Aphotic

The night grows deeper, without so much as a whimper, not even the gradual darkening of the day had taken place, as was the norm on those exceptionally long winter nights. Outside the cheery voices of partygoers, reveling in the holiday atmosphere, rang out, startling her from her daydream.  Fetching a sigh, she slips out of the business attire she’d been dying to rip off since she’d put them on this morning, and stands in front of the full-length bedroom mirror.

Her critical eye looks over her reflection, already hearing the indignant tones of her loved ones in her head as she lets her gaze stare back.  “Not bad”, she muses,  and twists back and forth, “My tits are better than the chicks in that movie anyway.  That’s gotta stand for something.”  She laughs out loud at her phone as it chirped annoyingly.  “Probably text, definitely work.”  She groans, curses habit and tries to walk away, but instead reaches for the smartphone with her right hand and snags her freshly poured glass of Carnivor with the left,  with her thumb moving deftly over the touchscreen.

“You look beautiful,” the message reads and a shiver runs down her spine. trembling in her bones like some personal earthquake.  A likely random text and yet she feels frightened, exposed in her own home while standing there still bare.  She abandons her wine to reach for the throw-blanket on the sofa, then strides to the window to scan the odd shadows that fills her backyard.  Nothing but the friendly darkened corners she recognizes well.  She glances down at the strong vibration of her phone and is jolted by another text and the shocking photo that accompanies it.

“It’s me,”  she exclaims aloud, trying to deny the possibility and but seeing is believing and that image is undeniable.  The scars on her body refute any further clamor.  They stand out, the rough lines and shadows along her ribs and breasts.  Evidence of the last time he had found her. Her own eyes stare directly into the lens of whoever had sent the photo, with her lips slightly open and shining in the moonlight. In the photo, she is pretty and petrified and very nude.

Five years had passed since she had awoken in the hospital with machines beeping in her ear and the stuffy sensation of the small astringent room. Vaguely, she remembers tearing at the tubes that had been forcing air into her lungs, suffocating her in the process of coming back to life. Unfamiliar hands held her down and she fought.  At the time, she was sure she was fighting for her life, convinced she was about to die a the hands of these strangers; she didn’t die, not then and as expected, went on living as her wishes to God to take her had again gone unheeded. No, the frozen weight in her chest broke instead and she had filled her lungs with air as though it were sweet water after wandering for years in the desert rather than the sterile environment she was trapped in.

She recalls weeping then, as she is now, and it makes it all worse.  Helpless and angry, she yanks the curtains closed and hangs her head.  Through her tears, she spies a note on the floor, a gleaming ivory rectangle against the dark red floorboards. It catches her eye, and she wonders why she hadn’t seen it before.

Of course, she had burst through the door in a gust of rain, leaves and bitter days after that disastrous date, sighing as she shifted the many bags she carried.  Days like today grate on her last nerve.  Retail therapy usually helped to ease the ache and today provided her lingerie drawer more lace she’d never have the occasion to wear.  It was really too bad, she thinks with a sigh, recalling the way running the black cherry lace had felt in her hands.  That one is really pretty too.

Now some pervert is sending her photos of herself, naked and the sounds of alone are suddenly too much to bear. She staggers against the wall; the envelope draws her attention once again as she wraps the fleecy throw around her slim body, and slips through the shadowy hallway, bending to snatch it up from the floor.  The paper is thick and is slightly scented  Something about that scent immediately made her body react. Lemon and something darker makes her flush fearfully.   Inside the envelope was simply an address, with instruction and a signature that made her gasp.  Drifting back down the hall, she debates as she inhales the fading fragrance from the note, knowing she can’t resist, even though she badly wants to.

• • • • •

The drive is long and the sun is beginning to set as she turns right onto the tree-lined secondary road her GPS so annoyingly demands her to. She shivers; the lace panties she wears push deliciously against her slit as she fidgets in her seat trying to relieve the pressure that was building in her lower regions. The thought of hands on her skin was causing her breath to come quicker and she swerves slightly as a hot wave of desire sweeps over her.

Unable to control herself, the fingers of her left hand slip along the side of the underwear, brushing first, then rubbing gently on her clit, heightening her need the further she drives into nowhere. The constant stoking of her fingertips against the tender skin has her panting, the much necessary orgasm close.  She hears her own voice cry out as a shadow darts in front of her headlights, the sound turning to a scream of fear as she orgasms.

Still panting with her heel on the brake, she let her legs lay spread out she glances out into the deepening dusk, searching for whatever had just brought her the most intense release she’d had in a while. Each window showed the same; more of the creeping darkness and little else. She sits straight and places the vehicle in park before turning onto her knees with her ass resting on the armrest to stare out the rear window, and curses herself when she lets out a small squeak.

Some animal was sitting just beyond the red line of light from her car, and its golden eyes glare hungrily back at her. “I’m not food, beast, move on,” she says under her breath, sighing as she slides back into her seat  This time she does scream, loud and long,

“A beast. A monster. It’s human,” she jabbers in her mind,  No, the small insistent voice in her heart whines, no, it’s not human.  It moves like a feral cat, sleek like a panther, it slithered like smoke.  Her poor mind can’t seem to get a good enough grasp on what she is seeing.

It’s back,  running his long-fingered hand along the hood of her car, his eyes eating her alive. Clamoring, she pushes back against the front bench seat, and her short skirt climbs as she does, leaving her lace panties in plain view. She quivers as he approaches her window and stares intently at her barely covered opening, licking his – it’s – his lips.

Her door opens with a mighty creak, nearly wrenched off its hinges.  He smells of burnt cinnamon and anise, the odd combination invades her mind as he slides behind the wheel with a curious smile touching his eyes. She wants to scream, but her chest had frozen again and there was no air, so she simply stares, wide-eyed and frightened.

“I knew you’d come.  Shall we continue this at the house?”

Stunned, she can do little more than nod, and he puts the car in drive, easily negotiating the vehicle over the next rise.  The valley reveals an incredible home nestled in the trees.  Each window is ablaze with light, and it shines like a lighthouse in the deepening dark.  She can see every room, each tastefully appointed and decorated with deplorable floral patterns that make her cringe.

Shadows glittered here and there, heavy drapes twitching and she senses the curious gazes of whatever else awaited her.  She was about to ask when his hand brushed the curls from her shoulder, and the chill of his flesh makes her shiver.  She turns to him, expecting a snarl, and finding a smile, falters.

“Wait here.” He was gone in a blink, and at her door the next, pulling her to from her seat to her feet.   “Welcome home Trissie,” he whispers, nibbling at her shoulder, and drags her through the ornate front door into the waiting arms of her nightmare.

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©MelanieMcCurdie

Melanie Mccurdie (6)
Coming soon to eBook and paperback
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