THEME:

 

Jekyll

 Leo Rogers

Life is what you make it. Or, life is what it is. I’m not sure really. I never said either. Jekyll did. Jekyll says a lot of things. Crazy bitch. I try to not pay too much attention to what she says. It doesn’t matter either way really. She’s a lot stronger than me. Jekyll wants, Jekyll gets. I guess that’s really the point of this story. Sure it is.

I was in my backyard, a small fenced in area behind the three family apartment house when the family moved in. A station wagon with that nasty wood paneling on the doors pulled into a driveway. A bunch of junk was strapped to their roof. The rusty fence is all that separates my backyard from theirs, so I had a view of their driveway. A man and a woman sat in front. And I saw the distinct silhouette of a child pop up in the back, his head twirling back and forth, taking the new place in. It was right out of a movie.

I watched as they got out. The man behind the steering wheel swung his legs over, pried himself up, gave a big stretch, scratching at his ribs with one hand. Pig, I remember thinking. I don’t know why. Most men are pigs though. That’s what Jekyll says.

I tipped my beer as the man of the house gave me a look. His face broadened into a big smile. I wonder if he knew what a dumb ass he looked like. Probably he didn’t. Men never do. The woman, dark hair bouncing over her shoulders, gave a stern look. She was beautiful in every way. But it was obvious she didn’t like her man smiling at the blonde on the other side of the fence. I think blondes threaten most women. Or maybe it was the beer in my hand, seeing as it was only noon. Or maybe it was my tits. I’m not sure. Jekyll says I’ve got a great rack. And that’s one thing her and me can agree upon.

“Hi there!” Smiley said, waving from the driveway, that idiotic grin still spread across his face. He began making his way over, leaving wifey to untie the shit on top of the old wagon. Oh great, I thought. As the grinning oaf was making his way over, a small boy leapt out of the car. A baseball mitt was on his right hand. A lefty, I thought. Cool. I lost sight of the couple’s spawn as the big oaf stepped up to the fence, his gut pressing against the rusty metal like Silly Putty as his hands clasped the holes. Disgusting. Maybe Jekyll had a point.

“I’m Bert.” He said, barely over a whisper, like he was fucking hitting on me or something. Ew. Gross.  For a moment we just stared at each other. Then my eyes searched behind him and realization dawned on the idiot’s face. “Oh!” He said. “That’s my wife, Kristi, and my son. Jeremy.” He turned, his left hand outstretched, facing up, presenting his family like they were on a platter.

“Jacqueline.” I said. And I swear he may have mouthed my name like it was some divine word, sent only to give him pleasure. He stared again, that stupid grin occupying his face.

“Bert!” Kristi called, sounding like her curls were in a bunch. “Some help?” Bert stalked away, a shameful look murdering that grin on his face. He began taking suitcases from the top of their wagon. Kristi had her eyes locked on me, a blank expression on her face.

“Hi Jeremy!” I called. I smiled warmly. Jeremy looked up, surprised. He waved back, astonished. Wifey looked pissed. Sure she was. The predator on the other side of the fence had set sights on her cub. Mothers are like ferocious beasts when it comes to their children. And can you blame them? I suppose not. It didn’t matter. I’d dealt with her kind before. Well…Jekyll had anyway.

Now she peered across the yard, her eyesight like heat vision. Jeremy still looked amazed. I placed him at about ten or so. No doubt in a year or two he’d be telling all his friends about the hot blonde who lived behind him. And they’d spy out his window at me, giggling and high-fiving each other. Or, that is what the normal course of life would be for such a boy. But Jekyll tells me that won’t happen. Jekyll says Jeremy won’t live to see that age.

A few days passed and I watched the Manson family settle in. Manson family, good huh? I thought of that name. Not Jekyll. She didn’t really get it. They were so…normal. A family of three, moving into a new home, starting a new chapter in life. During the days Bert would go to work, taking Jeremy in the car with him. Probably giving him a ride to school. Kristi was a stay at home mom. Or that’s what I assumed anyway. Maybe she just hadn’t found work yet. But I would see her walking around the back yard, picking and smelling flowers and whatnot. It didn’t seem like something a person looking for work spends there time doing.

One time she glanced up and saw me watching from my second story window. I didn’t try and dodge out of the way. That would have looked creepy. Nope. I just waved and gave a smile. Not a big ole’ sarcastic grin. Just a regular smile. She actually waved back. Sort of. I think she may have been warming up to me. A little bit anyway. She would have to; Bert was planning on inviting me to their cookout. They fought about that sometimes at night. Not too much though. Just enough to make the air uncomfortable in our quaint neighborhood.

I think she’s one of those jealous types. That can cause a lot of problems in a relationship. That’s not something Jekyll says. That’s just something I know. She needs to let Bert breathe just a little. For example, one night before they went to bed they were discussing a barbecue. Kristi wanted to invite their friends from wherever they came from. Bert, being nice enough, agreed to this.

