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Monster

By: Munachi



Not every Christmas story is a happy one. This one certainly isn't. Also, it is more of a horror story than a sex-story, so if you are looking mainly for sex, you might be disappointed. I do hope though, you enjoy my story.

I am not from an English-speaking country, and my story takes place in the surroundings I know, thus some of the cultural references might be different to those of your country.

This story contains a lot of dream-sequences -- it is not necessary for dreams to be realistic, and that is the case for some of the dreams here.

The German quotes are from the Christmas Oratorio by Johann Sebastian Bach.

*****

She couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been part of her life.

In her first memory she was six years old, and had woken up screaming, because a cackling laughter had intruded into her dreams. She could not remember a single thing before that day, maybe it was the laughter, his laughter and his voice that had deleted all memory preceding that day.

From now on every night she woke up, sat in her bed, screaming, and tears streaming down her cheeks. Then she hid under the blankets of her bed, and covered her ears with her hands, but nothing, nothing could block out his voice.

A few times her mother came into the room to tell her that there were no monsters in the closet. Only once she made the mistake to respond that it wasn't a monster in the closet she was afraid of. Rather, the monster was in her head.

After that her mother took her to a doctor, who asked her all kinds of questions. As young as she was, she realized that people weren't supposed to have a monster in their head, that it made her older siblings laugh about her, and the neighbour kids joined in once the siblings had informed them that their little sister was a bit screwed up in the brain, so she stopped talking about it. She couldn't help screaming in the night, however -- but her parents and siblings grew used to it, and in the end it wouldn't even wake them up any more when once again she jumped up in her bed, her face pale as death, her eyes wide open, and every sense of her aware of that presence of something that continued even after she had stopped dreaming.

With the time, he started talking to her also when she was awake. He was only a voice, a voice that didn't sound quite human, yet she always called him "he", never "it". Something in her knew him to be a "he".

He accompanied her throughout her childhood, her adolescence. He remained quiet as long as other people surrounded her, but as soon as she was alone, his cackling laughter caused icicles to grow in her heart, and his shrill voice told her stories that drained all happiness from her.

He also made her dream wild and confused dreams that she could never quite remember, except for the fear she had felt in them. It was those dreams that caused her to wake up screaming every single night of her life. And being awake never brought any relief, he was still there, and she was unsure if she should rather try to fall asleep quickly so the morning might be there soon, or rather stay awake to avoid any more dreams.

In school, she was made fun of and bullied constantly, yet she preferred the attacks of her classmates over what awaited her when she was alone. She was always tired and had to fight off sleep in class, but somehow managed to get through the years with average grades. She never had any friends, but didn't seem to care much, as long as her presence was accepted at the playground.

She even managed to maintain the image of a normal child, if a loner and very quiet. Her nervous outbreaks where kept to her life at home, to the nights, the time of horror and fear. Only once did the others play a real cruel joke on her. A boy named Steve, a year older than her but in her class because he failed the past school year, who compensated his intellectual failure by making life hell for any of the kids that got in his way, decided that he didn't like anybody watching him and his friends play football. When she still did, he decided she needed a lesson. With the help of two more boys he lured her into the schools cellar, then left her there alone and locked the door of the dark cellar room behind her. Her panicked screams made him laugh at first, but when she suddenly grew silent, he and his friends felt creepy about the whole thing, and warned a teacher of that "there was someone in the cellar, apparently". The door was opened and they found her on the floor, unmoving, as if she had lost consciousness, but her eyes wide open. They thought she was dead, but soon figured out that she was in a strange state of trance. The sunlight and the presence of all the other children of her school helped, and when it was announced that she maybe should stay at home for a few days, in bed, she suddenly got up onto her shaky feet and claimed that she was feeling a lot better already, that it was no problem, that she was well and could continue with lessons.

Her parents didn't quite know what to do with this pale and quiet child who never played as happily as her brothers and sisters, but tacked on to them in a strange fear of being alone. As the years went by, she grew more and more alienated from them, and they of her, to the point that buying a birthday or Christmas present was a serious problem -- they didn't know anything about their daughter and her likes and dislikes. She was like a little ghost living in their house, never saying a word, just sitting in the kitchen watching her mother cook, or on the garden bench, watching her siblings play. Only when she was sent to her room, because the others grew nervous by the gaze from her big dark eyes and by her silence, only then she started shouting in protest, an expression of panic in her face that corroborated what everyone in the family knew, but no one talked about: Renate was crazy.

***

"You sure you don't want to come with us?"

Katja stood in the door, a scarf wrapped tightly around her face, and the rest of her hidden in a thick, furry coat, in expectation of the cold winter-weather outside, a backpack on her back. From the staircase heavy footsteps echoed up to the apartment, as Katja's boyfriend Karsten carried down two heavy suitcases.

Renate shook her head, her dark eyes on Katja, her mouth thin.

Then, with a bit of effort, she smiled, and said, "No, I think it is good for me to spend some time alone. Do some studying, relax, and think about things ... "

She didn't want to say that she would feel completely out of place on a skiing trip with Katja and Karsten, like a little kid tagging along, her hungry eyes on them each time they kissed, unable to give them the privacy they needed, as unfamiliar places still scared her.

"Well okay", Katja said, "I have to go."

Renate knew what was to follow and braced herself for it: 'Relax.' Yet her body went stiff under Katja's hug, she tried to hug her back but didn't quite know what to do with her arms. Katja didn't mind, she knew Renate well enough by now.

"See you in the new year!"

With that, she left. Renate stood in the half opened door and watched her flat mate walk down stair after stair, the blue and black backpack covering most of her. Katja smiled and waved a last time before she disappeared on the next flight of stairs. She consisted only of the hollow sound of footsteps then, farther and farther away, quieter and quieter, until the sound of a door falling into place indicated she had left the building. Renate sighed and pulled the apartment door closed.

***

"Jauchzet, frohlocket!"

Bam! Bada bada bam!

The music echoed through the small apartment. Renate hummed along with the choir as she folded up her dry laundry and carried it from the bathroom, where it had been hung up on long ropes above the bathtub to her room. Bach had always been all she needed to feel Christmas was there. Even during her worst years, there had been a certain feeling of peace when the church bells sounded through her village in the afternoon of Christmas Eve, and she knew the village choir would start singing this very piece. A few times she had been allowed to listen, as one of her older sisters sang in the choir, and the music had drained the voice from her head for at least a few hours.

Later, he had been back with more insistence than before, the strength she had gathered during these hours of peace, crumbled quickly, and two or three nights after Christmas she would start waking up screaming again. That's what it always had been like, and she had given up hope that it would ever be any different -- until she had moved away from her family.

Leaving home had changed her life. There hadn't been much to keep her in a place where she was only a nuisance, where she had to beg to be allowed in the others' presence. Her parents were the strangers who gave her food and a roof above her head, not much more. And she was a stranger to them, a pale and scrawny little bird that had found its way into the nest they had prepared so well for their other offspring; she was not quite strong enough to be a cuckoo, but too different to fully count as one of their own. There were many children in the house, and they had high hopes for some of them. The other children seemed both more demanding and more deserving of their time and energy than this ever quiet, never smiling one, lost in the middle of older and younger siblings.

Amazingly, she had finished school with quite good grades, enough to allow her to chose the university and subject she wanted. Her main priority now had been to go as far away as possible from home. The number of siblings, a lot of whom still lived at home, guaranteed her financial support from the state during her studies. She was thus independent of her parents.

At first, the move had been scary, though. She feared that he might torture her with even greater intensity once she was living alone, that everyone would see she was crazy from the first moment on, that the rejection by others would be even worse in the city she moved to.

The opposite happened. She had found a nice little room in an apartment she shared with Katja. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't alone there, or maybe he had other reasons: From the moment she arrived in the city, he had disappeared out of her head. She could start to learn how to live a normal life.

And she learned it; Katja taught her.

Katja was always laughing, always up to something, she knew every pub and club in town, she knew what events or concerts took place, and she knew that there were more important things to do than sitting at home and study. Something about Renate's big-eyed paleness had touched Katja, and she wanted to make sure the scared girl that had moved in with her became a full member of the city's student life. She took Renate by the hand and led her into this new life, and Renate willingly followed. She learned to laugh, to make jokes, to get drunk.

Renate smiled, thinking of all the fun evenings, all the party nights she had had since she had moved into the city. Smiling she walked to her old record player -- she had taken it with her from home, no one had wanted it any more -- and turned over the record with the Christmas oratorio.

"Frohe Hirten, eilt ach eilet ... "

Still humming, she returned to her laundry, and her thoughts went back to the last months, and the changes that had happened with her.

Not too long ago, Katja had met Karsten, and thus had less time for Renate. Still, Renate had enough new friends to usually keep busy. It just hurt her a bit to see the two of them together, looking into each other's eyes with an expression of love Renate herself had never experienced. She was more like the others now, but still too shy and quiet to make much of an impression on most guys she met. Katja kept telling her that one day she would meet the right one, but Renate had her doubts. Still, she was not unhappy.

When Katja had invited her to join her and Karsten on their skiing trip for Christmas and New Year's, though, she had refused. Her excuse had been that she needed to study, and it was true; she hadn't given much thought to university thus far, but the term was going to end soon, and if she wanted to keep her scholarship and thus her independence, she should try for good grades.

However, it wasn't the only reason. She would have felt like an intruder if she had joined Katja and Karsten on their first holiday together. They had done so much for her, they had a right to some time just with each other. And she saw being alone for a week as a test -- if she could manage, then her problems were truly over, she was free.

It meant that she now spent Christmas Eve alone, cleaning up the apartment, but she didn't mind. In fact, for someone who had never been able to be alone, it was a relief being allowed to her own thoughts for once, without fear. Renate had considered searching out some kind of Christmas party, surely there were some in this city, a lot of people were alone after all, but then she had decided against it. She enjoyed listening to the music -- it was all she needed. And the fact that she had been fine for the two days since Katja had left made her happier than anything else.

"Und den Menschen ... Und den Menschen ... Und den Menschen ... "

The record always got stuck at this place. It was too old and had a large scratch. But looking at her watch, Renate realized that it was almost midnight -- time to go to bed, anyway. She turned the music off, and then went to her room, undressed. When she lay in her bed, comfortably hiding in between the covers, it didn't take her longer than a minute to fall asleep.

***

'I have never been in such a dark forest.'

She could hear her own thought echoing through the darkness. The further the words travelled back and forth, the more distorted their sound became, until she was scared of each echo that returned to her.

'Where am I?'

The new echo mixed with the old one, each sentence journeyed back and forth in its own rhythm.

'Stop it!'

Now all three phrases travelled back and forth over the nightly forest, travelled in and out of her ears, the words met and disentangled, formed one staccato rhythm with each other that matched the accelerated beat of her heart. 'Forest. Where? It! Never. Am? Stop!'

The echo didn't diminish, on the contrary, it grew louder and louder until it filled the night, until her ears were in danger of breaking, until she wanted to fall on the ground, her face hidden in her arms, to escape the loudness of the echo of her own thoughts.

Then, suddenly, it was quiet.

She was surrounded by a completely quiet forest. No wind was shaking the tops of the tall, leafless trees, no birds or other animals made a sound. It was, as if the world around her had been turned to stone. A dead forest bathed in darkness.

She didn't know which way to turn; she didn't want to be here. She didn't dare to even breathe, to not wake whatever was sleeping out there, to not wake the forest. But she wanted to get out of here, she had to go away, maybe she would find a way out. Hesitatingly she took a step. And as soon as her foot touched the ground again, everything changed once more.

The wind filled the forest with a howling sound now. The trees screamed their hundred-year-old pain of being in a world without light as their branches reached out for her like skinless arms and skeleton fingers. Owls opened the big moons of their eyes, and rat-like animals scurried over the ground.

But the worst of all was the presence - the presence of whom? She didn't know. There was someone there, she could feel it at every moment. Every step she took was being surveyed. There was someone there, and approaching her. To her surprise, she only now realized that she was naked, and this realization filled her with a strange mixture of embarrassment, fear, and excitement.

Then, the presence came ever closer, materialized into the sound of footsteps. Loud footsteps, like those of a big animal. The air was filled with hot breath that turned the trees around her black and made the rats hide away into their holes. It was after her, she knew. It was going to get her. There was no use in running.

But if there were no use to running, she would still run, because that was the rule. She started to move away, to lift up one foot, set it back on the ground, the other then followed. That was too slow. More strength. She forced up the first foot again, and wanted to lift the second one while it was still in the air. It didn't work. She couldn't run. She could feel the thing that was following her ever closer. Any moment now it would touch her, a thought that filled her with a strange anticipation. But she had to run, she had to flee. Her legs wouldn't allow it. She had to scream; at the very least she had to scream for help. Her voice had no strength, and the presence was so close behind her now, she knew she had only a second left ...

***

Renate sat in her bed, her eyes wide open, staring into the darkness of her room, the echo of her own scream piercing her ear. Then, finally, the echo of the scream ceased bouncing off the walls and gave room to a silence that perhaps was even worse. With shaking fingers, Renate reached to her bedside lamp, and turned it on. Everything looked normal, her room much more orderly than in weeks, she had done a good job cleaning. Outside, it was still dark, a look at her alarm clock told her it was the early hours of the morning. Christmas morning.

She hadn't had a nightmare in months. Why now? The dream had by far not been as bad as the ones back then, but the fact that she had dreamt it, scared her. On the other hand ... normal people had nightmares too, didn't they? Maybe it was all back to normal. Maybe the nightmare was a sign that she could dare to dream badly, at last, without that it meant something.

Her hand still shaking slightly, she reached for the light again and turned it off. Then she wrapped herself into her covers again and within minutes went back to sleep -- a quiet, dreamless sleep this time.

***

"Good morning beautiful!" 

The words were followed by laughter. A shrill, piercing, cackling laughter.

Renate awoke with a start, her heart bumping wildly.

"So glad you are awake, beautiful. Have you missed me?" 

'No! That can't be. You are not there. It is not there. It can't be. I am imagining it.'

Renate jumped out of her bed, rummaged through her clothes for something appropriate for the weather outside. Snowflakes were dancing on the other side of the window. The sky was grey.

