a theme he'd heard a million times before, but what sent a shiver up his spine was how it was completely off key and playing far too slowly, like the record was broken. And God how loud it was! He realized he'd been buried in his ears in his hands stepping back slowly, desperately trying to find where the music coming from. As loud as it was it still couldn't completely deafen the sound of the gears turning and the monstrous machine that was getting to rhythm. Suddenly he felt the whirr of air on the back of his neck and he spun back around. He screamed as loud as he could. The scarecrow was up and moving, but it wasn't walking. No it was hanging halfway in the air, its movements jerky and awkward, moving in time to the demented circus theme. Its legs would kick out sending straw flying one way, while its arms began to wave back and forth. How the hell? He couldn't for the life of him understand how it was moving; but he couldn't turn away from it; even as its head turned all the way around in a 180, till those coal black eyes were facing him. Then the body spun as well so that it was a completely facing him. He began to back away slowly. But under the strobe light he wasn't getting anywhere. It was always the same distance which bewildered him until he figured out that it was moving towards him. It was shucking, and jiving and shuffling in a slow steady course towards him and it was huge looming large under the strobe light, bigger and growing and demonic. He felt the graze of straw against his hand and just about lost it then. And the distant memories from his childhood came flooding back, a scarecrow, the man in the top-hat with his curved knife and a 6 year old Camden cowering in the corner, blood dripping from his hands. Turning on heel, he ran down the nightmarish hallway, wordless terror bubbling from his lips. He didn't know where he was going, just that he had to get away from this thing. Running and running and running as the hallway stretched on forever, and the music kept getting louder and louder, and he refused to look back but he knew the scarecrow would be right there. He ran so fast that he ending up slamming into a door and collapsing against it. Frantically he jumped back to his feet and jiggled the knob, panic bubbling anew as it didn't seem to be opening. Then miraculously it clicked, and he was forcing it open and stepping through, slamming it behind him. So unnerved, and so much time spent staring at the door he just came through, expecting it to open, it took him awhile to realize the room he'd entered was completely different. There was no strobe light here and the music was completely gone. When had it stopped? The room was stone walled and dimly lit, but this time with dusky lanterns along the side walls and it smelled queer but familiar. Belatedly he realized it was a dungeon. Compared to the strobe lit hallways, it was near total blackness but as his eyes adjusted he realized he wasn't alone. There was a girl chained to far wall, eyes wide, watching him enter. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but as he stepped closer he realized they weren't: she was real. She was quite tall he could tell and skinny to the point of being emaciated with ragged, tangled auburn hair and green eyes. Her pale arms were pinned over her head in iron manacles and she wore nothing but thin cotton panties and a bra, exposing the lines of her ribs. Around her neck she wore an iron choker. "Who are you?" she whispered tremulously. His fear, the flashbacks, the scarecrow, this girl. He couldn't make sense of any of this. First, who chained her? The only thing he could figure was that she must be part of the act. And then, idly he thought, she 's a hell of an actress, her eyes seem to show real terror. Guess this must be the depraved part of house of the depraved. He realized he was staring at her. "Um, Logan ma'am," he managed, approaching slowly. "Shh!" She snapped, her eyes flickering to a door along the side wall. "They can hear us," she whispered. "Listen to me! You have to help get me out." Bemused, he cocked his head towards her. "How?" "There's keys to the cuffs hanging on the wall through that other door. Yes, that one there! He took me through there." "How did you get here?" He looked dubiously at the other door. The only thing he could think of was that horrible scarecrow would be waiting behind any door he tried. Really all he wanted was his friends to hurry up and get here. Camden and Jayce were always much better at puzzling these kind of things out. "I was on a tour. I was separated from my group. I...I can't remember what happened then, but I woke up being dragged through the hallways and..." Logan backed away then with a half smile on his face, comprehension dawning. "I get it now," he interrupted. "You want me to go through that door, and God only knows what I'll find. Probably the next horror. Is that it? Is it some Frankenstein behind that door? Or Dracula? What are we talking about there?" Her mouth worked wordlessly, disbelief in her eyes. "This isn't a game!" She whispered harshly. "It's not what you think..." The creak of hinges. Her eyes went wide all over