Then he said, ‘Hey, let’s invite Jacqueline.’ Kristi asked who that was, the obvious sneer in her voice told me she knew very well who I was. Bert said, ‘You know, the girl who lives over there’. I imagine he thumbed in the direction of my house. I’m not sure. I couldn’t see them really. Then Kristi asked what was so special about me? Can you believe that? Hah! We hadn’t spoken a word to each other and she already couldn’t stand me! See what I mean about jealousy? Its dangerous and destructive.

So anyway, Bert says, ‘Nothing dear. I just figured we’d try and make some new friends in our new neighborhood. But I suppose we could just board up all the windows and live like recluses. Like the Manson family or something. I know! He said it too! I had to cup my mouth with both hands to keep from bursting into waves of laughter. Of course they would have heard me. Then that would lead to hysteria and the police being called and…well, let’s just say that’s not a fun road. Things get messy when that happens. It’s good to stay off the radar. That’s what Jekyll says. She’s right about that. Of course I had  learned the hard way. Which makes me wonder if Bert and his family knew about the previous owner of their new house…huh…questions, questions.

The next time I spoke to the Manson’s (tee hee!) I was in my backyard again, sucking down a few, enjoying the sun. You’d think I’d be fat from the amount of beer I drink. But no, I’m a bombshell. A lot of girls are insecure, ya know? They don’t realize they’re beautiful. They call themselves fat and make themselves throw up. Then they get too skinny and…ugh. But I guess a lot of girls don’t have the support of a friend like Jekyll. She always told me I was beautiful. I think she is too but…well, I’m not exactly sure what she looks like. I also get plenty of cardio. But I’m getting off topic here.

Anyway, the trio was having a little cookout in their backyard (not the planned barbecue they spoke of before, or at least I don’t believe it was, considering the number in attendance was quite low). Bert gave me a wave, barely paying attention to the dogs and burgers. Kristi came out carrying a plate of something or another. Their screen door swung shut on a perfect glide behind her. I love that sound. I can’t explain it really. Maybe it was all of it: the grill, the sun, the swing and clap of a screen door. It just sums up the summertime I guess.

Kristi froze for a moment when she saw me then she shot a quick smile and continued on her path to the grill. Jeremy floated over to the fence, tossing a baseball up and down.

“Where’s your mitt?” I asked. It was nowhere to be seen. He tossed the ball up again, catching it with dirtied, bare hands. Ah summer, how I love thee.

“I’m not sure.” He sounded kind of glum. “Mom thinks I lost it when we were moving everything in. But I swear I put it in my bedroom closet. She was pretty piss -- I mean…angry.”

“Don’t worry.” I smiled. “I get pissed sometimes too.” He giggled, a look of awe across his face. The blonde chick was turning out to be pretty cool in his eyes I imagine.

“Yeah, it just suc-uh, it stinks. Ya know? As if this place wasn’t boring enough. Now I don’t even have a stupid glove.”

He tossed the ball up in the air again. It spun in the perfect sunlight before returning to the dirtied hands of its owner.

Filth. I smiled.

“I’m sure your mom will buy you a new one, right?” I asked. “She seems pretty cool.”

“Yeah right!” He mused, looking over his shoulder alarmed, checking to see if Mom had heard the conversation. “My mom? Cool? Are you crazy? She says the glove was my responsibility and I’ll have to pay for one with my allowance. It blows!” He looked up, alarm returning to his face.

“Yeah” I said. “That does blow.” I smiled. His face relaxed. Jekyll whispered something. “It’s kind of gay.” I said. I tell you this, my friends, the look of shock on Jeremy’s cute little face was something to behold. He burst into gales of laughter, dropping the baseball and clutching at his sides. Then he reached up and grasped the fence for support. I nearly lunged at those exposed fingers like a caged animal. Jekyll stopped me, though. Lucky boy. Wifey and Bert looked over. Bert grinned that stupid grin, Kristi looked concerned.

“Hey.” I said, just barely over a whisper. “Don’t tell your mom, huh?” I smiled.

“No way. Don’t you worry about that.” He wiped a tear from his eye, a few giggles still escaping him. “You’re the coolest.”

“Jeremy.” Wifey called, her tone pitching up, making his name into a question. Ew.

“I’ve gotta go eat, Jacqueline.”

“Jacqui.” I said. He smiled again.

“Okay.” He said. “Anyway, I’ll talk to you later.” And he ran off.

Jekyll I thought was simply genius. When it came to human interaction I had Jekyll to thank. Worship may be a more accurate word. Without her I’d be lost. My mask would slide away, my soft skin would melt, and my hair would fall out. People would see the true animal beneath. I would be exposed to the world. And there would be no hope for one such as me. I am a monster. Yes. But Jekyll is…more. And without Jekyll, I am truly doomed.

Sometimes I dream. And sometimes I see her. Jekyll, I mean. I don’t know how long she’s been inside me. But for as long as I can remember she’s been a part of my life. My best friend. The only time I really get to glimpse her is in dreams. I think she looks a lot like me. Kind of makes sense, I guess. She’s blonde, I know that for sure. It’s hard to tell but I think she’s skinny, a little too skinny. But don’t tell her I said that. It might hurt her feelings.