'A walk. To take my thoughts off this.'

"Do you not know me any more, beautiful? I have looked everywhere for you. Finally I found you. You can't hide from me again." 

"You are not there!"

Only afterwards, Renate realized that she had said the words out loud, that she had shouted them. For a few seconds it was quiet. Then, there was the laughter again, coming from all corners of the room, echoing in her head.

Hehehehahahahihihi! 

Panic filled Renate. Without further hesitation she put on the next best clothes she could find, and ran to the door. People! She needed people! There must be someone out there. Her hand grabbed the door handle, just one more moment, and she would be outside.

"Ouch!"

The pain made her almost faint. All she could think of, was letting go of the door, to get away from the hurt of what felt like burning metal. The pain ceased as soon as she stopped touching the metal. A look into her palm didn't reveal the slightest reddened skin, all seemed normal.

'It's not true. I am imagining this.'

Renate reached for the door again.

"No!"

It hurt even worse this time. As much as she tried to force herself, as much as she knew that only a few seconds of enduring it would mean her freedom, she couldn't ignore the pain. After a third attempt she sank down on the floor next to the door, and smothered her face in her hands.


Monster



"What is it? I thought you wanted to leave?" 

The voice echoed from everywhere and to everywhere. He laughed. Her whole world consisted only of his laughter now. She just hid her face deeper into her hands and tried to block out the cruel and horribly familiar sound, feeling the wetness of her tears between her fingers.

Finally, under her sobs, she remembered a melody, and then another one, and another one. The one music that had always helped. She began to hum softly, the mere thought of the music soothing her fears and calming her a little ... .

***

Music. The sound of violins and flutes filled her head, every note washing out all memory, drowning his voice, and restoring her sanity. What, if nothing existed in this world any more? Just music. The contra-alto sang: "Deine Wangen müssen heute viel schöner prangen ..."

Snowflakes melted against the window. Those that still danced in the air were as grey as the sky.

'Hard to believe it is only noon,' Renate thought.

The window felt cool against her head, her breath formed a small grey cloud, into which her finger lazily drew shapes.

The lights from the windows on the other side of the street looked like Christmas. Maybe it was candles, not a lamp? Maybe it was a Christmas tree. They had their curtains closed, she couldn't see. Maybe they were all sitting there, eating Christmas goose, or whatever it was they had for Christmas, the opened presents from last evening still around the tree. The children too excited to eat more than a few bites -- or maybe just too full of candy.

"Ach mein herzliebes Jesulein, mach dir ein rein sanft Bettelein ..."

Christmas had never fully lost its magic for her. That had been one thing, he hadn't managed. It had been the only time of the year, she had felt some kind of closeness to her parents, and her siblings for some reason never tried to send her away on the days around Christmas when she wanted to join their playing. Maybe she should have gone home after all? They might even have been happy -- her mother had sounded disappointed at the phone, when Renate had told her she wasn't going to be there during Christmas break.

Right now they were probably eating, the Christmas tree lit, their windows glowing of a light as warm as the ones across the street. Then they would take a little walk through the winter landscape, happy that it snowed for Christmas, that didn't happen every year. She would be quiet and follow them at a few metres distance, but she would enjoy the sound of her younger siblings happy laughter.

"Schlafe, mein Liebster, genieße der Ruh ..."

Renate sighed. It was useless. She had stayed here -- it suddenly seemed impossible to call this place home -- and she could not get away. Or maybe ...

She jumped up from her armchair by the window so abruptly, that the sudden movement made her dizzy. But the feeling ceased after a moment, and with more energy than she had felt all day, she walked to the door. As long as the music was still playing, as long as there were Christmas lights in the windows all around.

"Und den Menschen ... und den Menschen ... und den Menschen ..."

At the very same moment the music got stuck, a feeling of pain tore through her body, her brain, something exploded in front of her eyes. And then, all went black.

***

Air. She needed air.

She didn't understand why she couldn't breathe. She couldn't see either, nor hear very well. The need for air grew as it dawned upon her that she was under water. How did she get here? What did it matter?

'Air!'

The darkness behind her was slightly lighter than the darkness in front of her, so she pushed with all her strength into that direction, and seconds later her head broke through the surface into a starry night. Her lungs hurt from the oxygen rushing into them, yet she believed she had never tasted anything sweeter.

Only slowly the blindness of her initial panic wore off, making space for a different fear as she took in her surroundings: She was at sea, underneath an almost endless sky that met only water at the horizon.

There was no wind, and only slight waves that rocked her slowly up and down. And there was nothing around her, no sign of land, nor an island, nor a boat or anything similar. The water was cold, she felt herself shivering, her teeth hit against each other. The air smelled salty, and she tasted a few similarly salty drops of water on her lip. She was drifting alone in the middle of the sea.

'What happened? Why am I here?'

If she didn't want to freeze, she had to move. But where to? It didn't matter. Anywhere could be good or bad. A few strong swimming movements made her feel warmer, she knew she had almost no chance to reach land ' if any land at all still exists', but it felt good to be trying, at least.

It did not take her long to be exhausted, and around her everything still looked the same.

'Am I even moving at all? How can I know I am not swimming on the same spot all the time?'

She stopped, just a moment, to take breath. At that very moment she felt it. For just one second: Something touched her foot, and she knew instantly that it was something alive. Looking down underneath her into the dark waters, she was sure she could see a shape moving. A big shape.

Her heart almost stopped, she didn't dare to move. As soon as she stopped treading the water, she sank down considerably, her face close to the surface. Finally she gathered all her courage, and let herself sink all the way into the water, opening her eyes there, in hope to see better. She had to know what was there.

The big shape moved in a slow circle around her, but she could still not recognize what it was. If it were a shark, wouldn't it have attacked her by now? And something in its movements didn't make it look like a shark. For a moment, she believed she had seen arms and legs.

'Maybe it's not after me? Maybe it hasn't even noticed, I am here.'

The need for air was stronger than the fear of being noticed, her legs kicked strongly into the water, and a moment later she looked up into the night sky again.

'I have to get away from here, I have to!'

She started to swim, faster this time, she hardly knew in which direction. With her head above the waves, she couldn't see it, but she was sure that the thing in the water was still nearby. She put her head under the surface again, opened her eyes, which hurt from the water, looked, nothing. Still, she had to keep staring around, as she pushed herself to swim yet faster and faster. Finally, she needed air again.

She could feel that it was still there, right behind her. Like a strange presence that followed her, like a shadow she could not get rid of.

After a few moments of snapping for air, her lungs and heart almost bursting from her efforts, her head was under water again. Dark. Just dark. No -- something was there. A movement of shade and ever so dim light. It was there.

'Or not? Just keep swimming. Keep swimming!'

She knew it followed her. And she knew she couldn't reach the horizon, behind which maybe there was land -- or maybe not -- before her strength would all be spent. And she knew that the thing knew that as well. It lurked in the dark waters; she couldn't flee.

'Air!' she needed to surface again.

Her feet kicked downwards to lift her up again, to get her head into the air. Just at that moment, she touched it again. No, she didn't touch it -- the thing touched her. It touched her, and held on to her.

She struggled wildly, waving arms and kicking with her legs, she looked down and saw the shape right underneath her, huge, everywhere, holding on to her. She had not been mistaken, it had arms indeed. And holding on to her foot with one of these arms, it started to descend into the endless black depths of the sea.

Her struggling grew less with every second that passed, her eyes stopped distinguishing the dim light from above with the unbearable darkness from underneath. When her mouth opened against her will and salty water filled her, all thoughts disappeared into darkness, and only a remote corner of her brain still registered that it pulled her closer to its body before ...

***

Renate's eyes flickered in panic over the furniture and walls of the room. The echo of her scream still hung in the air. Outside, the darkness of the winter day had given room to the even deeper darkness of the night. No stars where in the sky, and a few snowflakes where still dancing in front of the window, on their way down.

Inside, all was shadow, all was strange. It had taken her a few seconds to realize that she was lying on the sofa of the living room. The armchair by the window looked like a crouching animal. Now that she had stopped screaming, there was only silence. The record player was turned off. She couldn't remember having done this, nor could she remember lying down on the sofa.

What time was it? It must be late, and Renate could feel her stomach growl of hunger, she hadn't eaten since the day before. She stood up, and found her way into the kitchen in the darkness. From the corner of the eye, she believed to see something move, and her heart made a little jump. But a second look told her, that it was only the coat hanging on the coat hanger, and it probably hadn't moved at all.

Only when she was in the kitchen, she switched the light on. She squinted, as her eyes got used to its brightness. Then she pulled a package of pasta out of a cupboard, a big cooking pot out of another one, filled it with water. It was always a bit of work to turn on the gas stove, she almost burned her finger when lighting it with the aid of a match, and then she had to keep the button controlling the flame pushed for at least a minute, as it would go out again without this. Done with that, she put the pot on the flame, and threw the pasta into the water. She couldn't be bothered waiting for it to boil.

When the pasta was ready, Renate drained the water into the sink, searched for a bottle of ketchup in the refrigerator that was not yet empty, and then sat down at the shaky old kitchen table with the pot of pasta and the ketchup in front of her.

The strange feelings she had awoken with were still there, even now, almost half an hour later. She couldn't remember much of her dream, but she still remembered the feeling of panic. Now, however, all seemed quiet.

Despite being such a simple meal, the pasta was quite tasty. Maybe it was just the fact that she had been starving. Renate speared huge amounts at once onto her fork and stuffed them into her mouth. She chewed hastily and swallowed too quickly. When she had eaten about half, she finally slowed down.

A plant stood in front of her on the table. She had bought it just a few days after moving in here -- she was from the countryside, the one thing the city lacked for her, was green. It was a fern-like plant, quite small still, but growing happily. In fact, it had grown since she last looked at it: She was sure, that the long, leafless twigs hadn't been there before.

They were thin and looked supple, their ends rolling up slightly, evocative to the form of a snail. As she looked at the plant, those long, tentacle-like ends started quivering. It was normal for the twigs of the plant, or other things, to sometimes ostensibly shake a bit, as if there was a tiny earthquake -- the city was built on what once had been swampland, and a heavy car on the street was enough to make everything shake ever so slightly for several minutes. Renate had, however, not heard any car at all in the street next to her house. And there was something about the small movements of the plant that looked eerie.

'Probably I just still feel comfortable because of my dream', she decided, and took another spoonful of pasta into her mouth.

The plant was still now, and thoughtfully Renate reached out to touch one of the long twigs with her fingers. At the next moment it had wrapped around her wrist, like a tentacle, and another one was reaching for her other hand, then yanking her forward over the table. A few rests of pasta flew out of Renate's mouth as she screamed in surprise. A third tentacle was reaching quite obviously for her throat now. Renate had no time to think about how bizarre the situation was, all she could do was scream and try to come loose from the merciless grip. The little plant held her down on the table, wrapping more of its tentacles around her arms and neck, suffocating her.

Then, finally, Renate managed to get back to her feet. The plant let go of her, and flew a few metres before landing on the ground. The ceramic pot cracked, and dirt spilled over the wooden floor of the kitchen.

As Renate's heartbeat calmed down, she stared at the plant on the floor. It looked as small and innocent as always, she could not see any tentacles. At the same time, a sound started to fill her head. A laughing sound. A loud and malicious cackling.

Finally, the laughter stopped, and instead, she could hear his voice, which came from her own head, and seemed to fill the whole room:

"Hello beautiful! Now, why'd you do that? The poor plant." 

Then, he started laughing again.

***

'Katja! Katja, where are you? Why did you leave me?'

"She didn't want to spend any more time with you. Surely not Christmas, you'd have spoilt it for her. Who would want to be with you, anyway?" 

'No! No! That's not true. She's my friend.'

"You don't have any friends. Have you forgotten who you are?" 

'You are lying! Go away, leave me alone!'

"Are you sending away the only one who has never tried to send you away? The only one who is always there? I will always stay with you, beautiful." 

Again, his laughter, its echo bouncing off the walls of the apartment.

'Stop it! You aren't even there! You are not true!'

"Not true? Then why can you hear me? And what about the plant? I am just as real as everyone else." 

'You are part of my imagination. That's what the doctor said, back then. You are not there. I am fine now. I am normal now. I only imagined you.'

"What is it that makes you so sure? How can you prove you exist? Maybe it's me that is real, and you are the one I imagine." 

'No! That's a lie.'

"It's not. I am here, you are not. I only imagine you. And your parents, and Katja, and everything else. I have a very vivid imagination, you know?" 

'You are lying. You don't exist.'

"I don't exist? Then why are you arguing with me? Beautiful, you should really get your head checked, this is worrisome, arguing with someone you imagine." 

The laughter again. Even louder this time. It hurt, the laughter hurt.

'Make it stop, make it stop!'

Soaring pain. Bright colours flashed before Renate's eyes. At the same time the taste of blood. It took her a few moments before she realized, that she had bumped her head against the wall, with force, because she couldn't take it any longer.

It had worked: The laughter had stopped. Outside, the darkness was getting replaced by a grey morning light. Renate's head hurt, she felt dizzy.

She couldn't allow herself to sleep. Sleep was dangerous. She had to stay awake. She had to find a way to get out of here. Her eyes were heavy, the taste of her own blood stung on her lips. She needed water. Renate stood up, wanted to walk back to the kitchen. As soon as she was standing, the bright colours returned, crashing over her like waves, and she sank back onto the sofa she had been sitting on before.

***

'I know this smell.'

It hung heavy in the air, a thick and dangerous smell. It made her cough, and her eyes sting.

'It's warm. Much too warm.'

It was, really. And it wasn't the friendly warmth of sunshine. It was a blazing heat that made one side of her face glow, while the other side, turned away from the source of heat, felt cold.

In front of her closed eyes, there was an orange glow. A light, but not a bright or friendly one. It was difficult to open the eyes; she had to fight for every millimetre. When she finally managed, just a little bit, there were flames in front of her. She turned her head. The flames were next to her, too. And behind her. She was caught in a sea of fire.

The heat, and the smoke in the air felt unbearable.

'I have to get away from here.'