again, pinned on the door she'd been gesturing to earlier. "Oh no, oh no, oh no," she began to intone rhythmically. He whipped around. He was half-expecting to see the little man, instead it was completely the opposite. A woman had entered; clad neck to toe in tight, formfitting black leather. She wasn't very tall but she was all soft curves, hips and voluptuous breasts accented by the leather. She wore gloves and boots and was carrying a riding crop. Her curly red hair was frizzed and teased and was absolutely huge and untamed, framing her face like a lioness. But it was her eyes that captured his: framed by thick lashes, they were an otherworldly purple, the color of the most vivid lilacs. He'd never seen anything like that. Her lips were full and at the moment showed utter satisfaction. She didn't seem surprised to see him at all, infact she looked amused. "Well, well," She purred. "What have we here?" "Think I stumbled into the wrong room," he mumbled trying to offer a conciliatory smile. "You're just in time actually," she said approaching sinuously like a cat almost. She touched his forearm with a gloved hand. Her perfume was musky and thick in the air, making him lightheaded. "Let's begin." She turned him to face the chained girl. "I don't know who you think I am, but..." "You're perfect," she caressed the line of his chest. Increasingly uncomfortable with the situation he also became aware of the stirring of his manhood every time she touched him. He tried to shake his head clear of the perfume which was all encompassing with her so nearby. Memory wasn't working. He was confused. Who was who again? Why was this girl chained to the wall? Did he know her? Everything about her was female and yet so alien in its own way. Something was off. He lifted his gaze and met that of the chained girl. She was bemused and wary. Clearly this woman wasn't whom she was expecting and she knew as much as what was going on as he did. Fear melted into desire which in turn melted into inertia and for whatever reason he couldn't move, not even if he wanted to. "What am I supposed to do?" He managed. "Aw you seem like such a sweet, shy lug. You can kiss her if you like before you begin. Just like this," The vixen grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a tight kiss. Inanely he noticed the glitter on her lips or the heat insistent need as they pressed against his. When the recovered from the shock his head was spinning and he could taste the lingering sweetness. "Now kiss her." Without thinking he found himself leaning in to the skinny, chained girl. Somehow he wanted to taste her lips now too. She spat on him. He could feel it running down the side of his nose. He wiped it away slowly, lifting his eyes to that of the chained girl. She was glaring. "What the hell are you doing?" she seethed. The vixen clucked her tongue, she snaked an arm about his waist and breathed a whisper against his ear. "You can't let that go unpunished, Lo-gan. Mandy's been a bad girl. She insulted you; she rejected you. She, a nobody, should be honored to be kissed by a man of your obvious stature." Smooth as silk she slid the riding crop into his hand. All he could think was: Yes, she did insult me! She rejected me! Who is this slave girl to reject me? He could feel the sleek leather, and the rightness of it in his fingertips. A fine crop. To hear it snap through the air would be a thing of beauty. The chained girl's eyes went wide seeing the crop in his hands. "Don't you dare," she murmured with a hard edge. And then she was pleading: "Help me, please. You need to help me get out of this. I'm sorry I spit on you." He was uncertain. He was supposed to whip her, it was what he was supposed to do. That was what the vixen said. But wouldn't it hurt? He couldn't remember why he was here. He idly felt the vixen's fingertips stroke his now throbbing manhood; slowly petting him as waves of pleasure shot up through him. It was getting even harder to think rationally. "Logan, you don't want me to ask twice. Do what you came here to do!" Right. He came here to punish this slave girl. Now he remembered. He smacked the crop hard against the chained girl's ribs. She screamed out and twisted in the shackles, her eyes filled with pain and shock. His gaze was pinned on the lovely red welt the crop had left along her side. Distantly he heard the vixen crying "Again!" He lashed out again, harder this time, the crop stinging across the front of her upper thighs causing her to scream out even louder this time. The chained girl's breathing was ragged; such a lovely sound. "A couple more for good measure," the vixen purred, sounding almost bored. He lashed out twice more, once against her arm and once along her thighs again, leaving a trail of red, black and blue along her taut flesh. By the end, the girl was sobbing between ragged breaths, her waifish frame supported mainly by the wall and the chains which kept her arms in place. "Now go kiss her Logan. She should be more receptive." She gave his manhood a little squeeze through his pants as encouragement. Not that he needed any. He pressed his large frame against the chained girl. Her head