Trying to see her, I mean really trying, is hard. Impossible even. It’s like looking at a blurry photograph. I can tell she’s blonde. I can see she’s skinny. She looks a bit pale. But she’s blurred. Ever looked at a blurred photo? The features are impossible to make out. The eyes look empty. Literally. Like two dark sockets. And that’s all I can see when I look at Jekyll. Maybe she doesn’t want me to see her. Ah well.

The last dream I saw her in was the night I spoke with little Jeremy. Hours had passed since the barbecue. And I had long since begun to doze. Then I was there. In my dream, I mean. It was their backyard. Bert’s backyard. Jekyll and myself were hanging out back. It was dark outside. I looked up and saw all the lights off in the house. Everyone sleeping.

But not all of them. A small figure stood by the grill Bert had been using earlier. It was on. From what I could see, some hot dogs were still on it, smoldering and black. It was Jeremy standing there, I realized. He looked sad and I remembered his missing baseball mitt, or glove or whatever he called it. Poor guy, I thought. I started over to him when something brushed my shoulder. I turned and saw Jekyll. Well, kind of. She was in my peripheral, as always. She motioned for me to follow. We’ve got work to do, she said. But I don’t think she actually said it. I’m not really sure though.

Next, I followed her across the yard. She pointed at something on the ground as we passed. It was a fire pit, I saw. I hadn’t noticed it earlier. Small embers still burned, flaring every few seconds, fighting to stay alive. We kept moving. The yard seemed larger than before. I’m sure it was because it seemed like we walked a good distance.

We came upon a blue tarp covering up something. Now Jekyll pointed again. I turned and this time saw mounds of dirt on either side of the dying fire. I didn’t really understand at first. Then their length and shape became obvious in the moonlight and the glow of the embers. If that wasn’t enough, a strong breeze stirred through the trees, pulling the tarp up into the air, sending it swirling away. The smell was unbearable. I choked back vomit. Jekyll just smiled. I think. She liked the smell. That much was obvious. I don’t know how she does it.

I glanced at the pile (and yes, it was indeed a pile) of what the tarp had been covering. Their faces were there. Bert’s and Kristi’s.  And others. Many others. All lumped atop each other like bowling balls. Their faces were slack, eyes dry and still. The blood had drained from each and was now a congealed mess beneath them. It was an altar, I realized. Jekyll pointed toward the fire. Now I understood. I glanced back at all the faces and wondered again if Bert and Kristi knew anything about any of the previous owners of their house. I thought.

I lay in bed for a while after waking, reflecting on my dream. Jekyll had made her needs known. She wanted them like she had wanted the others. I sort of did too. She wanted Bert. We wanted Bert. I got up and walked over to my window, gazing out on their backyard. No fire pit. No mounds of dirt. But there never had been. That was all imagination. That was all Jekyll. I was surprised to see a tarp lain out and some stacks of wood next to it. That was new. Bert must have been chopping some wood so they could have fires. Would there soon be a fire pit for the Manson family? I thought so. What a great guy. It occurred to me I hadn’t yet learned their real last name. Very well, that would be the first order of business for the day, assuming that Kristi left the house that was.

I cracked a beer and headed towards the shower. A girl has a ritual that must be followed each morning. And mine included beer and steaming hot water. Nothing more relaxing than drinking an ice cold one in the shower. Try it sometime. You’ll love it. And that’s not from Jekyll. It’s from me. Yours truly.

When that was done I cracked another and headed to my back window to check out the situation. The wagon was gone. Good. Bert and Jeremy were off to tackle the day. I became aware of my nudity and pulled the string by the window, lowering the blinds.

Kristi wasn’t fond of me as it was. Wouldn’t be good for her to get a glimpse of the goods.  Then she would really have it out for me. I had a feeling my invitation to their BBQ would head to the trash instead of my mailbox. If they were even mailing invitations. That would be kind of weird…wouldn’t it?

I wasn’t sure if Kristi had gone out. So I picked up my phone, dialing star six-seven before punching their number in (I knew it by memory) and listened. One…two…three rings. Just when I was sure Kristi would pick up, sounding out of breath from running from the shower or something, she didn’t.

The answering machine came on. I couldn’t help but laugh, overcome with excitement. I think some of my laughter even made it onto the recording. Ah well, they wouldn’t recognize it as mine. I don’t think Kristi knew my voice that well. I slapped my phone shut and tossed it on the bed. It appeared Kristi had ventured out into the world. Fucking finally.

Something popped out at me from their yard. Jeremy’s baseball lay in the dirt. I felt a tinge of sadness for the boy, losing his glove and all. Kristi sounded like a bitch. I shrugged. I had work to do. I slipped into some clothes, grabbed my zip up hoodie (obscurity was a good protection from nosey neighbors) then headed out through the kitchen. I stopped halfway through, remembering another necessity.

I went back into my bedroom, opened the closet, and reached up and to the back, snatching a pair of gloves. As I was pulling them down something that smelled of musty leather struck me on the face and bounced to the floor. I brushed the dirt from my nose, sneezing once or twice. On the floor, sitting right before my feet, was an old, beat up baseball glove, fit for a right hand. Jekyll, I thought. You silly, silly girl.