She couldn't keep her eyes open, she couldn't see if there was any way out. Blindly she stumbled to where the heat felt least painful, only to bump into something, a wall, a piece of furniture, she didn't know.

'I must open my eyes. I must see. I am so tired -- but if I fall asleep now, I will die. Why can't I open my eyes?'

A roaring sound, a scream, followed by a growl shook her, awoke her senses. Yanking her eyes open, she saw something behind the flames -- the shape of a huge body, dark like a shadow. Then the effort became too much, her eyes were closing again. She struggled to keep them at least partially open. Squinting into the flames, she saw something moving towards her.

'I have to stay awake. I have to keep my eyes open. I have to see when it's coming to me, I have to know where to flee to.'

Again she opened her eyes just a fraction, the shade seemed right in front of her. She turned to the side, and bumped into the next wall.

Then, the heat came closer, a different heat, a burning wind, like hot breath.

She fought against her eyelids falling down, tried to see -- the thing was right in front of her, for a moment she caught sight of a huge, dark head, of nostrils from which flames blazed into the air, glowing eyes.

Yet another fiery breath from the thing and another flush of heat washed over her. They did not touch her skin, though, just her clothes, which after a few seconds had disappeared. Her skin felt feverish from the heat.

Gradually she managed to open her eyes more, bit by bit. Crashing sounds around her alerted her that the building she was in was about to fall apart. And there she was, a wall behind her and next to her, and this huge head of some being in front of her, not letting her flee, staring at her with huge, glowing eyes. She could not see the rest of its body. The end of its long neck was disappearing between the flames.

The thing made another roaring sound, opening its mouth widely. Then, she could see its tongue, rolling out of that mouth, towards her, almost as thick and long as herself.

The tongue touched her feet, and slowly slithered up her legs, its heat burning on her skin. When it reached further up, between her legs, it lingered for a moment. For a second there was another feeling besides the pain of fire, but then it went up further, she could feel its rough structure, could feel how it was tasting her, like a fire trying the next thing it wants to burn with a few licks of its flames.

When it reached her face, the smell of smoke, the heat, the brightness of the flames in front of her eyes became unbearable. She felt more awake now, her eyes weren't struggling any more, they were almost completely open, but breathing was hard, there was only heat and ...

***

Renate's scream echoed through the room, her eyes wide open encountered darkness. Was it still night, or already night again? She didn't know.

The smell of smoke remained, however, and to her left there was an orange glow. Turning around, Renate found the tablecloth next to the sofa on fire. For a few seconds she stared at it helplessly, unsure of what to do. Then she jumped up, ran into the bathroom. A bucket with various cleaning utensils was standing next to the toilet. She turned the bucket upside down, everything spilling onto the floor. A bottle of some type of cleaner sprang open and the white liquid oozed out. Renate didn't notice. She filled the bucket with water and ran back into the living room, throwing the water over the table just in time, as a few flames already started licking at the sofa.




Monster



Panting heavily, she stood in front of the table, staring at the black remnants of the table cloth, of a few of Katja's books that had been lying there, and of the advent wreath with candles that had been standing there. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became to her, that it must have been the candles that had caused the fire.

'But I haven't used them. I am sure I didn't light them.'

 "Are you really so sure of that?" 

She jumped at his voice. For a moment the fright caused by the fire had made her forget about him.

"What is it, beautiful? Do I scare you?" 

He laughed his horrible laughter. Renate felt like shrinking into a corner, hiding there, blocking out his voice. Yes, he did scare her. He made all her childhood fears return. She couldn't hide, though. She had to face him.

She stood up straight, trying to give her face an expression of decisiveness.

'Can he even see me?'

Then she said out loud, and with the strongest voice she could manage:

"No, you don't. Not any more. You don't exist. You are only a figment of my imagination. I know that ... And why do you keep calling me beautiful?"

He laughed again, this time it seemed almost as if his laughter was not quite as evil as usually.

"But you are. Haven't you noticed? You have changed since I last saw you." 

She almost blushed. She knew it was true, she had changed. Since she had had enough sleep, her skin had become a little less pale, her face a little less sad. Her expression had retained that big-eyed melancholy that had disconcerted everyone around her when she was a little kid, but now that she had grown up, her large and sad big eyes gave her a certain exotic appeal. At the same time, she had eaten a lot better since she moved away from home and into the apartment with Katja, and as a result had gained some shapeliness. She was still small, that was the way she was, but looked more feminine now than she had ever before. Also, she had started experimenting with her hairstyle, her clothes, and on special occasions even put on a tiny bit of make-up. She wanted to fit in with her new friends, that was part of the reason, but she had to admit that there had been a few moments that she had stood in front of the mirror, when no one was looking, and actually liked what she saw.

"Who would have thought, that ugly little Renate could become such a beautiful young woman?" he continued, "Remember what they used to sing? Renate, Renate -- looking into the water. Sees her face, says 'what disgrace, how ugly is this water'. " 

She winced at the little melody, at the sound of the words. Back in school, in a different world she had hoped to forget -- whatshisname, Michael, yes, Michael, her first secret crush back in sixth grade ... One day during lunch break, when she had gone to the playground, he was sitting there, a little removed from the others. He had smiled, when he had caught sight of her, and her heart started beating faster. This couldn't be, he was noticing her, he really was, and he was smiling. She had blushed, but had forced herself to smile back, stumbling towards him. When she was almost there, he had opened his mouth and ... he had started singing this very song.

"Sh-h there is no reason to cry." 

The voice sounded surprisingly friendly, almost all of its shrillness was gone.

"I am not crying," she said out loud, and only then noticed the tear that was rolling down her cheek, carrying with it the truth that she still cared, that the past wasn't over.

"Sh-sh, it's all good." 

There was something to his voice now that calmed her down. Something soothing and reassuring. Renate knew his voice since her earliest childhood. She had always feared it, yet it had always been there.

"It's all good, it's all good. You are tired, you should sleep." 

He spoke in a little singsong that indeed made her feel sleepy, made her forget who he was, and that she should stay awake.

"You are so beautiful. It's a shame that no one seems to see it." 

More tears followed that one that had reached the corner of her mouth now, and settled there, a little salty taste seeping to her tongue from between her lips. He was right, he was so right. She didn't want to be alone any longer, she didn't want to be annoying little Renate who tacked along with whoever allowed her presence.

'It's Christmas, I am supposed to be with people who care for me, I'm supposed to be happy, like everyone else.'

Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a different voice, not his -- her own, maybe? It reminded her of Katja's invitation, of her mother's disappointment.

"Don't think about them. You don't need them. I am there for you, I always was." 

'Then why ...'

"Don't think about it. I am here now. It's all good, it's all good."

His voice felt so warm, so comforting now, as if it wasn't the same voice. She felt sleepy, she wished she could fall asleep in someone's arms.

'I don't think I have ever done that. Did my mother hold me when I was very little? I don't remember ... I don't ...'

Renate realized that she could hardly stand on her feet any more. With her last strength, she dragged herself into her bedroom, her sheets.

The voice was still there, comfortably familiar, and soft.

"Don't you want to take your clothes off, beautiful? It must be uncomfortable with those jeans." 

It felt almost as if it weren't her own hands that opened the zipper of her jeans and pulled them off. She knew he was here, who else could it be? She could tell her hands were moving, but at the same time it was almost as if they were doing so without her willing them, it felt as if it wasn't herself. She took her shirt off. Again, it felt as if someone else was helping her, then opening her bra. In the end she was wearing nothing but her underwear, as she leaned back into her bed.

All the time, the voice had kept talking to her, not once laughing its horrible laughter, just calming her down and making her sleepier with its little sing-song.

"It's all good, beautiful. I am here, beautiful. Don't cry, beautiful." 

She snuggled into the soft warmth of her blanket, it felt almost as if there was someone lying right by her. She thought she could feel an arm around her, a hand carefully cupping her breast -- or was that her own?

'Are you there?'

"I am right here, beautiful. Sleep now, beautiful." 

Was that his breath, she could feel at her neck? Or was she only imagining that? Sleep ... why was she so tired?

'I have slept so much lately ... I just woke up half an hour ago ...'

"Don't worry about it, you need the sleep, beautiful. Sleep now. All is well ... " 

***

'Cold.'

She could feel her teeth chattering, her whole body seemed to shake.

'White.'

Her eyes took a bit to get used to the brightness around her. At first, the ground looked like big clouds.

'Am I dead? No, this can't be heaven. It wouldn't be that cold there, would it?'

Eventually, she could make out the shapes hills, all brightly white, under a cloudless blue sky with a sun that brought no warmth.

'It's snow!'

Finally she knew. That made sense -- snow was white, and it was cold. But that didn't explain how she had gotten here, and why in the world she was standing in a landscape of snow wearing nothing but her panties. Her shivering got worse, and she wondered how long it would take to freeze to death -- there was really only one thing she could do. Start walking, and hope she would find people who could help her soon. The fact that she would be standing in front of them almost naked was a problem she would think about then.

The snow felt like needles under her bare feet, but after just a few steps the cold had made them go numb, and she hardly felt anything any more. Actually, she stopped feeling all that cold. Instead, she felt just tired. Every step was a fight against her own mind, that suggested to just lie down in the snow and sleep.

Then, just when she wanted to give up, she saw smoke rise up against the blue sky, right in front of her. Looking closer, she realized, that one of the hills there wasn't actually a hill, but the roof of a little house. And next to the little house, there was a tall tree, the first tree she had seen since her arrival here.

The very same moment, however, she noticed something else: The sound of crunching snow behind her. Alarmed, she turned around.

Behind her, at roughly the same distance as the house was in front of her, there stood something in the snow. It was as white as it's surroundings, and as it stood in the direction the sun was coming from, her eyes hurt as she tried to see what it was. It looked a bit like a wolf, but it was at least three times the size of a normal wolf, and it was completely white.

The thing snarled, and a growl filled the winter air, a growl that almost made her heart stop. Then the thing jumped towards her.

'The house! I need to get to the house!'

She turned, and started running as well. She could hear the jumps of the animal behind her, coming closer -- but so did the house in front of her, its cute little wooden door promising a safe haven for her, a place to hide, a place of warmth.

As she ran by the tree, she noticed to her surprise that underneath the snow weighing down its branches, it was decorated with hundreds of candy canes, little wooden nutcrackers and boys on rocking horses.

Then, just when the thing behind her seemed to get ready for one final jump, she had reached the door. As she pulled it open, she could see its shadow in the air above her. Her heart racing, she rushed through the door, and pulled it closed behind her.

Suddenly, the sound of the wind, of the animal's growls, as well as the cold were gone. Instead, the air was filled with the smell and cracking of a warm fire, and with soft music. To her surprise, she recognized the melody of "Have yourself a merry little Christmas".

She stood inside a small room, decorated with bear rugs on the floor and paintings of nineteenth century children gathered around Christmas trees on the walls. There were also two windows: One in front of her on the other side of the room, the other behind her right next to the door. Strangely, the window in front of her was dark, as if it was night outside, while the sun was shining in through the one behind her.

'I must be at the North Pole. No, that doesn't make sense. Does it? I must be.'

She decided not to think about it any longer, but looked further around the room. To one corner, sure enough, there stood a large open fireplace, and in front of it there was an armchair with someone sitting in it.

Whoever it was didn't seem to have noticed her presence yet, and for a few moments she stood there indecisively.

Finally, she took up all her courage to say, with a strangely thin voice: "Excuse me?"

There was no reaction, so she repeated the words once more, a bit louder. Now the armchair moved a bit, turned around, so she could see a newspaper, underneath which there were short legs and a large tummy dressed in what looked like a red bathrobe, and a long white beard that was lying snugly on the stomach. And then, above the newspaper, there appeared two light blue eyes, looking at her suspiciously.

"You are late. Or early, depending how you look at it. Not at the right time, anyway. Would you please return in eleven months and three and a half weeks? I am on my break now."

"But ... but ..."

This was confusing.

"Go. You can take a candy cane from the tree outside, if you want."

"But you have to help me," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

"Next year. I am on my break, can't you hear?"

With that, the man returned to his newspaper, and at the same time the door behind her opened, and she felt sharp teeth grab her leg, pulling at her, so she fell, and then was dragged outside into the snow. The door fell closed again in front of her and then was gone.

As the teeth let go of her, she sat up. Her first glance fell down onto red patches of blood on the snow, right next to her leg. Then she looked up.

The thing stood right in front of her, snarling. It looked less like a wolf now, but still not like a human.

"See? No one wants you." 

'I know this voice. Where do I know it from?'

"You really shouldn't run away from me, your only friend." 

She felt the sting of the snow, the wind, but there was a warmth emanating from the creature in front of her.

'How nice and warm it must be to be closer to it. How nice it must be, to have its body touch mine.'

Yet, at the same time, there were teeth and claws, and her blood still red on the snow. She wanted to be closer to the creature, yet she also wanted to be further away. Her mind told her to run, and to get as far away from him as she could, but her body wanted to move closer and join with him. He moved towards her in slow deliberate motion. "Run!" her mind screamed.

She didn't run, though. And at the next moment he took hold of her, his hands held her arms, making it impossible for her to get away. Then, the weight of his body was on hers, the cold of the snow still against her back, the creature's warmth against her stomach, her legs, her chest. In between her legs, which he now moved apart with the help of his own, it wasn't just warmth, it was heat, and she suddenly was unable to tell whether that heat was coming from the creature or whether it was her own.

She felt its breath, she felt its weight, and then ...

***

Renate awoke, panting heavily. The very first thing she was aware of, was the lack of an echo from her own scream. She had awoken silently this time.

She was lying in her bed, dressed in nothing but her panties, the covers in a heap and only partially protecting her from the cold wind that came in through the open window. Renate knew the window had been closed when she went to bed. A few snowflakes danced into the room, and settled on her face, melting there.

Her underwear felt strangely uncomfortable and sticky against her body, and when she moved her hand to it, she found it drenched in liquid.

She sat up, wrapping her arms against her legs to protect against the cold -- yet she felt she had not enough energy to hide under her blankets or close the window -- and looked outside. Her bed was a big wooden one, almost a metre high, and it stood right underneath the window.