had lolled to the side but he held her cheeks and pressed his lips to hers. She tasted of cherries and salt and blood and she barely kissed him back, but it was still lovely. "Don't," she whispered faintly. But he didn't want to hear that right then, so he kissed her hard again, stealing all that was left of her breath, and biting her lower lip as he parted, causing the girl to gasp helplessly. He enjoyed abusing this slave girl. The vixen chuckle; a throaty, womanly laugh that bubbled up from her. Clearly she was pleased at his initiative. "Hold onto her Logan. I'm letting her down. Time for the fun to begin." He held the waifish girl tight around her waist. She was pliant; barely moving, but he cold feel her breath against his cheek and he liked it. The Vixen was right there on his other side, reaching up to undo the girl's manacles, unlatching them from her wrists smoothly. When she undid the second one, the girl collapsed against him. He noticed the girl weighed next to nothing; he bore her weight easily. "No, no. Don't. Don't!" The girl whispered so softly that it sounded like she was dreaming. Her eyes were half-lidded and her lips were a vivid shade of red against how pale and drawn her skin had become. The time lock had broken, and suddenly everything was happening fast. He'd ripped her bra off and her panties away. She was nearly hairless below, like a little girl, but she was curve-less. Absolutely naked, he could see how painfully thin she was. And then he was being told to take off his shirt and he did button by button and then his pants as well. He could feel the brush of the vixen's fingernails along his bicep, trailing a lazy line up his shoulder. She must've taken her glove off. When did that happen? He released the girl into a crumpled heap. The vixen grabbed Logan's cheeks and kissed him deeply, her tongue probing so deep, he nearly gagged. And then he felt her red hair brush against his face in a wisp. She'd turned around and had slammed a boot into the girl's ankle as she'd been trying to crawl away. The girl let out a muffled cry of anguish. The vixen growled at him to take care of it, and so he did. He crushed his body against the girl's riding her hard into the stone floor. His cock was rock-hard, and he slammed it up into the girl like a piston, as she cried out and he grunted exultation. Each pump was met with a resulting moan from the girl who was trying to squirm, but couldn't as he held her tight. He could feel the vixen had ridden up behind him. He could feel the leather of her bust against his back, and the increasingly frantic scratch of her fingernails along his back. The harder she ripped into him, the harder he slammed into the girl. And how hot it was. Nothing else mattered. His focus locked onto a singular point. He was thrusting harder now, determined to satisfy the ache within him or break the girl in two trying. Her moans had achieved a slow consistent rhythm and she was praying to God, to Jesus to anyone who would listen. And it was so noisy in retrospect he didn't hear what was happening around him. When his load exploded into the girl, and he collapsed against her with an agonized grunt, he noticed something was off. First, the back his broad shoulders were on fire. They felt like a red mess. But as he tried to turn around he realized couldn't. Why was that? He was locked in place, and he could feel the vixen's hands on the tops of his shoulders. She was riding him. He hadn't seen the vixen putting on a strap-on, hadn't even seen her bring one into the room, but somehow as he lied against the girl he could feel it slam up into anal cavity, and the scream he let out at that moment rocked the foundation of the house to its core. He tried to force it out of him, but he was impaled and locked into place, being ridden doggy style as the vixen used his shoulders for leverage. He gritted his teeth through the intense pain; it was no small dildo, not by any stretch and it hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt. But to his amazement he saw his manhood getting hard all over again, and the vixen must have seen it too because she unleashed another throaty laugh and had her fingers intertwined with his shaggy main and was pulling back on it hard. He even caught a glimpse of the fear in the girl's eyes. She was pinned to the floor, still under him, but seem terrified as to what could be causing him to scream like that. Somewhere distantly he heard the gears within the skeleton core of the house start up, and the great creak and groan; almost like a giant train coming to a halt. He bit his lower lip so hard that he drew blood. House of the Depraved Ch. 02 When the vixen reached around and savagely yanked his throbbing manhood he released for the second time, spilling his cum all over the girl beneath them, and collapsed into her again. With a flourish the vixen slammed into him one last time but he was too tired to even groan at this point. He fell into the girl once more, cold to the core. He felt the vixen's hands touch the back of his neck almost tenderly. "That's it, sweetie. You did well. Think I'll keep you." She was whispering against his ear; beyond