Page 11

Aurelia

Later that night, I’m pacing my trailer’s living room in silence, biting my nail and chewing on thoughts. I just need to get there and get my stuff. It’s locked up, and yeah it’s been a while... but maybe, just maybe, my phone’s still there. Surely its worth a shot.

I’ve still got the cash Hell gave me when I first got here, but let’s be honest, we’re in the middle of nowhere, swallowed by woods. How the hell am I supposed to get into the city? Hitch a ride, maybe? But that screamsbad idea.

I pass the window again and something pulls my focus in my peripheral. I stop in an instant and turn my head. It’s pitch-black outside, rain hammering the glass like it always does, but there, deep in the woods, is a faint, flickering light. Small and unsteady, like a candle fighting for its life in the storm.

Squinting, I step closer, heart ticking faster as I lean over the couch to press my face closer to the glass.

“What the hell is that?”I whisper.

I pull back and just stand there, staring. A smarter version of me would let it go and pretend I didn’t see anything. But I’m restless, crawling in my skin, and the thought of being alone in this trailer another minute makes my teeth ache.

So without wasting a second longer, I grab my black Converse and crouch. After slipping them on, I pause, fingers hovering over the laces.

This is stupid. This is how girls die in horror movies.

I shake my head, trying to push the doubts away. Screw it. I’m done being scared of shadows. Plus, I haven’t really explored this place yet.

“What’s it gonna be exactly? A ghost? A fucking skin walker?”I mutter followed by a scoff and sneer, tying my laces tight.

Once done, I stand and head for the door in nothing but an oversized black shirt that barely covers my thighs. I pause as soon as I reach it, hand on the handle, ready to push it down, then the thought hits to grab my hoodie.

I glance around, but when I don’t see it, I push down the handle and a gust of rainy wind hits me, piercing and cold, whipping my long hair over my shoulders, causing me to suck in a breath.

“Fuck it, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

As I step down the short steps, the rain instantly soaks me. I close the door behind me, wrap my arms tight around myself, and head straight into the woods.

The rain eases under the cover of thick trees as I move deeper into the woods, the glow ahead pulling me in. It gets brighter with each step until I finally see the source—a cabin, tucked between the trees like it’s grown from them. I stop, slipping behind a thick trunk, and peer around it with one eye.

The place looks abandoned, but the windows, though clouded with grime, flicker with dim light. My brows knit as I study it, then step out from behind the tree and make my way toward the door, each footstep quiet and careful against the soaked ground.

It must be part of Oddity. It’s close enough to the trailer site—someone here has to be using it.

As I move closer, the door comes into view, rotting and damp with age. Above it, a broken wooden sign dangles by one rusted nail, the letters barely readable through the moss and wear:

The Dismembered Den.

I place both hands gently on the door and lean in, pressing my ear to the wet wood. But I hear nothing, not even a whisper from inside.

I pull back, glance over my shoulder one last time, then down at the knob. My fingers find it easily and curiosity wins. Before I can stop myself, I turn it. When it opens, I slip inside and glance around, but something hits me immediately, a smell so foul and unfamiliar it slams into my senses. My hand flies up to cover my mouth and nose as I gag.

Holy shit. What in the fuck is that.

Chains hang from the ceiling, thick and rusted. The outdated wallpaper is peeling in long, yellowed strips. A cupboard stands against the wall, lined with mismatched jars filled with things I don’t want to look too closely at. The whole place feels wrong, like I’ve stepped into the home of someone who doesn’t see the world the way the rest of us do.

I move forward, dodging the chains as they sway gently above me, the wooden floor groaning beneath every step. As I pass a table, my eyes land on a tarnished knife, old and heavy-looking. My hand reaches for it instinctively and I grip the handle tight, just in case.

At the far end, a door waits, and I don’t hesitate. I walk straight to it and wrap my fingers around the handle. I push it down, and as soon as it creaks open, a reveal of narrow staircase leading underground comes into view.

Still covering my face, I take the first step down, slow and cautious. My heart pounds and my legs shake, but I keep going and as soon as I reach the bottom, I stop, looking around at all the different doors.

What the hell is this place?

I try every door as I move down the hallway, each one locked, until I reach the last one at the end. This one gives under my hand, the old hinges groaning as it swings open, and the light inside flickers on automatically.