It was late afternoon, outside it was almost dark. The first of her neighbours seemed to have started getting rid of their Christmas trees -- and it wasn't even the new year yet. She could make out a tree, stripped of its decorations, lying on the side of the street, thrown out from one of the surrounding houses. Snowflakes were tumbling down from the dark sky, a few more found their way into her room from the open window. One settled on her arm, it's cold wetness reminding her of the snow in her dream. While she watched it melt, fragments of the dream came back to her.

'How bizarre.'

"Well, I had to give you some type of Christmas, didn't I?

His voice made her start. It was cold and shrill as usual, the warmth it had had before she went to sleep a long lost memory. His cackling laughter filled the room.

Christmas ... Outside, on the street, a car stopped. As the door opened to let a young woman and a little child out, music floated up to her. "Have yourself a merry little Christmas." Suddenly, she jumped out of her bed, still dressed only in her panties, and ran through the dark hallway to the living room. There, with shaking hands, she grabbed a paper package lying on the floor, and pulled out a record.

The look of its black shimmering, and the words "Christmas Oratorio" that were written in large letters on the label, calmed her beating heart down. Carefully she weighed it in her hands, and then she leaned forward towards the player.

Then, suddenly, she froze for a second. A shattering sound filled the room. Before her eyes, there were her empty hands, and, a bit further, the floor, all over which were strewn tiny pieces of black broken vinyl. Renate stared at them. Then, before her brain could react well enough to stop herself, the anger about what had just happened reached her foot, which gave the record player an angry kick and sent it sliding over the floor into the wall, where it stopped with a horrible cracking sound.

The laughter, that had followed her from the bedroom, and had been there all that time, stopped now.

"Oh, what did you do that for? One could almost think you couldn't hold the record any more. Such a shame. And the record player wasn't even yours." 

Then he started his laughing again, louder and louder, without showing any intention to ever stop.

***

'Ouch!'

She pulled up one foot, then the other, doing almost a little dance, as she couldn't keep both feet in the air, yet whichever touched the ground hurt, as if she was standing on burning coals. Finally, the bottom of her feet got used to the burning sand she was standing on, and she could stand still, and take in the landscape around her.

The land around her was flat, only a distant mountain range stood up against the sky on the horizon. She couldn't make out any trees, but a bit to her left, there was something like a forest of huge cactus. In between, there were random bushes of very dry grass, else, there was just dry ground of a slightly red colour.

As far as she looked, there wasn't a human being, or any other sign of life. No, that was wrong, there was life: She saw a shadow moving across the ground, closing in on her. The shadow, she could tell, belonged to something up in the sky. She put her head into her neck and squinted against the bright sun. Up above her, there was a vulture, and shortly behind it a second one. Both slowly descended and settled on one of the big cactuses, looking over to her, watching her.

'Desert. What am I doing in a desert? I am thirsty ... Go away, vultures, go away!'

For a few moments she stood there, staring back at the sinister birds. She had to find people. Again, she looked around. And really, her eye caught a movement, very far from her: A dark point on the horizon that grew in size and shape, until it became a distinct figure, a rider on his horse. Relief flooded through her, until, suddenly, she realized that she was standing naked in the middle of the desert, with a stranger approaching.

And really, there was something about the rider. Something, that made her feel cold despite the heat of the sun and the sand. The closer he got, the more threatening he appeared to her; when the sound of the horse's hooves echoed in her head, he was close enough to paralyse her with his ice cold eyes -- the only thing visible in the shadow his cowboy hat cast over his face.

'This is not good ... Run!'

She turned, and started running, ignoring the stinging heat of the sand under her feet. She could hear the rhythm of the horse's hooves accelerating: It was in a trot now, then in a canter.

'No chance, no chance. Who can outrun a horse?'

Still, she kept running. Her heart started beating faster, hammering against her chest, causing her a slight feeling of sickness.

'Maybe if I could get between the cacti ... '

At that very moment she felt an iron grip around her waist: The stranger had leaned down from the horse that was still cantering calmly, without great effort, and had lifted her up onto the saddle. She wanted to struggle, to get away, but now the horse took up speed. She could see the ground blurring underneath its hooves, all instincts told her to just hold on, not to move.




Monster



The stranger had lifted her up high, and then sat her down on the saddle, right in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her, securing her, keeping her in place. He did not say a word, but she could feel his breath in her neck. And, she almost believed to feel the piercing of his eyes.

His body was pressed tight to hers, she felt the heat emanating from it, and, she realized, she felt something hard pressing against the small of her back. He was dressed in rough denim and leather clothes, and yet again she became shamefully aware of her own nudity.

The reins lay loosely on the horses neck, it seemed to know exactly where to go, and never once diminished the speed of its galloping. One of his arms still holding her in place, his other hand started wandering, exploring her body. When she felt him touch her breast, squeezing it roughly, her spirit awoke to new life, and despite the speed of the horse and the distance to the flurrying sand far underneath her she tried to struggle free.

At the very same moment, she felt him grabbing one of her wrists with force, and pulling back her arm behind her back, twisting it painfully. She arched her back in a futile try to escape the pain shooting through her body, but he pushed her down, her face into the mane of the horse. She smelled the scent of horse, and hard strings of hair lashed her face, like whips.

One hand pinning her down, the other one was now free again to explore her body at will. She felt him encroaching again on the breast she had wanted to deny him just a few moments ago. He kneaded it forcefully, and then pinched her nipple until she couldn't suppress a small scream. Satisfied with that, he now turned its attention to her arse, kneading one cheek at first, and then sending a sting through it with a slap.

She could feel his hand reaching in between her legs now, pushing her further onto the horse's neck so he could reach there better. One of his fingers crudely pushed in between her labia, trying to find its way inside her. To her own surprise, his finger slipped in easily -- her body seemed to have its own will, and was reacting to his touches.

After a moment, he added another finger. The pace with which he moved them in and out of her matched the rhythm of the horses feet on the ground underneath her. The man's other arm was wrapped tightly around her to keep her in place, keep her from struggling or falling.

Then she felt him yet again pushing her a bit more forward, so her upper body was on the side of the horses neck, and she could clearly see the blur of sand and hooves and their own shadows underneath her, closer to her now. She could feel something else there, trying to push into her.

'He can't be doing that! I need to get away! He will make me fall, we will both fall!'

The horse kept its steady rhythm, its hooves drumming on the dry ground. She felt his grip tightly around her waist. It was all that kept her on the horses back, she had no chance of escaping. His fingers were not in her any more, both his hands were holding on to her, but she felt a stronger pressure, she could feel something slowly, little by little slipping into her.

In her mind, two thoughts fought each other, 'This can't be happening', she wanted to get away -- and the other, the one she tried to deny herself to think, that she wanted it to happen, that she wanted to feel him inside her. Yet, it was just that she feared.

The stranger had still not said a single word. Instead, holding on to her still, he now entered her completely with a single thrust. A mixture of pain and something else shot through her -- but at the very same moment she felt how he let go of her, how she couldn't stay on the horse's back any more. The ground, with sickening speed, seemed to race towards her, the rhythm of the horse's feet echoing in her head, and then ...

***

Renate sat in her bed, screaming.

"Good morning, beautiful! Have you slept well?" 

'Stop doing this. Leave me alone.'

"Oh, but you like it. I know you do. I bet you wish you hadn't woken up just yet." 

A faint memory of the dream still lingered in the room, Renate believed she could remember it more clearly than her other dreams. She felt a certain ache, an emptiness, caused by her waking up and being torn away from the dream. And yet, her heart still beat in fear. She couldn't forget the heat of the cowboy's body, but she couldn't forget the ice-cold pierce of his blue eyes either.

Sitting up in her bed, she stared out the window, onto the snowy street, on which some teenagers were lighting fireworks, trying to explode them as close as possible to the cars passing by. An elderly man stopped his car and opened the window to shout at the boys, but they just laughed and continued with their game.

"You know what I just thought of?" 

'What?'

"You know how they always say, make love to my mind? I guess you can't call this making love, but at least I am fucking with it pretty well." 

Renate grabbed a glass of water that she always kept at her bedside table, and in anger she threw it against the wall. The sound of the shattering pieces of glass covered the sound of his laughter for a moment.

"Uh-huh, you missed! Don't you remember I am not really there?" 

Yet again the sound of laughter filled her head, the room, the whole world. Renate felt tears in her eyes.

"Stop it!"

She hardly noticed that she spoke the words out loud this time.

"Who are you? What do you want? Why don't you leave me alone? Where are you hiding?"

"What I want, beautiful? You, only you." 

His voice had regained some of the soothing sound it had had a few hours, or days earlier -- Renate had lost track of time, she didn't know how long she was a prisoner in her own home, alone just with him.

"Don't you know that all I want is you, beautiful? Why don't you sleep a bit, you seem tired, beautiful."

He started humming a little melody. Renate could feel her body become more heavy. Sleeping, being lulled into her dreams by his voice, sounded so tempting. But no, she wouldn't let him do that yet again. She would fight.

"Where are you? Tell me! You are here somewhere! This is a trick, some mean trick!"

"Remember what your mum said? I am a monster, now where can a monster be? Why don't you look into the closet?" 

Renate jumped out of her bed, walked to the closet in the corner of her room. She didn't expect to find anything there, of course not, but moving her feet cleared her head. The feeling that she was doing something, gave her an illusion of courage.

When she resolutely pulled open the closet's door, a scream escaped her mouth: Something big, dark was moved towards her, knocked her over. She fell to the ground, and felt something hit her painfully.

Still screaming, she crawled away, and jumped up as soon as she had freed herself from what had fallen on her. Laughter filled the room again as she saw the pile of clothes and books that had fallen out of the closet -- in her anger she had opened the door with none of the carefulness she knew her old closet required.

When he was done laughing, he spoke again.

"Oh, I guess I am not in the closet after all. How about you try under the bed? And I heard some monsters also hide in the toilet." 

This time, Renate's scream wasn't one of fear but one of anger. He was laughing again, kept laughing, there was nothing that could make him stop, his unbearable giggling echoed through her head. She grabbed her sheets, pulled them off the bed, then the mattress, nothing was underneath the bed, of course not. Renate pulled open her dresser, threw out all she could find there, then, blind of fear and anger, she ran into the living room, pushing books out of shelves and throwing over the collection of records and CDs.

Finally she grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and cut open the sofa and armchair, shouting "Where are you? Where are you?" again and again.

Finally she sat down on the floor, leaning against a wall, exhausted.

***

Mozart's Turkish March intruded into her dreams, awakening her. For a few moments Katja fought against acknowledging that the melody belonged to her own mobile phone. She felt Karsten's body stir against her own, he was waking up to. Sighing, she left the warmth of the bed, looked for the phone in the pocket of her coat that was lying over a chair by the window. Outside, it was a dark late afternoon; they had passed the day in bed.

"Hello?! Renate! How are you?"

The voice on the other end was thin, trembling. Renate was crying.

"I can't take it any longer! I am scared, so scared. Please help me!"

"But Renate, what is happening! Tell me what is going on?"

"It's ... "

Then the phone was quiet. For a few seconds Katja heard nothing, and then a beeping sound that indicated the phone had been hung up.

***

"Tsss. Bad girl. Didn't I tell you not to call anyone?" 

Renate stared at her hand. It had moved against her will, hanging up the phone when she had seen her only chance in that one phone call. She wanted to cry, but she felt she had no tears left.

"What do you want from Katja anyway? Don't you think she has better to do than talk to you? Why can't you accept that she has Karsten now? She doesn't need you any more."

'No! She is my friend.'

"Friend? Hah! As if you ever had friends. I am your only friend, beautiful. When will you learn this ... And who would want to be friends with a monster anyway?" 

Renate was pacing from one room to the other, trying to escape the sound of the voice.

'No, I don't want to be friends with a monster. Go away.'

"Who says I am the monster? Haven't I told you before, that I am the real one here, and you are the one being part of my imagination? You are the monster." 

'Stop it! Stop it, go away!'

"Oh, I would have difficulties acknowledging it too. Especially since no one would want to be friends with a monster. But you are one. Just look into the mirror." 

'No. Leave me alone.'

Her feet led her to the mirror anyway, just as her hand had hung up the phone against her will earlier. It was dark, she could only see an outline in the reflection. Her hand searched for the switch of the little light above the mirror. Finally she found it, and turned on the light.

Grinning back at her from the mirror, there was a grimace, a snarling mouth, sharp teeth and ice-cold blue eyes, surrounded by greenish, scaly skin. The face of a monster.

A stinging pain ripped through Renate's fist, as the image in front of her sprang into a thousand pieces, and red blood covered everything. For a few moments she had to fight for consciousness, then she realized that she had hit into the mirror, broken it, and that the blood was oozing out from her own hand, that she still held clenched into a fist.

With that realization, the pain increased, but all Renate could do, was turn the light off, and return to pacing from one room to the next, leaving a trail of blood drops behind her. Only a few minutes later, standing on the carpet of the living room, she remembered the face again. She stood still, just leaned over a bit, as her mouth opened and her stomach emptied into a puddle of vomit in front of her.

***

"We HAVE to go!"

Katja was close to tears.

"She is fine," Karsten tried to calm her down, "One silly phone call, probably it was a prank. What could possibly happen to her?"

"But why isn't she answering the phone now, then? I am scared. Something happened to her."

"It's the last night of the year, Katja. We wanted to party, remember? I don't want to spent the night on the highway, just because your flatmate can't be by herself for a few days."

It took all of Katja's concentration to remain calm, to not shout at him.

"Good. Stay here and party if you want. I will take the train then."

Karsten uttered a resigned sigh.

"Alright, try to call one more time, and if she still doesn't answer, I drive you home. But both you and Renate owe me big time for this."

***

Renate sat between piles of torn books, the burned table, the broken records, and her own puke. She didn't recognize the apartment any more. What would Katja say when she saw it? What would Katja say to her? Touching her face with her hands, she could feel the big teeth, a nose that more resembled a snout, dry scaly skin.

'This isn't real. This can't have happened.'