sultry. He tried to say something but his tongue seemed thick and ungainly in his mouth, like swollen. Maybe he'd bitten it. All the strength in him was gone. He tried to push off of the girl beneath him; he couldn't though and every-time he tried, his arms would give out and the girl would whimper. The vixen was stroking his dirty-blonde hair and was brushing it away from his neck and humming some tune he didn't recognize. He tried to remember how he'd gotten here, how things had come to this. Distantly he could remember the words: The House of the Depraved, showing up neon in his mind. When she closed the iron collar about his neck, he suddenly remembered then something about a rule involving not going through the house alone. As one of the lanterns gutted out and the whirr of the machine grew louder and louder, he wondered why he'd forgotten that until now. House of the Depraved "What's the third rule?" It was Alex. His voice shook Jayce out of his reverie. Camden was steadily meeting Lane's gaze. He gave no sign that he even heard Alex. Frustrated, Alex made as if to repeat his question but was cut short as Camden lifted a solitary finger in Alex's direction. Wait. Camden had not lifted his eyes from Lane, his lips turned up at the corners hinting at humor. His dark eyes were cooler and veiled but no less intense. An inky black strand had fallen across his temple but he didn't ebrush it away, nor did he pull down his silencing finger directed at Alex. And then it was over. Lane either saw something in his gaze that satisfied her, or didn't, regardless she acquiesced with a lift of her chin to him and downed her glass of wine. Camden lowered his hand then and turned to his own cup. His wine was empty so he grabbed his water glass and chewed on some ice, eyes turned on Alex, smiling faintly, taking his sweet time before responding. Jayce was literally sitting on the edge of his seat, eyes pinned on Camden. Lane had leaned back and crossed her legs demurely, but he could see she was no less involved. Camden finished the last of the ice in the glass, peering within and rattling the empty cup before slamming it down resoundingly. "Again, keep in mind, I'm just the messenger. This is what was told to me if I wanted to bring a group to the House, and I swore I'd tell y'all word for word." He paused and met each of their gazes in turn before continuing. "Rule 3: No one goes alone. The House of Depraved cannot be found liable for what occurs to the solitary soul found within." Stunned looks flickered across all the faces at the table. "Not liable?" Alex began, shaking his head. "But...why?" Jaime's brow was furrowed. "Found?" Lane whispered so softly only Jayce could hear. "By whom?" Logan was rubbing the back of his sunburned neck slowly and Whitney's lips were parted just a bit as if she was about to say something but could not quite find the first word. "What the....hell....happens to someone who's alone in there?" Jayce lifted his eyes to Camden's. His voice sounded thicker than usual in his ears, hoarse. Camden was the only one of the group sitting easy. He was slouched back in his seat, munching on some ice he'd emptied from Jaime's cup while she was preoccupied. He smiled genially at Jayce as he rolled his shoulders back. "They wouldn't say. No matter how graciously I'd ask." Another pervasive silence descended on the table. Each rule was weirder and more obscure than the last. Was this Camden's idea of a practical joke? No, Camden never played jokes like this. The more absurd the idea, the more dead serious he was and this was no different. Jayce had lived with the kid long enough to tell hat Camden was judging each at the table by their reactions and taking amusement in overwhelming befuddlement. That wolfish smile was forever playing just beneath the surface. "You know you're intrigued," Camden insinuated. His eyes were on Jayce, but the words were directed at the group. "Well," Logan stretched languidly, a lazy smile on his lips. "I'm in." "So am I," Alex leaned over and affectionately ruffled Logan's shaggy dirty-blonde mane. Holding the big cowboy in a head lock he turned back to Camden. "You had me at depraved." To the surprise of Jayce, Whitney spoke up next. "I'm still thinking this is Camden's idea of a hoax. But worse comes to worse, if this thing turns out to be real, I think it's something that I need to see." "Do you now?" Alex flashed an intrigued grin. "I have my reasons," she said simply. Camden leaned over the table and gave Whitney's hand a tight squeeze with a smile. He turned his gaze on Jaime. "Darlin'?" "Why Cam," She teased, giving his knee an affectionate squeeze. "I'd follow you to hell and back. Didn't you know that?" "I never doubted." He leaned in and kissed her chastely on the lips. "Could be you're going to do just that," Jayce grinned at Jaime. She shrugged, smiling sweetly in her silence. Jayce could feel Camden's expectant gaze. With a satirical half-smile, Jayce lifted a silencing finger in his direction and turned to Lane. "Whatcha thinkin' Laney?" "I'm thinking he's insane and the rest of you might be just as bad," She said through