The house was dark. Gloomy. Most of the shades were pulled down. I found this odd, seeing as how cliché of a mom Kristi was. Her type usually loves sunlight pouring in every window. The damn freaks can’t live without it. The gloom was relaxing. I slowly made my way around the house with ease. I knew it well. I’d been here before, prior to them moving  into the house.

Something caught Jekyll’s attention in my peripheral. I turned to the kitchen counter, finding a small stack of mail. Mission accomplished.

“Bernstein!” I said aloud, reading the recurring name on each envelope. “Their last name is Bernstein! Bert Bernstein!” Now I clutched my stomach, feeling tidal waves of laughter erupting from my mouth, feeling a bit like Jeremy. Jeremy Bernstein.

I laughed even harder. I couldn’t tell you why really. There was nothing wrong with that name. No, it wasn’t that. It was just… the surprise I guess. I probably had been expecting something entirely different. I can’t remember what. But definitely not Bernstein.

The upstairs was nice. But of course I already knew that. Most of their stuff was unpacked. But I found stacks of boxes in what had once been a guest bedroom. I looked it over. Remembering how it had looked two years earlier. I found it surprising that Jeremy had chosen the other bedroom, the one further from the Master bedroom, further from Mom and Dad. Growing up fast, I thought.

There was a knife in my hand. I froze when I saw it was there, trying to remember picking it up. It must have come from the kitchen. It was…large. A butcher knife. I could remember everything since I had come in through the basement, except for me actually picking up the knife.

“Don’t do that Jekyll.” I could hear a tinge of fear in my voice. I shook it off, moving into the Master bedroom. Ah, where all the magic happens. They had a queen-sized bed, nice enough, and a large bureau in two opposing corners of the room. One for each member, I thought. I headed for Kristi’s, covered with jewelry boxes and pictures of the family.

“Wow.” I said upon opening the top drawer. Maybe Mom wasn’t so cliché after all. Layers of kinky lingerie lay clustered together. Purple, black, hot pink, you name it, it was there. Go Kristi, I thought. Jekyll growled. I laughed.

A few minutes later I realized I was a lingerie person. The Hot Pink fit well. Very well indeed. I stalked around in it, being playful, laughing at myself but at the same time feeling sexy. I could get used to this, I thought. If it hadn’t been cliché enough, I sank back onto their bed, Bert’s bed, and felt the plush blankets beneath me. Man, I thought, I could really get used to this.

While this may all appear to be standard psychopath, putting on another woman’s lingerie and lying in her bed, I implore you to try it. Next time you’re stalking around someone’s house, that is. I guarantee the rush you feel will be breathtaking.

I slid to the edge of the bed, got up, and began heading towards the bathroom, knife still in hand. When a girl’s gotta pee a girl’s gotta pee. I had just opened the door…

And there was Kristi. Confusion didn’t have time to morph into rage. I still had the knife in my hand.

Cr-rack! ­I popped another cold one, feeling jittery, and downed half of it immediately. I was home now. Safe. Still in a pair of silky, pink panties, sure. But at least I was back. And they were rather comfortable, I do have to admit.

After Kristi and I worked things out I went and peed. Then… well, I won’t bore you with the details. Hell, I can’t remember all the details to this day. But the beer was good. And what I could remember had been strenuous.

Some heavy lifting had been involved. I didn’t think they’d find her. No, I was good at hiding things. Hiding them right in plain sight. And it would be some time before they expected “foul play” as the police like to put it. No, I didn’t think they’d find her. Not for some time anyway. But I was wrong. Luckily for me, Jekyll was always willing to act, always knew what to do in the heat of the moment. Jekyll is my savior.

I was in my backyard when they returned. I had showered again and put on some fresh clothes. Their shit wagon pulled into the driveway and before I knew it, the big oaf was heading over to the fence. That stupid smile stole over his face and I found myself wishing he’d been the one to find me. Jeremy followed behind.

“Hey Jacqueline.” Bert waved. I tipped my beer. “We’re having some people over for a barbecue tonight.” He said. “Can I interest you in some hot dogs?”

“Oh…” I said, meaning to decline. Jekyll nudged. “Sure. Can I help you prepare?” For a moment I hadn’t realized what I’d said. The shock on his face was alarming.

“Sure.” He smiled. “Come on over, neighbor.” He turned and headed toward the house. Jeremy waved, a grin of his own encompassing his entire face. A face of youth. Jekyll sneered.

“Hey Jacqui!” He said. “I made a friend! I’m going over!”

“Wonderful.”

I was in their kitchen again, throwing frozen patties on a plate. Bert had bought enough to feed starving babies all around the world. Jekyll agreed. All that meat was…disheartening.

“I hope you like chicken.” He said.

“Sure do.” I guess I do.

He moved around the counter, throwing different meats onto different plates. That must be what family life is like. Sleep, work, home, meat throwing, stuff like that. Jeremy was waiting for his ride out front. Bert and I were alone.