"Oh beautiful. You are so much more beautiful this way, don't you think? Why do you still doubt. Come to me, into my arms. I will always be there for you." 

Something sparkled on the ground, in front of Renate. She picked it up and stared at it: A piece of glass, a fragment of the mirror she had destroyed earlier. If she just could escape, if she could get away from him, and from everyone else, somehow.

"No, beautiful, you are mine. Stay mine forever. I will take care of you." 

Renate kept staring at the piece of glass. Was there anything at all she could do?

***

'Hold on, don't let go!'

Her fingers hurt, her arms trembled as she clung on to the wall as well as she could. A gust of wind almost ripped her from her place, it tousled her hair, felt cold against her naked body. Far away she heard the cries of a big bird, an eagle maybe.

Looking down, she could see nothing but rock, a wall that went down forever and then disappeared into the clouds, or fog, who could know. Above her, there was the sky, sun that burned her skin. The wall went up quite a bit as well, but somewhere there, she suspected it would end. Somewhere there was fixed ground. Going up was her only chance.

'But how? I can't climb.'

Carefully she let go with one of her feet, searched for a place to put it a bit higher. Her fingers hurt from the higher pressure put on them now. She didn't know how long she would be able to hold on. Finally she found a spot for her foot. Now the other one, and then the hands. Bit by bit, she crept up the wall, sweating from the effort.

'Shift my weight, I must shift it so I can move more easily. No, no, I can't do this.'

Then, a piece of stone under her crumbled. In panic, her foot searched for a different spot to hold on to, but there was none. The wall was smooth. And then, she felt the stone underneath her hands crumbling too.

'I will fall, I will fall! I am falling!'

Suddenly air and wind surrounded her, the wall raced by her on one side, the fog underneath was still far away, but growing closer and closer. She believed to make out trees, hard ground, but it was still far away. A feeling of sickness grew in her stomach.

'Why am I still falling? I should hit the ground by now!'

She felt the air against her body. The wall next to her became a blur of red and grey. She fell and fell. Finally, the ground grew closer.

'I am going to die.'

She almost felt relieved by this thought. Just then, a dark shadow flew over her; she heard the bird cry again that she had heard before. Then strong, hard claws got hold of her, and she felt herself rising to the air again. A bird, too big to be any bird she knew, held on to her, lifting her up higher and higher into the air. Looking up, she could see the eyes of the bird. They were of a cold, blue colour.

Eventually, the bird seemed to reach the place it was flying to: A balcony on the wall, barely big enough for the two of them. There, it sat her down. All around her the wall was smooth, impossible to take hold anywhere.

The bird sat opposite her, watching her as she realized there was no possibility to escape. Except, it didn't really look like a bird. She was unable to say what it was, some huge being, a monster, with big leathery wings, a greenish scaly skin, claws instead of hands and feet.

It took a step towards her, and she pressed herself against the wall, in the hope it might open and swallow her, take her away from here.

The creature opened its mouth.

"Finally you are mine. I have waited so long for you." 

She knew the voice.

'Where do I know this voice from?'

The creature took another step towards her, its cold skin now touched hers, its cold, unmoving eyes made it impossible for her to avert her own eyes from them. She could hardly breath, much less move. The creatures face was right in front of hers, its mouth resembled almost a beak, or a snout, as it pressed on hers, and she felt its tongue break its way in between her lips. She felt the tongue invading her mouth, felt teeth. The creature's breath mixed with her own.

The creature pushed her against the wall, she could feel the cold stone against her back, irritating her skin. And she could feel it's claw-like hands all over her body, exploring it, claiming it. Finally the claws were taking hold of her legs, lifting them, pulling them apart from each other. And pressed against her stomach, she clearly felt the indication of the creature's intentions.

The knowledge of the precipice to both sides of her paralized her. In the violent kisses of the creature she could taste her own blood. She couldn't see anything anymore, maybe her eyes were closed, as if to block out what where she was, what was happening, what was about to happen. A blackness crept up from inside her. Oh, to be unconscious, she longed to not know what was happening.

He did not wait long; she could feel it pushing inside her. She could feel its size, and herself not being ready. The torment, when it entered her, awoke her senses yet again. The creature pushed slowly at first, giving her a few moments to get used to its size. Then, suddenly, it thrust deep into her seemed to tear her apart, and the scream that escaped her mouth did bear a strange mixture of pain and unexpected pleasure. The echo of her own scream still hung in the air, as another thrust seemed to push her right into the rock behind her, the cold stone irritating her skin, bruising it, cutting little wounds with its sharp edges.

She felt the creature's arms wrap around her, pulling her closer, as it proceeded thrusting into her. It's claws teared her skin, it's mouth was still pressed onto hers, the tongue ravaging her mouth, the teeth cutting her lips.

She believed to hear the sound of its wings. The wall behind her back was gone. Were they flying? Were they falling again? She didn't know.

Her voice had become hoarse from screaming, all she could do now was utter tired sobs that were covered up by the creature's mouth. She forgot about the wall of rock, the air, the precipice. She didn't know who she was or whether she had ever been anywhere else. All she felt or knew was every new thrust deep into her, the pain never grew less strong, yet she now awaited each new thrust, his body slamming into hers. He finally let go of her mouth, and she felt his breath against her ear, as he whispered:

"Now, finally, you are really mine, beautiful."

***

"I swear, if she doesn't have a seriously good reason, I am going to kill her."

Karsten was in a bad mood. The streets had been icy, a few accidents had kept them waiting on the way, and once they had reached the city, they had found themselves in the middle of the fireworks that started at midnight, seemingly all aiming just at their car. This was clearly not how he had imagined to pass into the new year.

Now, maybe forty minutes after midnight, only every now and then there was the sound of another detonating firecracker. Instead, drunk people were singing loudly on the street, he could still hear it in the staircase of the house, as Katja unlocked the door to her apartment.

They were greeted by music.

"Und den Menschen ... Und den Menschen ... Und den Menschen ... "

"That's Renate's record, she loves that one," Katja explained, "But it is broken, it always gets stuck at that part. And she never listens to the rest, for some reason."




Monster



They stepped into the hallway, turning on the lights.

"She cleaned. Wow, the place looks great," Katja said, as she went to the living room.

Then she stopped at the doorstep. A little cry escaped her mouth. Karsten followed her quickly, looking into the room over her shoulder.

On the floor, in the middle of the tidy room, there lay a figure, dressed in Renate's usual black and brown clothes, the face with hollow cheeks and closed eyes turned up towards the ceiling. They both stared at the motionless girl, whose face looked paler even than usual. Finally, Karsten went to kneel down behind her, and took one of her hands into his, searching for her pulse.

"Is she ... ", Katja choked back tears.

"I can feel her pulse," Karsten said, "But she is not moving. I will go call an ambulance."

He stood up. Katja nodded.

"I ... I will just turn the music off."

She went to the record player.

"Und den Menschen ... Und den Menschen ... "

She stopped the record. In the silence that ensued, they could both make out a whispering sound. They turned around to Renate. She was still lying motionless, her eyes closed, but her mouth was moving. Katja ran to her, sat down next to her, approaching her ear to her mouth.

"Ein Wohlgefallen, ein Wohlgefallen."

Renate wasn't speaking, she was singing in a soft voice.

"Renate!" Katja took the girls hand into hers, "Are you alright? Can you hear me? What happened?"

Renate stirred, then she opened her big, blue eyes. The colour seemed lighter, more of an ice-cold blue than usual.

Her voice now wasn't soft any more; it didn't quite seem hers, as she said, "Hello beautiful! Are you finally here?" 

Then, Renate started laughing. A loud, shrill cackle that just wouldn't stop.



Monster



She sits across the room at a good vantage point; she can see all activity in the bustling atmosphere. Not a person comes or goes without her seeing, and so much the better, because it's that day again. It's time to hunt.

Many pass as she pretends to be absorbed in her book. Most of them just aren't right. Too young, far too old. Too swarthy. Too large. Nothing looks right, nothing smells right to her advanced senses. She smells their hygiene products, their clothes soap. She can sense the earthy, sometimes salty, sometimes bittersweetness of their skin. She can also smell their intrigue and fear. And they should, you know. They might not realize that they're in the presence of a superior being, but this just makes her job easier. Hours bleed by, and nothing strikes her fancy. She prefers an intellectual prey item. One that she can play with before she eats it.

Having finished her clever human disguise food (the coffee tastes pleasant and is warm but does not nourish) she decides to pack it in and move elsewhere. There's a bar right off the university campus, plenty of fish there. Yes, today has been a wash, but it's okay, there will always be--

Wait.

That's when she spots him. More accurately, she smells him before she actually sees him. Clean, masculine, woodsy. Youthful. Under the scent of his skin, something sweet, something rotten deep within his body. A scent not unlike spoiled fruit. Oh and he's so CLOSE. He's so CLOSE it's almost unbearable. Her skin prickles and her pulse quickens, and she is certain her eyes are dilating and she's so starving that they might be taking on that peculiar brownish-red that they tend to do when she's hungry and smells food. Yes, this had been exactly what she was waiting for!

Her desires were confirmed a minute later when he actually wandered into frame. Tall, lithe like a cat, tan but not implying that he worked outdoors. Spectacles, sturdy hands, business casual. Oh my god, he was completely perfect. She made up her mind then that she had to have him. Careful and calculating as always, she surrepticiously observed him order and wander dangerously close, taking the seat right in front of her. She relaxed and something in her brain flexed. He looked up, slightly slack-jawed and stupid. Pretty green eyes glued themselves to her mouth. He spoke.

"Hi. You're a Lovecraft fan, I see?" he gestured ineptly at my tome.

"Yes. It's a bit like bedtime stories for the mentally disturbed. Immensely comforting and horribly warped."

"I...uh, you...I'll just leave you alone forever, then." He reddened and turned away from her.

"Please don't," She caught his sleeve between her white fingers. "I enjoy intellectual conversations with complete strangers. Especially when they can't make real words."

She smiled. He was nervous, but so did he. And that is how the chase began.

Let us finish this journey through my head, shall we?

We wheedled away a few hours talking. Discussing literature, horror, and how sometimes the two could queerly twist to form something sick and erotic. He was frightfully intelligent, perhaps a true equal. His partial completion of university at least kept his head above my seven bachelors, only one of which I told him about. It was a bit of a joke, really. I kept the papers framed down a hall in my house, each with their different name and institution lined up in chronological order. When you have unlimited time, it's amazing the stuff you can accomplish if you're willing to put in the money. "But you look so young to be graduated from university already," he eyed me carefully up and down, stopping to rest at my healthy swell of breast and back to my face, framed in striking auburn. "I am older than I look," I retorted, laughing inside at my little joke. I inhaled deeply, excited by the musk of his shirt collar and nearly overpowering scent of coffee and his skin. God, I wanted to just do it there, to hell with the store full of people. But no. I must wait. I've survived so long in this body because I've learned to be careful and I will not waste it yet. It was early afternoon and the sun finally came out from under its grey film. I longed to soak up the sun and warm my tired cells.

"So...have you got plans today?" I asked, certain that he didn't.

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Well, I think I'm going to your place to warm up."

"Sounds fine. Although perhaps you misspoke, it's quite toasty in here."

I almost paused in my stride.

He was right, it was warm in here.

I followed his awkward little functional truck out to the bowels of suburbia. Calm, quiet, cram-packed with minorities. It looked like thirty years ago this had been a nice neighborhood of white folks, replaced now by the rat-breeding tendencies of the poor and ethnic. Passels of children of varying ages wandered the streets unattended, and I briefly thought to myself this would be heaven if I were that kind of predator. In the solitary comfort of my dinky little sedan, I was able to release a little of the steam that accumulated as I tried to control myself so as to not make a public mess. My teeth were on edge, the blood damn near boiling over the surface of my skin. I checked my eyes in the rearview and just as I suspected, they had darkened and tinted, but not enough that it would draw attention. Oh GOD, I had to have him. I rolled my windows down to collect some rays of sun; I'm reptilian like that. It's difficult for me to regulate my body temperature, but I do so love sunning myself to stay warm. We arrived at a nice-enough place. A nice tall wall around his courtyard to keep out the unwanted. I could respect that. My own space was highly private, very warm, and very well protected. I couldn't afford for something bigger and nastier to surprise me when I'm vulnerable.

Too bad this human isn't smart enough to know that what he's inviting in is way more dangerous than anything he could ever try to keep out.

It didn't take long for us to attach to each other once inside. The intellectual fires lit fanned other more disgusting primal flames, and the entire thing went up in smoke. In our heated kissing and touching, I noticed a small box attached to his hip. Even better for me, he's physically broken and will be much easier to chew. He tasted exquisite, bold and slick with spit and sweat and it was positively intoxicating. The closer I got, the more scents I recognized. His skin reeked of a boring, manly soap and it appeared as though he was trying to hold on to his last vestiges of true youth in his aftershave, which I smelled almost constantly on the necks and hands of the young men I occasionally preyed upon. But on him? The combination was less desperate and more complex and...teasing. My pulse throbbed hard and insistent in my jugular, and I feared that the same intensity might return to my eyes and the jig would be up.

"Oh god, I'm sorry. Hold on. I have to do this right quick."

He broke free from me and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with another small blue medical device. He pricked his index finger with a tiny pin and coaxed blood onto the small paper extending from the machine. I almost lost it then and there. The sickly-sweetness was so CONCENTRATED in his blood that it both nauseated and inflamed me even further. I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold on. He returned, gathering me close against him and offering his quarters for us to retire. I accepted, fighting hard and heavily the horrific beast under my skin. Soon, beast! It won't be much longer.

We stripped gradually and relaxed into his bed, a transient bump occurring when he had to unleash himself from the box that I assume kept him alive. I saw where it connected into him, leaving behind a small length of cord and a scary (delicious) needle in its wake. My heart leapt at the thought of how achy and tender that spot probably was, so close to flank meat and so frequently abused. It was clear to me that it had been a while since he was in such a position. I continued in my reverie, admiring his well-cared-for skin and quite literally having to count down in my head till the perfect moment to let go. He was painfully hard and I held him in one hand, debating how far I should take it. When would it be perfect? It was surely about to present itself. He pawed at my panties, black and lace and still very much on.