a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Was that apprehension in her eyes? He couldn't tell, he'd never seen that look before. The girl had always been cool and understated in her emotions. "I'm only going to do this if you're in. You know that," Jayce said lifting her chin his hazy grey eyes meeting her pools of iridescent blue. The wine had made him bolder. He was overwhelmed by a fierce affection for this girl at his side and really didn't care who knew at this point. "Oh! Thanks for not putting pressure on me," she groaned as she slapped his shoulder again. By all accounts, the girl just loved abusing him. "Good work, Jayce!" Jaime cooed. "Lane," Alex leaned in a bit, his voice perfectly reasonable. "I'm sure whoever we find in there is no more depraved than us. They might even switch them out in favor of us to get more of an authentic feel." "Won't be the same without you," Whitney chided. "You know how it is when there's too many boys." "Surely YOU do, Whitney" Logan said chuckling as she shoved him hard but ineffectually which only made him laugh harder. Lane's eyes hadn't lifted from Jayce's. He could see her searching his grey depths. He was unwavering and cocky from the wine. "I think we'd both learn something," he whispered, touching his thumb to his lips and then hers. "About ourselves, about each other, about these nutjobs at the table here. I think it's something we'd regret not doing." The steely resolve in her eyes broke like the sun behind morning clouds. She seemed genuinely touched by his gesture. She grazed the backs of her fingers against his cheek fondly before turning back to the assembled. "I don't suppose I ever really had an option," Her eyes shifted to Camden and her smile was faint. "You sir, you're a snake and you know it. You ever hear the word 'no'?" "Often and incessantly," He'd stolen Jaime's hand and was nibbling at her fingers playfully before she swatted him. "I'm just patient enough to wait until they turn to 'yes'." Lane let loose a resigned sigh. "Whatever comes of this, comes." The table erupted in cheers and laughter. Jayce wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged the slender girl tight against him. "I'm trusting you on this more than I'm trusting Cam buddy," Lane whispered against in his ear. "Don't let me down now." Camden ordered the waiter to bring out the champagne. With a resounding pop and overflowing bubbly he poured everyone a glass. He called for a toast and the table lifted their glasses. With the content smile of the cat who fell in the cream, he nodded a bit. "I chose y'all for this, 'cause I knew if anyone would have the guts to give this a try it would be you six." He paused, taking stock. "Y'all didn't let me down. To us." "To us." Our glasses clinked together, a crystalline keen followed by a comfortable silence at the table. The group was remarkably well composed considering how drunk everyone must have been at the time. The excitement was palpable but restrained, for whatever reason, but it wasn't apprehension or anticipation so much as simple camaraderie between friends who'd set a unique joint course and felt closer than ever as result. Jayce's smiles came easy, and the alcohol had put him in a good mood. And yet...and yet at the back of his mind, not even he could shake the notion, that people entering a suicide pact probably felt the same way at the time. *** The walk back to campus was serene under the star-filled sky. Jayce was drunk, but he'd never felt so alive or in the moment as he did then. Lane and him had fallen back from the main pack. They were up ahead, the 5 walking arm in arm and loudly singing some old Bobby Darin croon number. How they all knew the words Jayce could never say. It often seemed that these friends of his were enigmas. The scent of fall was thick in the air, but it was nothing compared to the sweet scent of Lane's perfume which left him unable to think of anything beyond her. The girl was at his side, his hand snaked around her waist, hers around his; he loved how she fit so snugly by him; like she was meant to be there. Then, all of a sudden, she nipped playfully at his ear. For Jayce that was the final straw. He was done waiting. With his arm snaked about her waist he spun her. Drunk, she almost stumbled, her hair flying across her face, her blue eyes almost comically wide in surprise. Before she had a chance to react he pressed his body tight against her, looming taller than her, feeling the surprise gasp of her breath against his neck as her back smacked hard against the adobe wall of the empty storefront behind her. He crushed his lips against her, thinking of all the moments he'd been near her, dying, dying to do this very thing. She tasted sweeter than he could have imagined; cherry intermingling with champagne residue on her lips. He wanted to taste her soul. He could feel her heart racing through the black silk of her dress, and the press of her fingertips along his upper arms. To his surprise, she immediately returned the kiss, her lips feverishly pressed to his as she held his face close. His hands ran up her hips and sides and played along the outer curve of her