Page 5 of Horror and Chill

She gasps now, sharp and sweet, as someone in the movie gets partially beheaded. She slides lower on the toy, hips shaking, mouth open. Her eyes flutter and she makes that sound that drives us to the brink of sanity.

SnackPackSlut:I’m gonna fucking combust

DadIssuesUnresolved:This is the best night of my goddamn life

ThighHighPriest:Someone baptize me in her sweat

We lean in closer to the screen, even though we’re already too close. Her moans rise over the movie now. Her thighs tremble. She’s almost there.

We imagine it’s us underneath her. Not the toy. Not the chat. Us.

She throws her head back and cries out. The scream from the movie and the sound from her mouth blur into one long, aching howl. Her body trembles, thighs locked tight around the axe handle, flyaways stick to her damp skin. She gasps once, twice, then lets out a breathy little laugh.

The chat explodes.

GothDaddy69:THAT WAS INSANE

JennyBean69:MOMMY JUST TOOK ME TO CHURCH

DadIssuesUnresolved:I came so hard I blacked out

SnackPackSlut:I’m clapping. In real life. I’m actually clapping.

ThighHighPriest:That was the holiest unholy thing I’ve ever witnessed. I’m reborn.

BloodAndBoudoir:My soul? Gone. She ripped it out and smiled.

QuietInTheBack:This is gonna live in my brain forever

TonyFromAccounting:I’m donating my next paycheck to her candle fund

Sk8rSlut97:I will NEVER recover

ChurchOfAgatha:Our lady of the latex and blade. Bless her.

And then, for the first time ever:

HolySpite:I’d let her gut me if it meant hearing that sound again.

That name; we’ve seen it before. Every stream. Never in the chat, never tipping, never speaking. Just there. Watching. A shadow at the edge of the crowd. We thought they were one of us. A silent worshiper. Someone who understood.

But now? Now they’ve ruined it.

They just signed their own death warrant. We hope they enjoyed their little moment of courage, because if we can tracethat IP they’ll find out exactly what it costs to covet something that doesn’t belong to them.

Agatha slides off the axe with a slow, drawn-out sigh. Her chest rises and falls. She leans forward, picks up the silicone blade, and licks it; tongue dragging from edge to handle like it’s the best thing she’s tasted all week. She hums softly at the flavor, gaze flicking toward the camera, and gives a lazy wink.

“Thanks for coming, freaks,” she says. “Don’t forget, this weekend is request granted. I’ll be filming something extra special with a costar, and we’re hitting some of your favorite kinks. You’ll get the poll tomorrow, so be ready to vote. I’ve got some twisted shit lined up.”

She blows a kiss, all teeth, all devil.

The stream ends, and the screen goes black.

We sit in the dark for a moment, breathing her name like a prayer we don’t believe in anymore. This has gone on long enough. The watching and waiting. The tip-toeing around what we already know.

She’s not theirs.

She’s not the chat’s.