"I want to see all of you," he said. Not a plea, more like an order.

And he did.

I billowed free from the uncomfortable shell that I occupy, expanding in the room as I tumbled out of the human girl's mouth and eyes, parts of me flowing from her nose like black, thick blood. My eyes shone crimson like they should, my skin (for lack of a better word) black and shiny like PVC. I shoved the worthless shell aside off the bed and focused myself, centering my tendrils of extraplanar smoke and plasma. I was beautiful and horrible all at the same time. And this would be the last thing this pretty piece of meat would ever see. I was almost sorry, he was a fine specimen.

But something was really, badly wrong.

He was smiling.

He was smiling broad and toothy. Like I'd materialized into his dead father or something. Like I was the wife he's always longed for but never really found because he was too hurt and frightened to bother looking.

I allowed myself a confused blink and in that amount of time, the pretty body of the man that reclined before me seconds ago was on the floor in a crumpled heap.

And that was the last thing I ever saw.



Monster Boys



It was time to see to my duties. The Council of Huntresses wanted all the woman-power they could scrape together. For quite some time, hearsay had been that times were bad for this town, Valgemaa, but I did not need rumors to know that. For the last few weeks, unease had been written across the faces of the Council's best and brightest.

As I marched from my home to the council chamber, I watched my breath flow into clouds in front of me. My fur boots scuffed softly on the frosty gravel of the burg's main street. I stayed warm beneath a thick, dark blue jacket that my grandmother had worn. Someday, I hoped to have a daughter, and I hoped that she would wear this jacket too. It was more than a garment. It was even more than a masterwork of textile-weaving. It was our family's coat of arms, simple but proud.

Stout wood and stone huts, dressed in newfallen snow, rose from either side the street. Inside, children cavorted and cackled while their mothers told them stories and their fathers cooked and crafted. Humble fires sent wisps of smoke spiraling up into the silver sky. A few teenage boys passed me in the road, dragging a cart full of fine logs. They were heading back to the farmlands, where all unmarried men lived. The boys shoved and joked at each other, then their eyes fell on me, and they all gaped. A trip into woman's territory was not an everyday experience for these farmboys, and a huntress like myself was exotic. I obliged them with a wink, then walked on.

In the center of town was a brilliant stone statue, hewn by the greatest craftswomen of a generation, showing a woman standing on a rock, holding a scroll in one hand and a map in the other. She was in full armor, with a cape billowing down from her shoulders, half-covered by her enormous train of hair. This was Medniïce, First of the Huntresses, and the founder of Valgamaa. For the thousandth time, I wished her a peaceful rest and went on.

A quarter-mile ahead, the door hung open to a brightly firelit brothel. I could see inside, where domesticated monster boys lounged over luxuriant cloths, or else they cut wood, chiseled stone and even sparred with each other.

One of the monster boys in particular caught my eye. Like most monster boys, he looked mostly human except for one distinction. His was a pair of pure-white wings that sprouted from his back, peaking a little above his shoulders and angling back down. He saw me staring at him, and his wings perked with sudden excitement.

I kept staring. I had almost certainly seen him before, but I hadn't fully appreciated what a treat he was for the eyes. His dark brown hair was somehow neat in its unruliness, and thin, soft eyebrows rode low over his aquatic blue eyes. He smiled a coy little smile, and I smiled back. But I kept walking. Perhaps I would try him later. But for now, the council wanted its best huntress. They wanted me.

The huntress' hall was a low, broad cone that squatted on the north peak of the town, its circular roof held up by great logs that were fifty feet long and generations old. To a newcomer's eye, the building would have looked stern- grim, even- but to me, it was a second home.

Inside, huntresses marched about, practicing maneuvers on the dirt in the sparring ring, testing their equipment by the forge or arguing over scrolls and tomes. Tamed monster boys skittered along beside them, carrying their goods for them, while the huntresses' human husbands stood on the sidelines, making small talk or crafting tools for them.

One of the high councilwomen walked up to me, her pace brisk. "Frigg," she said, "we have an important gathering this evening. But first, we need you to train the young one."

"Training?" I said. "I was under the impression that I was your last choice for a trainer."

"You are. We take in as many recruits as we can now, and you are the last master available."

"My apprentice- is she skilled?"

"See for yourself. That is your way, I know."

The councilwoman snapped her fingers, and in strode a young woman. She seemed to be the age of two and twenty if I had to guess her exact years, and she was clearly not from these lands. Her skin was tan and her hair blonde from heavy sun. Her full lips and blue eyes completed a bright, ornamental appearance. I found her remarkably beautiful, and I could tell that the other women felt the same.

"Hello," she said brightly, stepping up to me. "You're master Frigg Aronson, yes? I'm called Dulce. Dulce Obregón."

I was right; that was a Fulzoran name, from the sunny, seafaring lands to the south.

"Will we go hunting today?" she asked, bouncing a little on her toes. "I can't wait to make my first hunt."

I decided that a quiz would make for the best test. "Tell me what you know about the eastern flightless fairy boy."

"Eastern?" she asked, incredulous. "But they don't live this far north."

"That's true. But my order stands."

"Oh... well, they have little wings that camouflage with poppies, they're very light, they're slow runners and they're not very smart. They like the color red- no... yellow."

"All of that is correct. Now walk me through the process of capturing one."

"Okay, yes, yes, I know this..."

I smiled a little. Some girls fell apart when asked questions they had not prepared for. But Dulce was keeping her composure.

"Fairy boys leave trails of sparkles," she began. "I mean, luminescent particles. The particles hang in the air for half a day, then they turn black and fall. You can track them that way."

She stood up and looked self-satisfied.

"Keep going," I said.

"More? Well... fairy boys can't hear well, so you can stalk them normally, and when you find them, you have to careful. They scare easily, because they're a non-belligerent species, so they won't attack you. You have to... hm..."

I waited.

"Wait, that's it! They have strong senses of smell, so you have to use perfumes. Western fairy boys like plum scent. The eastern ones... I have no idea."

"That's acceptable. Suppose you come into contact. What will you do then?"

"The last step to capturing a monster boy is to make him cum. If the fairy boy comes toward me, I'll stand still, and maybe back away a little. I wouldn't hold eye contact, because they scare easily- but I already said that."

"Don't worry. It bears repeating. How do you finish him?"

"He'd try to hug me, probably. Maybe he'd fondle me a little too. I'd start slowly, get my fingers on his skin and let him get used to it, then I'd find his cock. I'd start rubbing it first, then I'd pump. Oh, yes, and I'd make sure I didn't pull back too far and stretch the foreskin. That hurts them."

"After his first orgasm, will he be docile?"

"Yes. Fairy boys have low stamina, so they go docile with just one cum. He'll be light also, so I could just carry him back here and start the obedience training."

"Correct."

Dulce beamed. I couldn't help but smile back.

"You know all that books will teach you," I said. "It's time for your masterwork. Equip yourself, and we'll go hunting."

Dulce's grin widened.

"Jens!" I called.

Moments later, a sliver-and-blue-furred catboy stepped up to us, with his ears, whiskers and tail twitching attentively. Catboys had a reputation for meanness, but Jens had a heart like newfallen snow.

"M'yes?" he mewed.

"Dulce is on the verge of her first hunt," I told him. "See to it that she's properly equipped."

"Mrow?" said Jens. "A first? Ve-e-e-ery nice."

Dulce's eyes focused on Jens, and her pupils shrank. Her eyes climbed up and down his narrow chest, focusing on his innocent yet knowing face. I could see questions brewing in her throat.

"You're a catboy," she said.

Jens nodded.

"You're fully trained!"

"M'yes. Docile."

'Docile' was his favorite word.

"Could I..." said Dulce, "could I spend a night with you? Tonight?"

Jens purred, his tail curling sensuously.

"Tonight," I said gently. "For now, she needs to focus on her hunt."

Jens nodded, still flicking his tail, and led Dulce off to the armory. A few minutes later, she came back, wearing clean, tight-fitting fur-lined tan leather. Two belts wound across her torso, holding surveying tools and vials of useful substances. Like me, she wore no luck charms at all; her own skills would see her through this hunt.

"Let's go!" she said.

* * *

Out in the forest, Dulce looked like a completely different person. She hunched her back and placed her feet with masterful care. I had been under the impression that she had little to no experience. Either I was wrong, or she was immensely gifted.

"Master Aronson?" she spoke up, "can I ask you something?"

"Yes. Quietly, please."

"Of course... why don't you have a slaveboy? All of the masters have monster boys they keep as their own, yes? If I become I a master today, I'll keep my catch and he'll be mine forever."

"Correct. When I caught a lightning sprite as my masterwork, I could have kept him, but I chose otherwise. And, to answer your next question, I chose not to keep him because I did not yet want a husband."

"What do you mean? It's not written that you have to marry some man. The monster boy's just a slave."

"Not to me. To me, a private monster boy would be a mate- a real husband. And I have neither the time nor the energy to do justice to a husband."

"You think these monsters are just like real people?"

"Of course. My mother became pregnant using a farmboy, but, as I see it, my real father was the one she purchased from an incubus tamer. He was an excellent lover to my mother, I am sure. But to me, he was something even more important. He was a good father. He was wise, kind and insightful. We should all be so lucky."

"That's strange."

"And how so?"

"You learned all that from a male?"

"Yes. And that's strange to you?"

"Of course! Do you know I came to be here? I'm from Fulzore, not this land. And the reason why my family left there is because puffed-up boys were taking it over. It used to be that males would stay on leashes, where they belong, but then they started taking power. Then the aristocracy started talking about a king. A king! By now, they've sworn in King Crístobal the First. Boys shouldn't run countries."

"I see."

"You don't agree, do you?"

"Truly, I'm ambivalent. If you've come here to find matriarchy, you'll find it, but you should know that you will be expected to show respect for males- even for monster boys, when the time comes."

Dulce looked at the ground. At first, I thought she was sulking, then she said something:

"Something's been through here."

She was right. "Can you tell me what it was?"

"Yes. An incubus."

"Those become more and more common. You're correct. Now lead the hunt."

This would be dangerous. Incubi were the most aggressive type of monster known, and they were the only type that kidnapped women without provocation.

Dulce did everything correctly, silencing her footsteps and not saying a word as she followed the soft tracks. Her eyes flicked onto the stiff branches and snow-covered rocks, and even the sparse trees above.

Eventually, she stopped and pointed at a distant incubus who picked his way across the frosty ground. Like all incubi, he was muscular and with clean skin, with striking red eyes under wild black hair. His feet were black, and his joints were a dull red. He wore a tattered brown loincloth that failed to conceal his bright crimson cock. This particular one had a smoothly rounded jaw line and bright pink nipples. His ribbonlike tail drooped to a few inches above the ground, then curved back up again, ending in a crimson spade as large as the palm of my hand.

He did not seem to notice us. Dulce looked to me and nodded, and I nodded back. She approached the incubus.

Now Dulce began the most difficult part of the hunt. She knew that a startled incubus might attack a huntress, in which case it was easily subdued, but it was just as likely to flee, in which case it would escape easily. She approached, and the incubus noticed her, locking his eyes on her. She held his gaze.

Good. That was the first step.

The incubus stood, captivated, unable to move and barely able to think, as Dulce stepped gradually closer. Her hand touched his, without breaking eye contact, and she worked on the kilt that started at his rocky torso and ended at his knees. It twitched down, until she finally dislodged it, sending it fluttering to his feet. The tip of his cock nearly touched her.

'That's it,' I thought. 'Now move in. Take him.'

Instead, Dulce made a grave mistake. She pushed the incubus onto his back, then, shedding the bottom of her outfit, she plunged onto his ready cock, sending a moan into the heavens. She practically jumped up off his body with each buck, packing all of her youthful energy into every movement.

I sprinted for her, noisily tearing through branches and shrubs, then hooked my arms under hers and yanked her away. Before the incubus could react, I pinned him with a hand on his chest, just above the base of the ribcage, and took his cock in my free hand. I pumped, feeling Dulce's hot juices squelching under my fingers. His cock kept stiffening, until I felt a tightening that I knew well. I could feel the waves of cum pumping up through the underside of his cock moments before white ooze came surging out the tip.

I stayed on him, waiting for him to start struggling, but he never did. His breathing became slow, and his eyes focused sedately on me. This incubus was weak- he had less stamina than a human male.

"What was that?!" cried Dulce, collecting herself. "What did you do that for?"

"You nearly lost something much more important than your masterpiece," I said gravely. "You almost lost your sanity. I'm sure you're aware what happens when an untamed monster boy ejaculates inside a woman? She becomes subservient to him- a thrall, trapped in a dreamlike state."

"Some girls can handle it. Olga the Invincible did. Didn't she?"

"She did. Legends would have you believe it's infallible, but few women have succeeded in all of known history. Please understand, those women were absolute masters of their trade, and they were lucky at that. I won't have you take that kind of risk."

Dulce's face strained with anger. Then, with visible effort, she stopped herself and breathed deeply. "I'm sorry." she said.

"Don't fear. You've learned a valuable lesson. Now, this boy is docile. Can you show me how to lead a docile demon boy back to camp?"

Dulce smiled sheepishly and walked up to the supine monster boy, uncoiling a few lengths of rope from her pouches. Part of the rope formed a collar, tied with a type of knot that would not choke him, and another length led from the collar down to his testicles, separating them and squeezing them just enough to cause a bit of pain. The incubus whimpered a little as the knot went on, and I was unashamed to feel a rush of heat.

"Good job," I said to Dulce, as she attached a leash to the collar. "Now lead us home."

For a few minutes, we marched back through the forestry, heading straight for Valgemaa. We moved slowly to accommodate the incubus, who followed the leash in a wide-eyed stupor, but Dulce was in no mood to rush. She stared at the floor, and her cheeks were red with something other than arousal.

"If it's any consolation," I told her, "you're a skilled lover. That incubus took very little work before he reached orgasm."

Dulce smiled weakly. "Master?"

"Yes?"

"Is it true that, if a monster boy comes inside you, but you resist the mind control... is he your slave? Instantly?"