breasts, searching... finding...intertwining with her spaghetti straps sliding them down the silken line of her arms. Her fingertips worked deftly. Before he knew it she'd loosened his tie and had undone most of the buttons of his shirt. He couldn't get enough of her. No matter how hard he kissed her, no matter how much of her he could touch, see, smell, taste, it wasn't enough and it was driving him crazy. He was desperate. His bulging manhood was a rock, spurred by the feel and grind of her thigh. Her body was arched so sinuously; a painfully erotic posture. Their lips were frenzy. She'd break the kiss for a moment, desperately trying to catch her breath, moaning uncontrollably from the feel of his hands over her breasts and his fingers toying with her nipples. Then he wouldn't be able to take it anymore, and he'd be smashing is lips against hers once more; needing to taste her, unable to go more than a second without it. Then she was trying to murmur something and she was pressing her hands against his chest, and he wasn't comprehending, and she said it again. But all he heard was his heart pounding in his ears, and his eyes were unable to focus on anything but her lips. They were a breath's length away, but for all he could tell it was an eternity; an endless yawning gap of space. She held his face before her, blue eyes intense, her expression was painfully earnest. She mouthed the words slow making sure he understood: "Behind you." Jayce spun around. He didn't see anything at first. Apparently the rest of their friends had gone on ahead. It was silent; the street was dimly lit by streetlamps and the storefronts were dead. Then he heard a muffled high-pitch chuckle and he saw it: a group of 4 or 5 guys conversing under a distant streetlamp, feigning disinterest in Jayce and Lane and failing miserably. And over the other way, hiding behind a bush he could see a hand and the excited murmurs of kids trying to be quiet for fear of being caught. He shook his head. Apparently they were the evening's entertainment. He caught their reflection in the bank window then and saw how ragged they must've looked. He noticed her lipstick had smeared over his lips and cheeks and his tie was askance and loosely hanging from my neck like a lanyard. His white button-down was hanging slack from his shoulders and was ripped in a couple places. He looked to Lane and she blushed and shrugged a bit. "Sorry, Jayce." Using the collar of his shirt he dabbed at the lipstick along his cheek, and ran a hand through his tussled dark hair. No use. The aftertaste of her lips continued to play sweetly on his tongue and mind. A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "It's alright. Just didn't realize we had an audience." Her expression was momentarily pensive. She was chewing on her bottom lip. Then impulsively she grabbed his hand. "C'mon." He could only grab hold as she led him back down the road towards the dorms. He was caught off and stumbled along some broken bottles as she pulled him and he fell dragging her down on top of him. "Just hold on, ok?" She giggled helping him to his feet, gently brushing the dirt from his shoulders. And then she was pulling him once more, leaving him to try to keep his footing. The rest of the trip back to her dorm room was a blur. Jayce was dizzy and the room was spinning by the time they got in; dazed from the alcohol and the thrill of this dizzying brunette. He only caught glimpses of the room. The lava lamp cast a purple sheen on everything and the incense burning against the window sill added a woodsy pine aroma. He'd sat down on the bed for a moment to regain his bearings, but the second she shut the door, she was on him and he was awash in her presence: lost in her eyes and entranced by her lips. Her fair skin glowed purple in the light, his tanner flesh showing up darker. The dizziness was gone just like that, dispersed replaced by a different kind of lightheadedness, the kind of light-headed he'd get when she was near. There was nothing else in the world but this girl before him. Easing him flat on his back, she straddled him smoothly, shaking her hair out of her face as she leaned in and kissed him hard. His hands found purchase along her slender thighs beneath her skirt and ran higher; causing her to draw in a sharp intake of breath; as satisfying a sound as he'd ever want to hear. Spurred on by this sweet girl before him, he pulled her already moist panties down, a pink frilly number that he would've killed to see her in, but was even more pleased to see her out of. He traced along the outside of her wet pussy and she moaned slowly. He could tell she was struggling to lift her dress away, distracted by the play of his fingers along her slit. It was tremendously entertaining to toy with her like this. With considerable effort she finally successfully lifted the dress over her head, revealing the matching frilly pink bra and taut, beautiful pale white flesh. Her body was amazing: slender, with just the right hint of a curve at her hips and breasts, and flawless too, unblemished except for a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on her hip, now revealed by the lack of a dress