“Thanks for helping out,” he said.

“Sure.” I moved next to him. Not really sure of what I was doing. “So where’s Kristi?” I asked, kicking myself.

“I think she went out for the day, meeting some old friends. Bringing them back here for the cookout. Looks like it’s just you and me.”

And before I knew it, my hand was on his. He turned to me, his eyes wide, but not with surprise. It was longing. Oh God, I almost vomited. His other hand gripped my waist and I felt him pulling me in. I couldn’t resist. Hadn’t I initiated it? Oh shit, I thought. I’m fucked (ha-ha). Jekyll snickered. Then it made sense. This was part of her plan. She had seen this all from the beginning. I relaxed a bit, trusting in Jekyll. He pulled me closer. Another inch or so and his lips would reach mine.

“Dad!” Jeremy raced through the kitchen, not even glancing at us. “I gotta pee! Can you get my baseball glove! I think it’s in my closet!” The bathroom door slammed. Bert pulled away, his face flushing red with embarrassment.

“Uh, yeah sure, son.” Bert stalked away, heading towards the stairs. The room, I thought. His closet. Jekyll freaked. I wasn’t sure why. And so without knowing the reason, I snatched a frying pan up and chased after Bert. I took the stairs two at a time, Bert was already entering Jeremy’s room.

As I reached the top of the stairs I heard Jeremy racing past, bursting out through the front door. I think I heard a car beeping, probably his ride. Timing is everything, I heard Jekyll saying this as I entered Jeremy’s room. Bert pulled the closet open, and I think his sanity may have been ripped clean away.

“Jekyll!” I said, gasping in surprise.

Kristi’s body was naked, the blood still not yet dry, fell from the closet, smacking the hardwood floor with a thud. The knife was still lodged up through her chin. And I think I could just make out the gleaming tip, protruding through the top of her skull. But don’t ask me. Ask Jekyll. She never broke stride. She raised the frying pan and whipped it down, producing a wet cruck as it struck Bert’s head. He crumpled face down, twitching for a moment before becoming still. Blood bubbled from beneath his hair. “Ew,” Jekyll said. I looked down and saw Jeremy’s glove on Kristi’s right hand.

I was in luck. Well, sort of. Jeremy hadn’t come back for his glove. He probably forgot about it in all the excitement. But my luck had run short. As I was striding towards the kitchen, the front door opened. Jekyll spun around without hesitation and I think I saw a grinning man carrying a plastic bag.

“Hi there,” he said. “I’m here for Bert’s-” Jekyll swung upward, connecting with the man’s cheek. He fell back and cracked his head on the doorframe. Double whammy, Jekyll said. And she slammed the front door twice. Once on his head and once to close it.

Cr-rack. You guessed it, friend. Another cold one. I was in my backyard again. The sun had set long ago. The chores were done. I was taking a breather. I gazed through the fence into the Bernstein’s yard, wondering if that spot in the dirt would stick out to anyone else like it did to me. Like a sore thumb. I didn’t think so. I think it was just because I knew. I had disturbed the dirt.

A few moments earlier Jeremy had run in, his ride didn’t bother to see if his parents were home. Perfect. I had left music playing over there. All the lights were on. Looked like a party was going on. Looked like a full house. Wrong. I stood and began making my way to the Bernstein residence. There was one more loose end to tie up. I cracked another beer, my third in ten minutes. What the hell, I thought. Life is for the living. That’s what Jekyll says.

And you wanna know something, dear friend? I think I agree. Sure. Sure I do.

*

Leo Rogers has his second published story to date with SNM. He debut story Cleft Hoof Hospital took place in the afterlife and there was no need to check out...you already did! Leo is 22 and he hails from Massachusetts. He has a lifelong passion for reading, writing and watching horror. He has an EMT liscence and hopes to be a fireman and make a career out of it. He has no website or Myspace, but readers can email their comments:

     Leorogers19@yahoo.com      

Leo Rogers

Clarissa

A.J. Brown

Clarissa walked by the men, long legs bare and toned, skirt barely covering the tops of her thighs, a satin blouse loose against her breasts, exposing just enough cleavage to turn the heads of even the gay men.

“Oh, man,” Mark said and slapped his best friend, Bobby, on the arm. He pointed when Bobby turned.

“Wow,” Bobby said.

“Yeah, wow is right. I would give my left arm, right leg and both nuts to see where those legs lead.”

Clarissa smiled and rounded the corner, heading into the Red Saphire. She licked her lips, slinked into the shadows and waited.

A moment later, Mark entered the bar. From her vantage point Clarissa saw the bulge in his jeans. A smile traced along her lips as she stepped from the shadows.

“Looking for someone?” she asked.

Mark spun around, stumbled over his own feet and caught himself on the edge of the bar. He stuttered his first few words before regaining his composure.

“Hey…ummm…hey…how yah doin’, sweet thing?”

Clarissa stifled a laugh, shook her head and turned to leave. Mark’s rough hand grabbed her bare shoulder. 

“Wait,” he begged.

