Trisha's Story Pick, Week 4

I'm cheating a little bit with this week's story pick, as it's Sunday but I'm changing the date to Saturday (when I was SUPPOSED to post it). My excuse is that my brother got married and it was an all-day kind of thing. :D It was a great wedding!! But anyway, this week I'm choosing Brooke's story, because I think it's pretty nicely gruesome. This demon chick is EVIL. But my favourite line was probably this one:

" All the while, the little demon cackles in the background, circling them."

But anyway, read on if you don't mind shivering from the creepiness. :)


Prompt #4

The room is dark and swathed in shadows so the man can not see her face. He can, however, see the deformed features of her hideous servant. The demon would have been bad enough by itself but the look on its face is enough to make anyone feel like heaving. Longing is written clearly across the gagged surface; that is not the disgusting bit though it feeds his terror. The look of pure pleading admiration for its mistress is the source of his stomach’s discomfort. It is the expression of an insect gazing upon a god; of a creature so low that it is not even worth stepping upon. It is proof of what she can do to a person.

“Do you know why you are here?” Her tone is conversational, some might even call it friendly.

The man gulps. He has angered her. What did he do? And more pressing, what should he say? His mind races for a response. It does not find one. Even if it had, his throat is too dry to speak.

“I see you do not,” her voice is sharp like a knife but somehow she manages to add a layer of softness to it.

The creature watches him as he licks his lips, hoping for inspiration. He is just a beggar; one among many one sits outside her gates, fearing but needing her. “Please, ma’am,” he starts.

“Spare me your insolent excuses,” any softness is now gone. “Have you no self respect?”

The thought that she should chide him for this burns at his throat; his eyes roaming back towards the servant who sits by her feet. Its eyes flash as if it senses what he thinks and does not like the truth in it. Teeth protruding at every angle glisten with drool, menacing him back into silence.

She rises from her chair; her face cast in sudden light. It holds beauty both soft and cold. Her icy cheeks are aflame with irritation and rage. Her eyes shine brighter than her melting flesh, ensnaring him. They speak the threats that her mouth is too pretty to say.

“I am tired of being surrounded by the scorn of the earth; tired of having those who think even themselves that they are not worthy to breathe entrap my home. Tell me, why do you ask my soldiers for homage when you have done nothing to earn it? And when they say no, as they are ordered to, why do you let the pleas push past your lips? Why do you let yourself become so low?” Her words make the man feel shame; his skin burns everywhere. He wants to look down but her eyes will not let him.

She begins to pace in front of her throne; her heels clicking against the brick. Her movements are so rapid that her dress brings a breeze. The man welcomes the coolness. He is beginning to sweat. He knows not what will come next but he can imagine.

Pictures and images of the carcasses he’s seen leave her home flash through his mind. He tries not to think of how he took part in eating them. In this barren land, only she can afford to waste.

Her steps halt; the sudden silence hurts his ears. She nods silently to herself, seemingly unaware of the witness of the man and the creature. Moving slowly, she reaches into her dress and pulls out a large bone. Pieces of meat still cling to it, swinging temptingly as she beats it methodically against her hand. It is rancid but the smell still makes his stomach rumble. He hasn’t eaten since her last tantrum.

Turning to face him, she smiles charmingly. His body goes cold instantly; fear engulfing him. As she walks up to him, the demon trails close behind. It is a wonder that it does not trip and fall on its face, it walks so low to the ground.

When she stops in front of him, he notices that she’s taller. He can’t decide if it’s because of her heels or not. He hasn’t much time to consider it. She dangles the bone before his face and he can feel the saliva gathering in his mouth. He holds perfectly still; he doesn’t know what she’s going to do.

“Do you remember this?” this time her voice is almost angelic, sweet.

He squints his eyes, narrowing his gaze to the bone. It gleams in the spare light, ghostly and gruesome. It’s shape does seem familiar but then how many bones has he gnawed on? How many has he envisioned in his sleep?

“This is the bone you so sloppily requested from my guard. He did not give it to you,” here her smile starts to turn to an evil, nasty grin, “but I will.”

And she holds it out ever so gently, that smirk spreading over the canvass of her face. For a second, he remains still then he so foolishly reaches out for it. Her sudden speed is that of a striking cobra. The first blow hits him and he almost crumples. Her nails dig into his shoulder, holding him up. “Take it like a man,” she howls.

Again and again the bone strikes him: his head, his shoulder, his side, his knee. All the while, the little demon cackles in the background, circling them. His body is becoming one big ache and he just wants to lie down but she won’t let him. The bone finally breaks in half as she slams it into the side of his skull. A scream escapes her throat and she resorts to using her hand, the slaps resounding throughout the room.

Finally, it ends. Her grip on his shoulder loosens and she allows him to plummet to the cold floor. Her chest heaves above him and, giving one more scream, she finishes with him with one swift kick to the side. She’s turning away, leaving him on the floor, when the monster speaks up, “Please?”

Her stride pauses, “Go ahead, Givvi.” Then she returns to her seat, exhausted from her fit.

The creature turns to him and smiles; its teeth shining. Then it lunges at him and the first cry for mercy escapes just as it takes its first bite.