THERIOPHOBIA: FEAR THE BEAST Part 51
Marley decided to watch some TV while she waited for Leland to wake up. She went to Leland’s easy chair, crammed into the trailer’s kitchen with the rest of his furniture, and sat down. The remote for the TV had been left on the stove. She could reach it from where she sat, and she swiveled in the recliner until she could see the screen, her legs draped over the arm of the chair. She put a pillow behind the small of her back, wiggled to get comfortable, and clicked on the television with the remote.
Her sister on top of some hairy guy, the camera focused in on a close-up of Chaney’s ass to view the penetration as she straddled him. Marley frowned.
“Oh, please,” Marley said. “She is so faking it.” Marley looked over the TV set to where Leland lay on the floor of the living room. “You like watching my sister fake it, Leland?”
No answer. He didn’t even lift his head.
“You know she had liposuction on her ass,” Marley said. She pushed herself up onto the arm of the chair, ejecting the videotape from the VCR.
“No more movies for you,” Marley said. “Jerking off to my sister getting screwed.” She ripped the tape from the cassette, discarding it.
With a groan, Leland flopped over onto his back. He gasped, filling his lungs, gagged.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Marley said.
When the video cassette had ejected, the TV reverted to local programming. The picture hissed and grew fuzzy. Marley clicked the remote to find a clearer channel.
” . . . camera crew is in route to the scene.” A middle-aged black man in a suit and tie. Wesley something or other. Anchorman for channel 14. Marley had seen him before. “Details are sketchy at this time, but initial reports are that some sort of large animal has gone on a rampage at the town’s annual Miner Days celebration.”
Marley cocked her head. “Hey, Leland. You hearing this?”
” . . . unconfirmed reports that several people have been killed.”
“Wow. I hope Gordon and Bernie stayed home this year,” Marley said.
” . . . may recall that Ironwood was the scene of a recent series of murders . . .”
Marley clicked off the TV. “The news always depresses me. Doesn’t it you, Leland? Hey.” She giggled. “You want to see if there’s another football game on?”
Marley got to her feet. She picked up the hammer from the countertop. She propped it on her shoulder, walking over to where Leland lay on the floor.
“You all rested up?” she asked.
Leland moaned. “Lee-me alone!” He looked up at her, one eye twitching. “Please!”
“Tell you what,” she said, squatting beside him. “We’ll make a game out of it, okay? I’ll ask you a question and if you get it wrong, you get the hammer. Sound fair?”
“Hmm. Let me think.” She held the head of the hammer against her chin, chewing on her bottom lip. “Something easy to start with. Oh, I know. What’s the chemical formula for water?”
“Oh, wrong answer,” Marley said. “The correct answer is H-two-Oh. Come on, Leland. You’re not even trying. I know you’re smarter than that.”
Marley pinned Leland’s wrist to the floor with her foot. She drew back the hammer and smashed Leland’s right hand. He bellowed. His fingers, sticking out at odd angles, twitched, trying to close. He half rolled over. Marley shoved his head back against the floor.
“Come on, Scheherazade,” she said. “You’ve got to keep me entertained.”
“Question number two,” she said. “What do you call little bitty cats in Texas?”
Marley tried to hum the Jeopardy theme. She fondled the handle of the hammer. “Time’s up. Got an answer?”
If he did, Leland could not articulate it. He just groaned.
“You call them ‘kittens,’ dumb-ass,” she said. “You ever stomped on any kittens, Leland? Bet you have.”
She hit his kneecap. Leland wailed.
“So which do you like better, huh? Kitty cats or rabbits?”
“Well, gee, Mar.” She tried her best to imitate his voice. “I guess I’d have to go for the pussy.” Marley chuckled. “I know, I know. Way too obvious. But I couldn’t help myself.”
“Praying now?” Marley said. “You getting religious on me, Leland? Well it’s a little late for that.”
Her knees were getting tired, so Marley sat down cross-legged beside Leland. She pushed back her hair, bumping her nose in the process. The pain made her grimace.
“Okay, Leland. Question three. This one’s a real easy one. How many movies has my sister done?”
Leland tried to roll over.
“How many?” Marley demanded.
“S-s-sixteen!” Leland managed.
“Oh, good try,” Marley said. “But the correct answer is, ‘too many.'”
Leland reached out with his left hand, somehow managed to get a grip on her upper arm. For an instant Marley saw that familiar murderous rage in his eyes. He gritted his teeth, sitting up.
Marley hit him in the gut with the hammer. He folded up on the floor, knees up into the fetal position. He trembled, spat up vomit.
“That’s a two-point foul,” Marley said. “Means the next question is gonna be a hard one.”
Leland rolled onto his belly, mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“How old was I when I lost my virginity?” Marley asked. “Take a shot.”
But Leland didn’t seem to hear her.
“I was nineteen,” Marley said.
With her left hand, she reached between Leland’s legs, grabbed his scrotum and pressed it as best she could against the floor. Then she smashed his right testicle with the hammer. Leland squealed and flopped. He took two shuddering breaths and lay still, unconscious.
“How many men have I been with, not counting you?” Marley asked. “How many, Leland?”
He couldn’t answer.
“The answer is six,” she said.
She stretched out his huge flaccid penis, held it against the floor, and flattened the head with her hammer. A speck of blood splashed onto her hand. She stared at it, pausing. Leland twitched and whimpered. Marley shook her head to clear it.
“Okay, Leland. Final question. Double or nothing. You ready?”
“Good. The question is, what man would want me now, after what you’ve done to me?” She leaned over and slapped the back of his head. “Come on, man. I want an answer to this one. What man could ever make himself touch me, knowing what you did? Who could ever kiss me, knowing what you made me do? Answer me, Leland!” she shouted. “Who? Nobody, that’s who! No-fucking-body! You ruined me! You know that? But it’s okay. Turn about’s fair play. You ruined me, and I ruined you. You got my cherry and I got yours! Do you feel ruined, Leland?”
“Not yet? Well, how about now?”
She struck his genitals with the hammer.
Marley swing the hammer like she was driving a nail, again and again and again, hammering Leland’s prick and his balls into the floorboard. She stopped when her arm got tired.
“Now we’re even, you son of a bitch!” She threw the hammer across the room, getting to her feet. She walked to the front door and went outside. She sat down on the step and began to cry.
“Nobody,” she mumbled. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. “Nobody.”
Nobody but Lucas, a little voice seemed to say. Lucas will want me.
She sniffed. “Maybe,” she said.
Lucas will still have me. We’re kindred spirits.
Marley wiped her eyes, sat up straight.
Go to Lucas.
Marley stood up. She took a deep breath. The Moon looked so bright it almost hurt her eyes. She could feel the heat from it on her face. It felt good.
She started to walk. Not towards the highway, but around the trailer into the back. She crossed the backyard, past the clothesline where she’d been tied, past the building where Leland kept his rabbits. Towards the woods. The dark, inviting woods.
Go to Lucas, her little voice said. And she went.
And she knew, somewhere in the woods, Lucas was waiting for her.
* * *
WAYNE MILLER is the owner and creative director of EVIL CHEEZ PRODUCTIONS (www.evilcheezproductions.blogspot.com, www.facebook.com/evilcheezproductions), specializing in theatrical performances and haunted attractions. He has written, produced and directed (and occasionally acted in) over a dozen plays, most of them in the Horror and Crime genres. His first novel, THE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER: WEREWOLF, is available for purchase at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/734763
MORTUI VELOCES SUNT!