For a moment she kept her back to him. Forcing the smile away she turned.

“Yes?”

Mark’s jaw worked but nothing came out. He took a deep breath and spoke like a child in a candy shop, wanting a taste of each sugary treat. “I’m sorry—you’re just…you know, gorgeous and I’m not used to such a beautiful woman even noticing me, let alone talking to me.”

“Oh, I noticed you, long before you even saw me,” she said and took his hand. She leaned in close to him, giving him a clear view of the tops of her breasts. “You want me, don’t you?”

Mark swallowed hard and nodded.

“Then come with me.” Clarissa tossed him a flirtatious grin and led him through the crowd toward a side door. Once outside, they walked in silence until Mark spoke up.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to my place. We need to relieve the bulge in your pants.”

Mark put a hand to his crotch, covering himself up. His cheeks blossomed pink. Clarissa laughed.

“Don’t worry—I like a man who knows what he wants.”

*

They made their way along a side street, passing buildings and nightclubs, descending deeper into a part of town few normal people went. At one point, they passed several bums sitting along the alleyway. They looked worn out and withered, used up by life and discarded like trash. One of the men sat in a makeshift wheel chair, his leg wrapped in bandages.

On second glance, Mark thought the man had just a bone for a leg, that there couldn't possibly be any flesh on it. He started to mention something to Clarissa but decided not to. Why ruin her mood by pointing out such a pathetic homeless man?

Up the brownstone and down a flight of stairs, Clarissa stopped in front of a large steel door; its hinges rusty. A deadbolt sat near the rectangular handle and there was no window to look through. Clarissa reached into her top, sliding two fingers between her breasts. A second later she held a brass key in her hand.

The door creaked open and they walked into darkness.

“Where are we?” Mark asked, his voice having an edge to it. His erection had decreased considerably and sweat traced along his brow.

“My place,” she responded and flipped a switch that lit up the room in a flash of white.

Mark took in the one sofa and a table with one chair off to the side. An empty bowl sat on the table. There was no television or entertainment center to be seen, nor was there any other furniture in the room.

“Umm …this is where you live?”

“Oh no,” she answered and slipped her dress over her head, exposing the lack of undergarments. She motioned for Mark to follow her down the hall. “I live back here.”

No longer nervous of his surroundings, he focused on the soft swish of her bottom as she walked. He had never seen skin so smooth and perfect before. Its creamy whiteness mesmerized him. His erection grew until it hurt as it pressed against his jeans.

They went through a door into a sparsely furnished bedroom. It had one essential thing: a large bed, a red satin sheet covering it, and pillows near the intricately carved headboard. He stared for a moment. The bluish gray wood was like nothing he'd ever seen before, with its silky white carvings tracing the bedposts. Intricate, beautiful and creepy.

Clarissa crawled onto the bed, showing him all of her body as she slid onto her back. She bent her knees up, spread her legs and motioned for him.

He kicked his shoes off, tossed his shirt aside and slid out of his jeans with ease. The mattress gave slightly with his weight as he crawled into bed. His body shivered as he slid into her. Mark let out a moan as he moved in and out of her.

“Slow down, big boy,” Clarissa said. “We have all night.”

All night?

The thought traced across his mind before slipping away into the nether regions of his memory. The evening wore on with Clarissa doing things that Mark had only read about in the swankier magazines. Each time a position or an act of sexual pleasure crossed the outer banks of his thoughts, she would begin to do it, acting in the manner he pictured.  It was as if she read his mind. At one point, it even felt like more than one set of hands and legs traced their way along his body.

Exhausted, Mark lay back on the bed; his eyes closed as sleep tried to claim him. He smiled as Clarissa kissed his cheek then his neck. She nipped his shoulder with her teeth. As her lips slid down his body for what felt like the hundredth time, he marveled at how she could keep going; her appetite insatiable. Another nip of pain tinged his thigh and then her lips worked her magic, bringing him back to full erection again. Though he tried to stay awake, sleep befell him and he didn't feel her teeth near his scrotum.

He awoke to his head swimming, a cloud of fog hanging over him. His body ached, his lips hurt. His hair stood on end and his mouth was dry. His eyes couldn’t focus and he had the sensation of floating.

Images from the night before ran through his mind and a smile crossed his face. Bobby isn't going to believe this.

Something small skittered across his face, pulling him from his thoughts.

"What the hell?” Mark tried to move but couldn’t. His left arm resisted movement. The right arm felt heavy and he struggled to raise it a few inches from his chest. Blinking, he realized a cotton-like material had been placed on his face. A dim light shone through it and his eyelashes brushed against it. 

With great effort he reached up and pulled the shroud away. Holding the shroud up, Mark stared at the thick webbing in his hand. The same web-like material sat on his lips and he wiped it away, pulling it from his mouth and tongue. 

What's going on? Mark tried to sit up. He ran his right hand down his body, pulling the webs off and flipping it to the floor. Again he tried to move his left arm but couldn't. With his right hand, he touched the opposite shoulder. It was soft and when he pushed through the mesh of webs, his finger sunk through the webbed skin. He pulled his hand away and stared at the slimy mixture of green and red fluid on his fingers. 