I judged that Dulce knew better than to repeat her mistake, so I decided to tell the delicious truth. "Yes," I said. "He'll form a bond with you immediately. You'll scarcely need to train him at all."

Dulce nodded and kept looking at the ground.

Back at the council hall, the three of us ducked through the fur that hung at the entryway as quietly as we could. Inevitably, people saw Dulce and the docile incubus, and they raised a cheer. Dulce brushed them all quietly aside.

"He's not mine," she kept saying. "I failed."

Jens approached her with the same expectance, but, unlike the other huntresses, he instantly knew that something was wrong. "Mrow?" he said. "Master? Something wrong? Is the boy docile?"

"Yes, he's docile," Dulce groaned, "and I'm still an apprentice. That's Master Aronson's catch. And I'd be dead if she hadn't taken it."

"Lost," I corrected. "Not dead."

Jens' ears fell back, and his tail drooped. Then he perked back up. He stepped up to Dulce and pressed himself to her side.

"Love?" he purred. "Hm? Want to make lo-o-ove?"

"Not now," she sighed.

"We won't convene for well over an hour," I said. "If you want sex with him, you have ample time."

"Not now. Not until I'm a master."

I nodded, knowing I couldn't convince her. I turned away, deciding that I wanted a lover. My mood called for a boy who was delicate and precise, like an elf, or maybe a fox boy. But as my eyes played across the male figures in the council hall, they saw something out of the ordinary.

A young human male knelt on a stretch of cloth, his arms pressed together behind his back. He didn't wear a stitch of clothing, baring every inch of his smoothly muscled body, from his rippling legs up past his tightly wound stomach and his sharply defined chin. A wooden bar with two small loops on either end ran between his knees, keeping his legs spread, and his cock hung straight out from him, turned pink with excitement. His mouth gaped open, held there by a strapped metal ring, and a slip of black cloth covered his eyes.

I stepped up to him, my interest piqued. I knew that he could hear me coming, because his back straightened as I got close. I walked around behind him, admiring his firm butt, which, to my delight, was already reddened with a few handprints. His arms were bound together with a pentad of cords, and a tiny sack was tied around his wrists, covering his hands.

I decided that I wanted him. Already, I would have loved to make use of his tongue, but the thought of unraveling him, string by string, slowly unfolding his delicious body, filled me with excitement.

"Do you like him?" asked one of two grinning young men who stood behind him. "He lost a bet back at the farm, so now he's available."

Giddiness took over me. This might have been someone's husband, trussed and displayed as a surprise for her. But instead, this was an unmarried farmboy, which meant that he was any woman's man.

"Bring him into the shed," I ordered, rubbing my hands together. "He's too delicious to let sit."

The tied-up boy blushed beneath his blindfold. With widening grins, the other two men each grabbed two corners of his cloth and hoisted him up, then bore him out of the building. I followed, enjoying the sight of his balls swinging between his strong legs.

In cool, musty darkness of the shed by the huntress hall, the two unbound farmboys set down the treasure in the middle of the floor. One of them tousled the hair of the bound boy, and the two bearers sprinted off.

I eased the heavy wooden door shut and waited a moment as my eyes adjusted to the meager light that filtered in through the roof. The tied boy shuffled around, and his breathing quickened. I decided to toy with him.

"Hello, boy," I said, in my most sensuous voice. "I hope you're skilled with your mouth. We'll be putting it to very good use today."

He licked his lips, and his shoulders started heaving.

I stepped up to him, letting him hear my feet crunch on gravel. I extended my right hand into his mouth. Warm saliva slathered against the skin of my cold fingers.

"Suck on my fingers," I ordered him. "Worship me."

His tongue curled around my fingers one at a time, pleasuring them with his warm, wet muscle. I pulled my hand out, and he leaned forward, still looking for my fingers.




Monster Boys



"Very nice," I cooed. "Now, bend over."

I gave him a moment to wonder what to do, then I set my left hand on the small of his back and pushed him forward. He landed with his chin on the ground, his back straight up and his butt in the air, supported by his spread knees. His fully erect cock pointed down and forward, and his balls hung expectantly beneath his inviting cheeks.

I brought up my right hand, still warm and wet with his saliva, and pressed it smoothly to his right cheek. He let out a high-pitched moan. I lifted my hand and spanked him, using just my fingers, and he jumped, squeaking. I struck him again, sending globules of saliva flying, and he bucked, stifling another moan. I reached forward and grabbed his cock, pumping once, then twice. He blanched, and I thought I had made him cum, but he held himself together. I pulled him upright.

"Now, boy," I said, circling around in front of him. "I'm going to use your mouth. And I want your lips, too. You're not to speak, boy, understand? Your lips are for my pleasure."

A drop of clear, slick liquid oozed from the tip of his cock. He was loving this just as much as I was.

I reached around the back of his head and undid the ingenious knot- farmboys were masterful ropeworkers- then lifted the ring out of his mouth. He pressed his teeth shut, then open again, releasing the tension in his jaw. I waited a moment.

"I'm going to kiss you," I breathed. "Be ready, boy."

I did not wait for him. Instead, I forced my lips on his, sucking against his mouth, my tongue batting at his. He sucked back, and I enjoyed his gentle pull for a minute. Then I came away, a saliva trail still lingering from my hungry mouth.

With deliberate slowness, I placed my hands on either side of his head. My fingertips got under his blindfold, he gasped, and I slowly freed his eyes.

He blinked his pretty brown orbs at me, struggling feebly in the light.

"I choose to free your eyes only because it excites me," I said. "I enjoy looking into you while you give me pleasure."

With an efficient pull, I undid the cord around my pants and let them drop. My womanhood, hot and swimming it its own wetness, felt a wave of cold, and I suppressed a cringe. As soon as I adjusted to the temperature, I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in.

This boy must have been used by a woman before, because he immediately knew what to do. His tongue washed against me like a gale, and pleasure blossomed inside me. I exhaled quickly, letting out a misty cloud of hot air, and my fingers tightened around his head. I moaned, my knees going weak, and collapsed, taking him down with me. I landed astride his face, with him on his back. He looked up at me, confused, and I pressed his face into me again, moaning as he continued to ply his trade. In no time at all, I felt the beginnings of a rush. Pressure built, muscles tightened, and I flooded over him with a wailing release.

I sat back, letting him breathe, smirking at his half-blind and cum-stained face. His small, flat chest heaved. He thought he was done. On a whim, I decided that he was right. Very carefully, I wiped his lips clean with my thumb, then I took him in my arms, pulled up and gently kissed him.

"Nicely done," I told him. "That is all I want for now. Maybe I'll see you this evening."

He opened his mouth to speak, and I took the opportunity to fit in his ring gag. He moaned a little, his tongue curling in his mouth, then resigned himself to silence. I pulled the blindfold over him again, tying it with a pedestrian knot, then stood up and left him in the shed.

Back inside the huntress' hall, I approached the farmboys who had carried my entertainment to the shed for me.

"I left your friend in the shed," I told them. "Let him know that he's extraordinary."

One of the boys slapped the other playfully, and they jogged excitedly out of the hall, off to retrieve the tied boy.

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Frigg?" said an authoritative voice of a high councilwoman. "It is time."

My face hardened. I followed the high councilwoman to the center of the huntress' hall. There, a great oaken table sat under the light of three torches, with a scroll spread across it. The twelve other masters huddled around this table, leaving a gap for the hunched form of Grandmistress Moen Olvsa, leader of the Valgemaa huntresses, her hair flowing down from her head in a great silvery mass. Her age-withered face gazed at us and at the scroll with the equanimity of her years.

"Something is afoot," she said slowly. "We have no explanation for what we see here."

She paused. No one spoke- not even the men and monster boys who watched in the distance.

"This," said the grandmistress, pointing to a small circle on the scroll, "represents the population of incubi in these lands two years ago, when they first appeared. Since there are no succubae here, the incubi should not have been able to reproduce. So their existence should have been a fluke. Perhaps they were a freak of nature. Or perhaps they were brought by ship. The ones we tamed had no answers." Now Mistress Olvsa pointed to another, much larger circle. "This circle represents the population of incubi one month ago. It has nearly tripled. There are now at least two incubi for every fairy."

I shook my head. Fairy boys had been the most populous monster type for as long as I had lived.

"This is unacceptable," said Master Mari, forceful as always. "Incubi are the most aggressive monster in existence. They threaten young girls and even some grown women. We cannot allow them to spread."

"But what can be done?" asked someone.

"What can be done? It's obvious. We can kill them."

"No!" I said, on a reflex.

Master Mari looked around for support, finding none. Her cruel eyes narrowed on me. "You have a daughter, do you not, Frigg?"

I swallowed my pride. "No."

"But someday you wish to?"

"Yes."

"Then how can you justify protecting these beasts that threaten our girls? These are not typical monster boys, as you're no doubt aware. They are a danger, and they must be exterminated."

"They must be understood!"

"Understood, you say... A vivisection, then? We have a specimen."

"Enough!" growled Olvsa. "There will be no vivisection. And killing is the work of a barbarian, not a huntress."

I allowed myself to look smug.

"But," said Olvsa, "this threat is real. If there is no other way to protect our girls..." she shook her head. "...I would have to condone the killings."

If I had not been conditioned to cool-headedness, my jaw would have fallen open. I looked at Olvsa, hoping I had heard her wrong, but her sorrowful face gave me my answer.

"We can't do this," I said. "This is against our creed."

"Our creed is to serve Valgemaa," said Olvsa. "We tame monster boys for safety and train them for pleasure. But we cannot drain their numbers if we take the time to tame each and every one. If we desire safety- if this land desires safety- we need some other way to stem the tide. If there is no alternative, the incubi must die."

My mind raced, then I turned and marched away, full of purpose.

Dulce slumped at a table at the edge of the hall, sadly reading a book. Jens sat dejectedly at her feet.

"Something dire has happened," I said to her, not bothering with a greeting. "Gather your gear. We're traveling into the heart of incubus territory. It will be long and dangerous."

Her eyes widened.

"And," I added, "we may make a master of you yet."

That was all she needed. She turned and bolted off. Within a few minutes, she was back, in full huntress gear, her backpack swelling with supplies. I was tempted to tell her that she had rushed, but I could see nothing wrong with her outfit. She looked ready.

"Let's go," I said. "Quickly."

* * *

The sun set in the craggy, frosted distance, and a werewolf raised its howl from the forest beneath our ledge. Dulce and I sat in a rocky nook several dozen feet back from the ledge, and all we could see was the peaceful snow, the clear sky and the fire that burned spiritedly between us.

"I still can't believe it," said Dulce, as I finished giving her the news. "They'd kill. Why would they kill?"

"They're confused by this phenomenon. When people are confused, they become frightened. When they're frightened, they become desperate. When they're desperate, they become violent."

"This is terrible. Males need to be punished sometimes- of course- but this is... this isn't punishment. It's just..."

"it's oblivion."

"Yes!"

"I'm glad you feel the same way. We're a day into their territory, farther than anyone has gone in months. All we need to do is find their source, and if we learn the truth, maybe there will be a peaceful solution."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe. Sweet dreams, Dulce."

With that, I lay down in my cot. But I kept my eyes open until Dulce was asleep.

* * *

Frost crackled beneath our feet, and wind hissed between the bare trees. Dulce and I kept our hoods cinched tightly around our faces, pursing our lips against the cold.

"They've been here," she said quietly to me. "I see at least two, by these tracks, going the same way."

"Let's follow them," I said. "Conventional wisdom has it that they never travel alone. Anything new could teach us something. Lead the way, Dulce."

Like a hound, Dulce honed in on the trail and followed it, keeping an eye on her surroundings while I watched our backs.

"Hello!" said a voice. "Hello! Somebody! Anybody!"

Dulce and I froze. That voice was male, but it could not have been a monster boy. No monster boy ever called for help.

Dulce picked up her pace, and I followed, watching for signs of a trap. The trail led us to a patch of green that hugged a little brook, shielded from the wind by a bank of stone and lichen.

In the oasis, we found a young man, with short, flowing brown hair that almost covered his big, sweet green eyes. A rope coiled around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides, and attached to a stout tree branch above him. His feet snatched at the ground, which was a mere few inches out of his reach.

His clothes were nowhere to be found, and his chin, armpits and manhood were all flawlessly shaved. A second rope squeezed his upper legs together and forced out his cock, which swung and slapped against his firm legs with every kick.

"Hey! Hey, you!" he called, in a strong, virile voice. "Cut me down! Please!"

Dulce looked to me, I nodded, and she drew a knife and cut the suspending rope. The young man fell, and she caught him, staying solid under his weight. She eased him down to a sitting position against the rock, still nude and bound.

"Are you alright?" asked Dulce, crouching over him. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

"My arms..." he moaned. "I can't feel my arms."

"Oh, of course- here." She drew a knife and passed it cleanly through his arm bindings, freeing him.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you so much... it was that incubus. He must have been a bisexual."

"You were taken by an Incubus?" I said. "Start at the beginning- are you even from Valgemaa?"

"I've never heard of Valgemaa. My name is Pytel, and I'm from Oāze."

Dulce looked to me, expecting me to explain that to her. Oāze was new to me as well.

"The Incubi practically run the town now," said Pytel, massaging his arms. "It's north of here- very beautiful country- but the incubi have turned us out of it. The troubles started a few months after boys started disappearing. I think someone was laying traps for them in the forest. I got snared by a net one month back, but I managed to untie the net before anything found me. When I got back to the village, about half of the boys were left, and a few more of them disappeared every month." He shook his head. "It was a frightening time. Everyone started carrying knives. When there were only about four of us males left, the incubi came."

"All at once?" I said.

"Yes. Like an army."

"Impossible. Incubi never cooperate."

"But they did. In Oāze, we have nothing to do with monster boys- we just use incense to keep them away- but the incubi didn't even seem to notice it. They came flooding in. Everyone ran, but none of the women made it out." He took a deep breath. "I have to believe they're still alive. Without them, it's only us four boys and the children. We sent Laetin to find help, but I don't think we'll see him again. A few days ago, I was jumped by an incubus, and he tied me up like this. I've been his toy ever since. Gods only know what happened to the rest."