and panties. What surprised him was the golden cross dangling around her neck. God, was he finger fucking a Catholic girl? That was an idea he could warm to. Then her hands were at his shirt, undoing the final buttons and he helped her slide it off his shoulders, and the wife-beater as well. He saw her fingertips trace the muscled sinew of his abdomen and along his chest. Muscles earned from an almost unhealthy dedication to the club rugby he played. She seemed transfixed by his body, eyes tracing every line, every cord, every muscle. Her hands glowed pale against his dark flesh, and grazed a trail of lingering warmth wherever they passed over. Then they descended down to his suit pants. She unbuttoned them, and pulled them down his waist as he watched with the hint of a smile playing at his lips. Then the boxers went too, and just the tips of her fingertips were taunting over the tip of his hard, bulging member, teasing him. He sucked in a deep breath of air as she caught his cock firmly, and stroked a slow, painfully deliberate circuit up to the tip and then back to the shaft. Her touch would be insistent and then light, enough to drive him wild, and then it was fleeting. Seemingly, purposely manipulating his pleasure. He must have been whimpering because he saw her eyes were narrow and she was smiling slyly. "Turn about's fair play, Jayce." "Wha'?" Her hand took his larger one, lifting it before his eyes. "This has been naughty." That was about all the teasing he could take. He sat up, and smothered her lips with his own, as he reached around her and undid her bra throwing it aside all in one smooth motion. She gasped as he tackled her into the bed. His manhood was hard to the point of being painful...and with her splayed out so lovely on her sheets, he pinned her arms over her head, before beginning the slow drive of his cock in to her. He teased the outside of her laiba with the tip of his penis. "Oh God," she moaned as he began to enter her. Her slit was wonderfully tight but it was clear she wasn't a virgin. Her eyes were unfocused as it seemed she was waiting for the full feel of him inside her, bracing herself. She was worried he was too big for her. "Be gentle, Jayce" she whispered, softly, almost like a little girl. He slowly trailed his fingers down her arms and through her silky brown hair. Her eyes were closed now and she was breathing slow and ragged. When his hands traced over her breasts coming to brace at her sides, he leveraged the rest of the way into her and she gasped again. "Gentle, Jayce," she whimpered, unable to prevent herself from squirming. He was in heaven though; loving how her inner walls squeezed him so tight. Three was a rightness about it. And then his hips rode into her, and hers could only follow suit as their bodies grinded against each other. Every ounce of his body was on fire, sensitive to the touch. And he could feel her hands everywhere, fingertips interlaced with his hair, along his lips, trailing the side of his neck. His were manipulating her hard nipples, working them as she whimpered, before pressing against her stomach and then back up again. Sweat had made her skin luminescent; and to him it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen; how her face was contorted with each thrust, pleasure and sweetness intermingled, and how she'd lick her lips just so or bite her lower one to fight through the frustration and pleasure. His hand pressed against her cheek, and her eyes opened then, brilliantly radiant pools of blue that locked on his eyes so solidly he couldn't look away. Still their bodies grinded and he could feel himself getting close. Her eyes closed once more and she was biting her lower lip again, crying out with every thrust and her hips bucked with every scream. She was already on the way there, and heading to the same edge he was. But the feeling was unbelievable. Inside her, nothing else mattered. He felt like this was where he belonged, and it was an epiphany he couldn't recall having before. He found himself grinding harder and harder and she made the sweetest moans such that he could never get as deep as he truly wanted. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god," she was breathing fast and ragged. The heat was too much. And then he was there. He let a low guttural groan, and released inside of her, a streaming urgent trail of milky semen. He could feel himself getting soft, but was aware that her body was still grinding hard so close to its own release. He pressed a kiss to her slightly parted lips, stealing her breath once more, and after pulling out from her, he grazed my fingertips across her soaking wet cunt. He found her clit and concentrated his attention there, manipulating it with slow insistent pressure and she began to pant and then her moans took on a more desperate quality. He could feel her grab his wrist hard and when the moment came her fingernails dug deep into him. Her back arched sinuously against the bed as she released, crying out intensely from the pleasure and the frustration from before and just the intensity of the moment. Her lithe form shivered against the bed and he gingerly moved off