Fear hitched in his chest and he screamed a weak whisper that no one could possibly hear. A creature crawled across his face, this time followed by several others as they made their way toward his shoulder. He swatted at them, smashing one of them against his cheekbone. When he looked at his hand he saw the remnants of a black spider, its abdomen squashed against his palm, its legs bent in broken angles.

"Shit," he yelled and flung the spider from his hand. Panic seized his frantic heart and he struggled to sit up, his right leg seeming to be as useless as his left arm. A wave of nauseas swept over him as the world spun.  

With his right arm, he pushed himself into a leaning position and glanced around the room. It was tangled in white webs with spiders moving about them. He was still in the bed he had been in with her the night before but she was gone and the mattress, posts and headboard were covered in strands of spider silk. 

Lumps of bone protruded through his left arm and the silken strands were pink and red, green and yellow. The putrid smell of rotten flesh seeped from his shoulder. 

A scream caught in his throat. The creeping fear he had felt earlier seized him and he shoved himself upward so he could sit up in the bed. He reached for his right leg, pushed through the cobwebs. His fingers sunk into the mushy skin of his leg, touched down to the bone and he jerked his hand back, tipping him off balance. Mark fell back onto the bed, his head hitting the pillow. Several spiders dropped from within the webs, landing on him. 

Mark beat at them with his one good hand, trying to brushing them away or killing them. He jerked his head toward the door when it opened, the groan of a rusty hinge piercing the air.

"Help," he cried, his voice scratchy. "Help me."

Soft foot falls made their way through the bedroom. Clarissa stopped at the edge of the bed, wearing a white dress that looked interwoven with strands of fine material. Her blond hair was pulled away from her face, held back by two black widows, their legs like pins. 

"Good morning, Mark.”

"What's going on?" he blurted out. "What the hell have you done to me?"

"I gave you what you wanted. And I took what you offered."

"Offered? I didn't offer you anything for last night. I just wanted—"

"To see where my legs went to," Clarissa interrupted as she slid her dress from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. She stood before him, naked, her creamy white skin still flawless with the exception of the bright red hourglass that sat just below her breasts and ran down past her navel and into the V between her legs. "I gave you your desire—you got to see where my legs went to and a whole lot more. Now you keep your end of the deal."

"What deal? What the hell are you talking about?" He tried to back off of the bed. His useless leg and arm made it impossible for him to do much more than get a few inches away. 

"If I recall correctly," Clarissa said and stretched one arm out to him. She pushed it through the webs at his crotch, brushing aside the few spiders that had gathered there. "I believe you said you would give your left arm, your right leg and both of your nuts to see where my legs led."

"I didn't mean—" Mark started but stopped when the skin just below the left side of Clarissa's rib cage opened up. An arm pushed its way from the opening as droplets of blood dripped down her side. The hand reached forward, one finger extended, and rested on his lips. Another opening formed on the opposite side, revealing a fourth arm that aided in pulling his legs apart.

Mark tried to scream but Clarissa's hand held his lips together. 

"Don't," she said and lowered her head to his crotch. She moved the webbing away and rubbed his swollen testicles. 

The pinching of teeth on testicles sent Mark screaming. Pain soared through his stomach and down the one good leg. He threw his hand to his crotch and grabbed the back of Clarissa's head. Pulling her hair, he lifted her face away from his crotch long enough to stare into eight dark eyes. Blood dripped from two fangs that protruded from a mouth that no longer looked human. Tiny hairs moved like cilia and squirmed along her face. Hundreds of spiders crawled along her spindly anatomy, dropping onto him and disappearing within the webs.

Clarissa pulled free and sunk her fangs back into his testicles. Mark’s screams echoed in his ears but he could still hear the slurping as she devoured his balls.

His left arm deflated like a balloon losing air. His right leg did the same as fluid poured from both of the two appendages, soaking into the mattress beneath him. Spiders ran across his body and his mind snapped.

*

The tires on the wheelchair rolled along the bumpy sidewalk. Mark sat slumped over in its seat, mind splintered and his skin crawling with the memory of spiders. It stopped near a wall not far from the alleyway that led to Clarissa's basement apartment. Vaguely, Mark was aware the wheelchair had been spun around so his back was to the wall. 

Clarissa leaned down, her bright green eyes shining in the darkness and gave Mark a kiss on numb lips. 

"Be careful what you wish for," she said and walked away. His eyes followed her until she rounded the corner. 

Time eased on and people passed him by without notice. A familiar scent wafted by him as Clarissa led a young man down the dark alley. The man paused in front of Mark and shook his head. "Now ain't this just pathetic," he said. "You would think they could get shit like this off the street."

"Don't worry about him, Darren," Clarissa said. She touched his cheek with one finger, turning his face to hers and gave him a kiss. "Worry about me." 

They went away, heading down the steps to her place. Mark's eyes grew wide as he saw the spider skitter up the back of her leg. He tried to scream, but the webs held his mouth closed.