At first, all I see are decaying circus props scattered across the room, broken juggling pins, an old circus tent fabric and a few cracked clown masks, slumped against the wall. But when I step inside and peek around the doorframe, I freeze.

A sharp breath catches in my throat as I stumble back, knocking into something behind me. My wide eyes lock forward, scanning what the fuck I’m seeing. Lining the back wall is a row of mannequins. Lifeless figures standing in eerie silence, their shiny faces warped and discoloured, some sagging like they’ve started to melt. But it’s what’s in the center of the room that stops everything inside me cold.

Suspended from the ceiling by thick rusted chains at the wrists, what I believe is a human sized puppet hangs, slouched in a way that feels too real to be fake. Her legs are bent awkwardly, back curled over as if she’s been caught mid-motion and left there. The pale blue skin is disturbingly detailed, marbled with veins, bruises blooming beneath the surface. Her head is drooped forward, long red hair hanging like a curtain, concealing her face.

My fingers tighten around the knife, the cold metal grounding me for a breath before I start to inch forward. I hold the blade out in front of me, heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else.

Stopping just in front of her, I stare, drawn in, horrified, but almost curious. My eyes scan her, wide and searching. Slowly, with trembling hands, I lift the knife and reach out, trying to ease the hair away from her face

But the second I touch it, she lunges forward.

A scream tears from my throat as I fall back hard, landing on the floor with a jolt, the knife skidding out of reach. I’m stiff, gasping, unable to move as she twitches in place, slow, jerky and unnatural as her head lifts.

Her eyes are replaced with black buttons, her mouth and cheeks sewn into a wide, bloodied grin. The thread is thick and pulled tight through torn flesh. She stares without seeing, and somehow, that’s fucking worse.

I scramble backward, hands slipping on the floor, heart threatening to shatter through my ribs. She’s alive. A fucking human being. And someone… someone did this to her. They turned her into a puppet.

But then I hear something else.

Groaning, muffled and strained, coming from somewhere behind her.

I get to my feet on wobbly legs, chest heaving, eyes darting and that’s when I see it.

The mannequins. They’re attempting to move. Twitching and creaking while screeching beneath the plastic, like something or someone is trapped inside.

That’s it. I’ve seen e-fucking-nough.

I bolt for the door, legs barely working beneath me as I stagger backward, then turn and run. I take the stairs two at a time, crashing through the cabin like I’m on fire. The chains swing wildly as I push through them, smacking into my shoulders and face, but I don’t stop, I just run.

I speed out the front door backward in a panic, rain pouring down on my clammy skin as I trip over the sodden grass, wide eyes locked on the creepy-ass cabin like something might be following me. My whole body trembles, my thoughts scrambling to make sense of what the fuck I just saw…

But then something slams into the backs of my legs, and I tumble before I can stop myself, landing hard, my spine hitting something unnatural, not earth or ground—something else. The air punches from my lungs in a harsh gasp and as I go to sit up, a lid crashes down with a solid, finalthunk.

Pitch blackness consumes everything, and my hands shoot out, frantic and brushing against something soft. Too soft. Silk.

“What the fuc…” I murmur, voice quiet and shaking.

Suddenly, the inside floods with a sick, glowing red and my head snaps up. I look down, realizing something like plastic crinkles beneath me, lumpy and uneven as if it’s filled with things. My stomach drops as the realization slams into me.

I’m in a fucking coffin.

“Wrath!” I yell, fists slamming against the lid, fear and anger clawing its way up my throat.

The coffin jolts as it starts to be dragged, and I can feel every scrape and bump like a countdown. I thrash, kick and hammer the lid with everything I’ve got, but it’s no use.

And then I hear it—a loud wheeze right by my ear followed by movement beneath me and I freeze, my breath stolen.

Someone is fucking in here with me.

As soon as I feel a body is under me, a loud, terrified scream rips from my lips on instinct. Wrath doesn’t stop, just keeps dragging the coffin through the mud like my panic is background noise.

Suddenly it tilts and drops, slamming into something hard, my forehead cracking against the lid as both me and whoever’s underneath let out low, guttural groans from the impact.

Rain crashes down the moment the lid is thrown open, soaking through me instantly, snapping the dizziness from my head like a slap.