"I'm so sorry," said Dulce.

"Take us to your village," I said.

"What?" he gasped. "But... why?"

"We're monster huntresses. We can handle ourselves, and we need to know more about this invasion. As it so happens, this is relevant to our mission back home." I put a hand on his shoulder. "And we'll need to see your village if we want to save it."

"You'll do that?" His face lit up his hope.

"Of course we will."

"Fantastic! I'll show you there. But I need clothes. This ground is warm somehow, but if I leave the grass, I'll freeze."

I peeled off my cloak and wrapped it firmly around him, then handed him a pair of rude leather shoes.

"Thank you," he said.

I smiled and said, "You are welcome. Now lead the way."

* * *

"Ooh," said Pytel, shivering even though he was not cold. "I thought it would be easier, coming back."

"You'll be fine," said Dulce. "We'll protect you."

"It's up there. The village is just over that ridge. I... I want to stay here."

"Can you walk quietly?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Then I can't leave you alone. You will be safer with us."

"Oh..."

"Come. The both of you, be as quiet as possible. We're going to explore the village."

I stalked up to the ridge and peeked over. I saw a disorderly spread of cabins, huts and sheds, all of them wooden and with smoke curling up from them. So far, everything was normal.

We tiptoed unnoticed from the ridge to the nearest hut, and I motioned for everyone to stop. I planned our next move, then I heard a slap and a feminine squeal from within the hut. I peeked in through the window.

Inside the hut, a woman held a few vegetables over a cauldron. An incubus stood behind her, one hand lifting her dress, and the other hand pressed firmly into her rump. The woman squirmed and twisted in his grip, pressing herself against him.

The incubus lifted his hand and spanked her again, making her jump. Her hand probed its way down between her legs, then started twitching inside of her. She moaned.

"S-s-slut," said the incubus, "on your knees."

The woman turned and fixed him with a wide, cross-eyed stare, and my suspicions were confirmed. She was a thrall.

She knelt in front of him, her elbows at her sides. When she was on her knees, the incubus dropped his loincloth, tail twitching with delight, then grabbed his red cock and pumped it, showing a peek beneath his foreskin with every pull. Moments later, he grabbed the woman's head and forced her onto him. Immediately, she began sucking.

I ducked away from the window, leaving the woman for the moment, and went up to the edge of the hut, peering into the village. I saw women hauling around baskets and sacks, all with collars around their necks, a few of them being led on leashes. Past another bank of huts, I saw something that I hesitated to believe.

A woman stood on a slab with her neck and wrists forced into a pillory. An incubus knelt in front of her, cradling her head in both hands and kissing her, while another stood behind her, ramming her with wild abandon. Incubi stood in two lines before the pillory, lightly stroking their cocks, keeping stiff and ready. From my angle, I could barely a sign under the pillory that said, 'runaway.'

Dulce tapped my shoulder. I looked to her, and she silently pointed back.

An incubus had spotted us. He stood behind us, eyes intent with curiosity, slowly fondling himself as he stepped uncertainly toward us.

"We have to neutralize him," I whispered to Dulce. "Follow my lead."

I stalked up to the incubus, trying to figure out how much time we had until he jumped one of us or made a sound. We approached, and he walked past me. Dulce had to step out of his way. With a sudden bewilderment, I realized that he was attacking Pytel.

I caught up to him and wrapped my arms around his chest, arresting him. He started, and I seized the moment, sliding my palm under his loincloth. I squeezed, and he made a breathy mewl, his hands flying up helplessly.

Dulce joined me, fondling his chest and flicking his nipples, keeping him distracted. I lifted my hands gently away and rammed them into my pockets, pulling out six lines of cloth.

With a flick of my hands, I pulled a cloth over the incubus' head, slipping it between his jaws and tying it behind his head. His yelps turned into moans, muffled by the gag.

With his voice hobbled, I took hold of his swaying wrists and bunched them behind his back, securing them together. Dulce cupped his balls, running a pair of fingers down the sensitive underside of his cock, and he staggered, falling back.

Now we had him. I bound his ankles, then flipped him over and secured his wrists and ankles together. He squirmed in the snow, cock flopping wildly in front of him, looking worriedly up at us. Dulce knelt over him and got her hand around his cock, but I motioned her to stop.

"No need to make him spend," I said, turning around. "We should leave before-"

Pytel was already gone.

"Damn," I said.

Dulce sprinted up to where Pytel had been and examined the frost ground. Her gaze swept across the village grounds and out into the forest.

"Look!" she hissed. "They didn't take him into the village. An incubus got him, but it took him into the forest."

"Excellent. We'll follow him."

We padded out of the village, staying behind shrubs, huts and boulders until the icy trees surrounded us. For several minutes, Dulce's eyes were slaved to the signs on the ground and trees, staying on the kidnappers' trail.

Finally, we saw them. An incubus strutted along the snow with Pytel stumbling behind him, his wrists bound behind his back by a sloppy knot.

"Now what?" asked Dulce. "Do we keep following him?"

"We keep following him. We'll rescue him, but we need to know where he is being taken."

We only had to wait a few more minutes. Something appeared in the distance. A small mountain made of black stone rose from the forest floor, with a yawning portcullis and turrets roofed by sharp cones of shingles.

"A castle," I breathed. I had never seen one before.

"Do we go in?"

"Yes. But stay quiet."

We stalked up to the portcullis, and I peeked in, seeing no one but the incubus and a bound, helpless Pytel. I stepped into the musky, torchlit darkness just as the door slammed down behind me. To my relief, Dulce was still with me.

Taking her hand, I led her down the path of the incubus, from one lonely circle of torchlight to the next, then finally down a spiral staircase.

At the end of the stairs, we found a circular chamber with no other entrance. At the far end was a grey rock throne. A woman sat in it, covered in shreds of black cloth that draped over her throne like sickly vines. She stood up, and a cruel face revealed itself from behind a curtain of dark hair.

"Who..." Pytel gasped, "who are you? What is this?"

"Master," said the incubus, kneeling before her. Pytel knelt with him, obviously scared.

The woman stood up, radiating self-satisfaction as she sauntered towards the two. She took Pytel's chin between her thumb and forefinger and, with one arm, pulled him to his feet.

"No..." he moaned. "Please... just let me go."

The woman laughed, deeply and malevolently, and flicked her hands. Flashes of white lit the air, and Pytel fell back, raising a pall of ash from the filthy floor. As soon as the dust cleared, I saw iron shackles binding his wrists and ankles to the floor, holding his arms apart and his legs open. The woman made another sleight, and Pytel's clothes came away, exposing his chest, which now glistened with sweat, and leaving his erect, helpless manhood exposed and ready for her.




Monster Boys



The woman strutted a slow circle around him, her eyes focusing on his, smiling girlishly. When she reached his feet, she knelt over him, straddling his manhood, and put a hand on chest. She closed her eyes, as if feeding off his heartbeat.

"I'm going to make an incubus out of you," she said, as she made some incantation on her own womanhood. "And I'll make you love it."

I tapped Dulce's shoulder, and she gave a little start. She tore her eyes away from the scene before her and looked at me.

"You handle the incubus," I whispered to her. "I will stop the sorceress."

The sorceress dropped herself onto Pytel, pleasure hissing out of her in a long, quavering breath. Pytel's fists clenched, and he fought against his shackles, his arm and leg muscles bulging with effort.

I edged around the room, exposing myself in the torchlight of the walls. The incubus noticed me and started circling me, showing just a hint of hesitation. I kept eye contact with him while Dulce snuck up behind. Her hands latched onto him, he gasped, and she pulled him back while he flailed insensibly.

That incubus was taken care of. Now I focused on the sorceress. She had, at last, noticed us, and she stood up from Pytel. Sweat soaked her, and her face ran red with hot blood.

"Trespassers," she snarled. "I'll make you regret it. I'll string you up in the dungeon."

"What dungeon?" I asked, stalling as I scanned her for weaknesses.

"Wouldn't you rather find out?" she said, licking her lips. "Oh, I'd love to have you there. I think I'll even come down and use you myself. I like tough women."

"Do you?" I continued. "In that case, you may-" I interrupted myself and swept my leg into her shins, catching her flat-footed.

She fell back, squealing, and I jumped onto her, getting a rope around one hand, then the other. Before I could complete the knot, a magical wave slammed into me, pushing me back up to my feet. I readopted my fighting stance, even as my arms echoed with pain.

"You fool," said the sorceress, getting up. "Did you really think I am not- ah!"

She froze, as if stunned. The incubus stood behind her, his hands running up and down her body. Before she could regain herself, his fingers slipped under her cloak, between her legs, and her lips parted in a moan. The incubus pressed himself flush behind her, and her arms flung out. I reached forward and bound them in five quick strokes of my fingers. Dulce slipped in from the side, fitting a tight cloth gag into her moaning mouth, and, just like that, she was helpless. I stood back and watched, grinning, as the incubus brought his former mistress to the ground. He brought out his red cock, stroked it three times and set into her.

"I did it!" said Dulce. "I tamed that incubus! I got him to cum, then I told him to dominate her, and he did!"

"You didn't even deplete his stamina all the way to do it. Incredible, Dulce."

She beamed.

I looked around, ensuring that we were safe. Dulce's incubus applied himself zealously to the sorceress, and she bucked and moaned under him, her eyes rolling. Pytel lay on the ground, still bound. His skin had turned red at the elbows and knees, and I could see that his hair had darkened. His cock was fully transformed into the glistening crimson shaft of an incubus.

"I'll find some way to dispose of the sorceress for now," I said. "You go back to the huntress' hall and get the authorities in here. We can call off the killing plan, and we'll need a lot of people to tame Pytel's village."

"Are you sure it's safe here?"

"Yes."

Dulce set off, not questioning me again. As soon as she was out of earshot, I said quietly, "And it seems that we have a new master huntress."

* * *

Grandmistress Moen Olvsa stood in front of Dulce and I. "Well done, the both of you," she said. "To follow instructions is difficult enough. But to find the right thing to do in a situation such as that was very impressive." Her voice was crusty and unemotional, which, for her, was how I knew it was sincere.

We stood in front of the sorceress' castle, watching as huntresses filed out, carrying tamed incubi out to a camp we had set up under a rocky ledge.

"This explains the sudden flood of incubi," Olvsa went on, "and it means I can tell Master Mari that we can call off her extermination plan. I don't regret considering it, but..." she shook her head. "I'm immensely grateful we did not have to employ it."

There was a pause. I heard feminine wailing, and I watched with a grin as the sorceress was muscled out of the castle by two strong huntresses. The sorceress was as naked as the cold allowed, and her hands were pilloried around her neck.

"Where is she bound for?" I asked. "Did you say we were giving her to the farmboys?"

"You're correct," said Olvsa, sprouting a grin. "It appears she sterilized herself a long time ago, and we've stifled her magic for good, so it's safe. Besides, farming is hard work. The males can always use some... relief." She chuckled stiffly. "Maybe they'll learn a thing or two about the fairer sex in the process."

Another pause ensued, I looked over to Dulce, then to Olvsa, and judged that this was my best opportunity. "Grandmistress," I said, "Dulce's performance here was exemplary."

Dulce gaped at me, but, wisely, she said nothing.

"Perhaps," I said, "she is ready to be a master?"

Olvsa faced Dulce, who immediately stood up straight. She looked dignified, but did not try to hide her tension.

"Tell me, apprentice," said Olvsa, "what is a male to you, human or not?"

"He's many things, grandmistress," said Dulce. "He's a thing to be handled and controlled. A thing to be..." she searched for words. "A thing to concern yourself with, but not to fear. At the same time, he's a creature- a great, majestic creature. He serves loyally, he's... oh..."

I tilted my head. Olvsa stood as still as an icicle.

"He's something to work with, not against," said Dulce at last. "If you want to dominate him, you have to understand him and yourself."

Dulce looked hopefully up at Olvsa, who stood still for a moment, then gave a single, stern nod. "You have it," she said. "As soon as we return, we can have you ordained. Welcome, Master Dulce."

Dulce's face lit up, then she threw her fists skyward and cried, "Yes!"

Olvsa gave a rare smirk as the three of us trekked back to the infested village.

When we arrived, the incubi had already been corralled, except for a few holdouts hiding in the far corners. In the center, around a burgeoning fire, the village women huddled under blankets while the huntresses brought them clothes and decent meals. Some of the women had their wits back, but most of them were still insensible, waiting be cured by our psychic rites.

One of them stood up in front of us, fearless in her nudity and almost shivering with cold. "We owe you thanks, huntresses," she said.

"There's no need," Olvsa replied. "This is our duty."

"Maybe. Either way, we offer you a gift." She reached up and snapped her fingers.

Pytel sauntered in, dressed to please. A vest wrapped tightly around his chest, showing just a hint of his nipples. His stomach was bare, and a short tunic reached from his waist partway down to his knees, still showing a black leather pouch that peaked out beneath it. His hair was perfectly combed, a thin black collar wrapped around his neck, and a hint of mischief sparked his happy eyes.

"This man," said the village woman proudly. "He is of age, but unmarried. He's our gift to you, for saving our home."

Pytel glanced over us with delight, but when his eyes met Dulce's, his smile grew lusty.

"Dulce," I said, speaking all our minds, "As a new master, you need to choose a pet."

"Oh!" she squeaked. "But... you mean him? A human?"

"I'm not fully human anymore," said Pytel. "I'm part incubus now. You could use me as much as you like, and you'd never bear children- not without a succubus. And that's not all. I feel... subservient." He took Dulce's hand. "Especially to the woman who freed me."

"You're tamed?"

"Tamed, but not trained." He handed a thin strip of leather to Dulce. "I still need to be trained. Will you take the leash, Master Dulce?"

Dulce did not wait. She gripped his hand and pulled him into a kiss, bending him backward as she leaned over him. "You're mine," she said hungrily. "Come, let's take you back to the hall. We've got work to do."

With that, they marched for home, a newly forged master huntress and her loyal male, wearing his collar and leash as easily as his smile.

"Enjoy him," I said after Dulce. "You've earned it."

The End