Page 397 of Phobia

His gaze was solely focused on his woman, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like he was never letting her go. Like she was his.

The woman’s full breasts bounced as she undulated faster. I had learned to hack the school computer back in Louisiana and had watched enough porn to get the gist of how one looked while orgasming. And from the way both of their heads bowed backward, I sensed that release was within reach.

Suddenly, the man sat up with the woman still on him. She pulled on a black cord that hung around his neck and fondled the pendant that dangled from it. Something white and sharp. Like an animal tooth or horn, except it dripped with red liquid.Blood.

The man palmed both of her breasts before sucking on her nipple hard, causing her to cry out in a shriek that startled us.

“Fuck!” Junior gasped too loudly.

The couple’s heads snapped in our direction.

Junior and I jumped back, gripping each other in terror.

The perfect features we had seen in profile were eclipsed by the grotesque vision of the rest of their faces. Moving eyeballs encased in sockets of exposed bone stared back at us. Patches of skin covered bits of their skulls with bloody tendons tentatively holding everything in place. The front skull-side of the woman’s head had only strings of grimy hair on what little skin remained of her scalp.

Both of her bare breasts were covered in skin, but below them, in the center of her abdomen, was an open gash with blood oozing down to her pussy like something sharp had ripped the skin apart.

The woman’s half-skeleton, half-human mouth opened into a wide grin as she peered at us. Then she threw her head back, letting out a maniacal cackle that pierced my ears.

Junior and I bolted away so fast, using our all our might to claw our way up the steep hill. We made it to the top, where I stumbled to my knees onto a patch of dirt between two headstones nestled together adjacent to my granduncle’s grave. I caught sight of the inscriptions:

Bastien Lyon Baron 1589–1625

Rosalie Anne Légaré 1708–1725

Junior lifted me to my feet, and we moved like lightning. Behind us, I could hear the voice of the skeleton man bellowing out over the incessant laughing. “Let them hear yeh sing, my little songbird.”

And the two creatures, whatever they were, howled with laughter together as we ran, without any regard for my shoe still stuck in the fence.

THE END