My vision clears just enough to see him—Wrath, towering above the grave, rain slicking over him, head tilted slightly, red eyes glowing like dying coals against the night. He stares down, still and unreadable. He’s shirtless, a thick chain wrapped around his forearm and barbed wire hanging loosely from his neck.

I don’t wait. I scramble to my feet, leaning into the muddy wall for balance as my eyes drop to the thing below me, trapped, writhing and wrapped tight in layers of black plastic.

I flinch back, fingers sinking into the wet soil, body instinctively pulling away. I glance around, trying to make sense of how deep I’ve been dropped, how fucked I really am, but every path only leads me back to him. Wrath, locked on me from at least seven feet above like he’s watching a show he’s seen a thousand times and never gets tired of.

My eyes narrow as he slowly crouches on the edge and I almost think he might reach out and help me, but who the fuck am I kidding? Of course he isn’t. He’s enjoying this. The sick bastard. He’s getting off on the fact I’m stuck in his little game.

“Motherfucker,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Let me out!”

He doesn’t speak or react to my insults, he never does, not yet anyway, but he doesn’t have to because his hungry eyes say everything. Heput me in here for a reason and that realization sends a spike of fear through me.

“What do you want?” I shudder out, feeling defeated, but trying hard not to show it. “And what the actual fuck was inside that cabin?”

Without taking his gaze from mine, he slides his tatted hand into his black jeans and pulls out paper. I watch, body vibrating from adrenaline and the cold as he writes, glancing between me and his words.

When he’s finished, he rips a piece off and drops it inside. My eyes follow as it floats down and lands on the legs of the body. I lean down and quickly swipe it between my fingers, my gaze landing on the dripping script.

Your curiosity might just get you killed—and kept forever.

Before I can respond, another catches my eye, and I snatch it midair with a growl.

I want to take full advantage of my little corpse and teach that brat mouth a fucking lesson. She’s hauntingly beautiful when she’s scared of me, like something already halfway gone. I wonder if I can take her the rest of the way, peel back what’s left of her fucking sanity and see what’s hiding underneath all that panic.

I have no time to process his words before there’s one more.

Tell me, Allure… how far would you go to keep your life out of my hands? Would you beg with dirt in your throat, kick while your lungs collapse under the weight of the earth? What would you do to stop me from burying you alive, right here in this fucking grave—only to dig you back up. Not to save you. No. Just to see what’s left of your cold, decaying cunt for me to fuck.

His vile words strike a cord and my gaze darts up to his, squinted into a glare.

“Nothing. I’d do absolutely nothing,” I bite out through shallow breaths. “Because you wouldn’t dare kill me.”

He lifts a single thick brow in challenge before he writes again, tossing the paper inside for me to catch.

Wrong. Fucking. Answer… Tut. Tut.

I swallow hard as he calmly rises to his feet, then leans down, and something metallic glints in his hand. A shovel. Panic surges through me like a jolt of electricity, my eyes blowing wide as he slams the blade into a mound of dirt.

Without waiting, he tosses the first load into the grave and mud splatters across my bare legs. I start breathing faster, backing away inch by inch, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even look at me. Just keeps digging and dumping, again and again, like I’m already dead.

“Wrath…” I warn. “Don’t.”

Fuck, he’s actually gonna bury me alive.

“You sick freak!” I bark, voice cracking through the silence. “Is this just your way of getting your dick in my mouth or something?”

He stops mid-shovel, then slowly turns his head, side-eying me like I just lit a fuse, and the look in his red eyes says I might’ve just handed a new idea straight to his twisted, deranged brain.

After a few seconds, he resumes tossing dirt into the grave, and soon it’s almost up to my knees. The seconds stretch and my mind kicks into overdrive, desperate for something, anything, to say, something that might get me out of this.

“Is this what you want? For me to beg for my life? Will that satisfy you in some fucked-up way?”

He raises the shovel again, and for a split second, I think I might choke on the dread crawling up my throat.

What’s worse is I don’t know what he’s thinking, or what his next move is. I’m starting to feel the full weight of his silence, how it wraps around me like a suffocating fog. It’s more unsettling than any words could be.

The loudest threats come from those who speak—but true terror lives in the silence of a man who doesn’t. And that silence? It’s louder than my heartbeat, louder than the world outside this grave.

When I’m bust deep in mud, I try to claw it away, but it’s too heavy on my body, I can hardly breathe and he’s not stopping for a second. All I can think about is the poor body beneath me, buried alive, and what his intentions are. My anxiety is at an all-time high

“Please Wrath!” I scream.