her, giving her a chance to breathe once more. He gave her hand a squeeze to provide contact, but nothing more knowing how sensitive she was in that moment. She continued to pant and her forehead and cheeks and hollow of her neck glistened with sweat. Fondly, he ran his fingertips through her hair and waited for her breathing to slow and the shivers to subside. House of the Depraved Eventually her eyes came open, at first attempting to focus and then she was looking at him in a way he'd never seen her look before. There was wonder in her pretty eyes. "Where'd you learn to do that?" She whispered leaning over to touch my cheek. "I'm half-latino," he said with a smooth smile. "It's in the gene pool, baby." She trailed a couple fingers along the line of his jaw, and then lips. "It was amazing, Jayce." He kissed those trailing fingers. "Not bad yourself...for a white girl." She slapped him, rolling her eyes as he laughed. He reached out and cupped her cheek, holding her gaze intently in his passionate pools of grey. "Lane, I'm crazy about you. I've always been crazy about you. I wanted to be sure you knew that." A soft smile spread across her lips, her cheeks just a little flushed, from the compliment or the heat he couldn't say. "I do...now." He idly grazed his fingertips down the smooth line of her arm and shoulder as he watched her, drinking in her body, never thinking he would've ever had a chance to see this girl naked; she always seemed so demure, so out of his league. He exulted at the opportunity. The girl's body was the best of everything feminine and he couldn't help feeling intensely protective of this girl he just had. This wasn't a meaningless one night deal, not to him anyway. He couldn't ever recall feeling this way. "It's sexually based, isn't it?" Her words broke him from his reverie. "What is?" Jayce was thrown by that aside. "The House of the Depraved." "I guess. I dunno, I assume it's just one of those haunted houses that use the fetish angle and focus on naughty nurses and temptresses and that kind of thing, mixed in with the generic horror." He was thrown off by the subject change. He searched her eyes but only found uncertainty. "I think it's different than that," She said, shaking her head a little. She sat up, and grabbed a hair-tie from her bedside table, tying back her loose chestnut-brown strands. "Something seemed off about how Cam explained it." "You jumping at ghosts, Laney?" Jayce asked, giving her knee a little a squeeze. "I think it's just another haunted house. A little better, a little scarier than your average mom and pop but just cheap thrills all the same." "Just the way that Logan described the freakshow, and that they used to live there." She crossed her arms over her breasts, stifling a shiver. "And now I'm going to have to wear this humiliating outfit. God Jayce, you have to see it. I wouldn't be caught dead in this thing, and yet now I'll have to. And they can touch us? I don't see anyway I'm going to be comfortable doing this." "Ah, so that's it," he said with a slow smile. "You don't want to wear the outfit. Lane you're absolutely gorgeous. I think that's the part I'm most excited about, right there." She gave him a withering look, like he wasn't getting her at all. Sighing, she rose pulling out a pair of pajama bottoms from her dresser and a sports bra. Without a single word or glance she put them on with her back to him. He never understood how girls could be so carnal and wild one moment and then self-conscious in their nakedness the next. She threw him his boxers. "I can't talk about this naked. Can't believe you can. At least put those on." Jayce complied. "Y'alright Laney?" She sat back down on the bed by him, eyes riveted to his own, desperate to make him understand. "I just have a weird feeling about it. I think there's a lot that's not being said." He could see she wasn't kidding. And thinking about it in retrospect, the rules did seem completely bizarre. He had just assumed it was all part of the scare tactics. But what if the rules were real? Rule 3: The House of Depraved cannot be found liable for what occurs to the solitary soul found within. What the hell did that mean? What happens to them? The touching rule he understood and was completely behind. And as far as being manipulated; well isn't that what haunted houses do? They manipulate you into fear, indecision, panic. But that third rule can't really mean what it says, can it? People get separated all the time in the dark. Are they...preyed upon? No that's ridiculous. He pushed the more sensationalist thoughts from his mind. He leaned in and kissed her chastely on the lips. "I guess there's only one way to find out." She paused before nodding and smiled faintly. "I'm glad you'll be there Jayce. You will keep 'em at bay, wontcha?" Clearly Lane hadn't wanted to be reassured. She just wanted to be heard and was satisfied at least someone understood. "Of course, Laney," Jayce whispered, lifting her chin to kiss her again, more deeply. "I'll be right there with you...the whole night if I have to." *** Nine days later it would be Halloween. Jayce had no way of knowing what he would be in for. ***