He gives two more loads, breathing hard, then slams the shovel into the ground with a sharp thud. I’m neck-deep by the time Wrath finally turns to face me, towering above.

I don’t look at him. I can’t. I look everywhere else, anywhere else, my eyes burning, the tears spilling fast, mixing with the rain and the mud streaking down my face.

“You got what you wanted,” I choke out, dragging my watery eyes up to his.

He stares down at me, then he crouches, and I lower my head. His tattooed hand reaches out and clamps around my jaw, forcing my head back until my gaze meets his—those red eyes, that burn so blankly.

With his other hand, he brushes the wet strands of hair stuck to my face aside, then his thumbs wipe the tears from my cheeks as his gaze traces over every part of me. And for a second, just one, it almost feels like he cares.

Wrath releases me and dips his hand into his pocket again, scribbling something down before turning it in his tatted fingers for me to see.

Your tears are beautiful, my little corpse. But don’t be scared of me. Not yet. I’m only going to pry your throat open, nice and violent, until it forgets how to scream. Then, then you can truly be afraid of me.

My eyes widen as they shoot up to his, a small breath escaping me.

“Are you planning on killing me?” I whisper, barely able to get the words out as his fingers curl around my jaw again, thumb dragging across my bottom lip like he’s imagining it stretched open or shut tight around his dick.

He watches the movement like it matters, like my mouth is already his. My eyes flutter closed, but not from shyness. No. It’s from the sick twist in my gut again that I can’t ignore.

That pull I hate myself for feeling toward him. It coils low and tight in my pussy, heat flooding into something raw and ugly. He touches me like I’m delicate, like I’m wanted, and I’ve never felt anything like it before.

But deep down, I know what’s beneath it. I canfeelthe violence in him waiting to rip through. And still, my body responds like it’s starved for him.

What the fuck is this maniac doing to me?

His thumb slips past my lips, and I open my eyes, meeting his through my wet lashes. He presses down on my tongue like he’s claiming it, and his gaze, deep and demonic red, goes a shade darker and heavier.

Without thinking, I wrap my lips around his thumb, tight and a suction pulls, hollowing my cheeks. I see his body shift straight away, noticing the tension in his jaw, the slight part of his lips and the barely-there shuddering exhale.

His gaze shoot back to mine, full of wickedness and hunger, and I swear he’s seconds from tearing me apart and fucking me right there in the cold dirt.

With his thumb still in my mouth, his other hand moves to his belt as he drops onto his knees. The sharp clink of metal reaches my ears as he releases it and my stomach twists, nerves tangled in arousal. He doesn’t look away, not once, as he pops the button open, then drags his zipper down in one smooth pull.

My mouth fills with saliva, aching and wanting.

You don’t want this, Aurelia. Say something. Do something. Fucking stop this shit.

But I can’t. Because deep down, beneath the fear, beneath the filth, something darker is pulsing through me. Iwantit. I wanthim. The danger. The destruction. I want to feel it all.

I just watch as his hand dips beneath the waistband of his black boxers, disappearing and my breath stutters at the motion, the slow curl of his fingers, the unmistakable shift when he wraps around himself. He tugs once, rough and slow, and a low growl tears from his throat, animalistic, raw and vibrating through the air between us.

The rain falls harder, the earth around me cold and wet, but all I feel is the burn of him.

He’s about to choke me with that thing. And I’m about to let him or am I?

I hold my breath as his thumb slips from my mouth with a softpop, a trail of wet left behind. Then his hand sinks into the back of my wet, tangled hair, and he grabs a fistful before flopping his cock out like it’s nothing, like it’s not a fucking beast.

My gaze drops, and my mind blanks.

Holyfuckinghell. What the fuck am I seeing?

Long, thick and heavy with something more than just blood and arousal. It throbs like it’s alert and alive, like it knows exactly what it’s about to do to me. Veins coil down its length, swollen and demanding.

The skin is flushed tight, so fucking hard it looks ready to split. But what really sends a chill down my spine and what makes my breath shake, is what he’s done to it.

It has bell bars, but not the playful, cute silver ball type.

No.

Fucking spikes.

They angle outward, running down the underside, embedded into his sink like a sharp little ladder to hell and I pray to god they’re blunt.