*

     

Hot Winds and Wild Nights

Joel Peterson

“I figured you guys could come over here, and get your drink on. We can take off after that, if you want.”

Bethany twirled a lock of her red curly hair through two fingers, observing her split ends. It was so hot and dry in the new town, and she had her friends to thank for that. She sighed into the phone and static poured out on the other end.

“Well, whatever you want, but we're taking the car this time. I am absolutely not taking a cab again, do you remember how long we had to wait for that fat fuck to pull up on the sidewalk?”

A chortle. A giggle. Too many laughs at other people’s expense.

“Alright sweetie, see you when you get here. Mm-bah-bye.”

Another pot of coffee, another shot of Baileys. Caffeine and alcohol in one shot, but it would only serve to heighten the senses; at least until the coolers got there. A tab of X would go a long way, especially once the party got going; the multicolored rainbow, the perpetual light show that didn't stop until the sun came up. Until then, wasting time, applying makeup, listening to the radio, and before she knew it...

Rap Rap Rap.

Bethany stumbled out of the bathroom, continuing to apply her lipstick as she made her way to the door. The X had kicked in with full effect and the room blurred by, a milky white. She was ripped and she felt damn good. And how sexy she must have looked to them as she opened the door, hot red hair in curls below her shoulders, green eyes glazed over; her pupils like two big black saucers. The dancing Queen all ready for a muddled night on the town with enough euphoria to go around for everyone.

Her girlfriends looked soft under the dim yellow light of the doorway. She hugged and kissed them as they walked in the house, all enjoying their poisons of choice for the evening.

For Charlotte, it was coke; always. She was jittery to begin with, the five-foot nothing horse jockey with bleached to hell, stark white hair short as a boy’s, but with a face to die for. Bethany loved her the most and wrapped her arms tightly around her as she came in; eyes darting about the room.

“H-hey Beth, you got a butt? I j-just ran out.” Charlotte asked, jittery.

Bethany and Charlottehunkered down on the couch together, each with a cigarette between their bright red lips. Karla and Stephanie were sitting across from them on two plastic lawn chairs they had pulled off the deck. Karla and Stephanie were sisters and for the most part, you could barely tell the difference between them.

Both had black hair, and brown eyes. Both wore denim skirts, and black pumps. Both were so fried on mushrooms and dope that they could barely focus, and were sitting there, two pairs of milky legs crossed the exact same way, laughing at pretty much nothing.

“You two want a smoke or something?” Bethany asked, sinking back into the couch, feeling warm and cozy in sweatpants and t-shirt. “You're both fucking bombed right now.”

They just ignored her, too caught up in their own tracer-ridden world to even hear what she had to say. Bethany curled up to Charlotte, who had the shakes, and was too twitchy to return the gesture. An hour had passed, but Bethany felt like she was peaking and the now-empty case of coolers on the table wasn't inspiring her to want to stay in any longer.

“This is a fucking drag.” Bethany muttered. “We should go do something. I thought we were going out tonight?”

“Just let me f-inish this.” Charlotte replied, butting her cigarette out in the porcelain dolphin ashtray on the coffee table and shoving the neck of her cooler into her mouth.

“Christ, it's only like 9:30.” Karla said, swigging back the last remnants of her drink and putting the empty bottle in Steph's lap, causing her to squeal with a drugged up, drunken laughter. “It's gonna be dead as shit if we get there this early. But I don't want to be out too late tonight.”

“Well, I'm going to go change,” Beth said, yawning as she pushed herself up off of the couch, using Charlotte as leverage. “I dunno who's driving, but get it together, and go start the car.”

Stephanie let her middle finger fly loose as Bethany walked out the room. Karla laughed. Charlotte just stared at the floor and wiped the sweat off her brow.

 *

Off to the races. A hundred miles an hour down the dark desert highway in a pitch black convertible nicknamed “Black Barbie.” Out of the suburbs and into the fire. Two junkies sitting in the back, watching with terror as the black wasteland rolled on by. Charlotte in the passenger’s seat, snorting smack from an extra long pinky fingernail. And Bethany in the pilot's seat, roaring down the road without a care in the world, enjoying the warm breeze on her face.

The Ecstasy was starting to kick in to overdrive. Bethany was beginning to regret her insistence to drive.

“God, I haven't been fucked in like ages.” Bethany muttered, wrapping her lips around a cherry sucker and giggling to herself as the other three zoned out into their imaginary worlds.

She was dolled up now, high heels and a mini-skirt. Men were so pathetic; so easy. In the time it would take her to land one in the bar, the other girls would still be stumbling around trying to find a seat to burn out on. Especially tonight; she already had a target, hook, line and sinker.

“So crass.” Charlotte groaned, several minutes after the fact.

“So, the Panic Lounge tonight?” Bethany suggested with a grin.

Karla and Stephanie let out a simultaneous groan.

“We were already there a few days ago,” Stephanie said, barely audible due to the way her head was tilted back; face pointed up at the sky. “I'm sick of that joint. Besides, it's a bit early for a chaser.”

Charlotte turned to face the girls in the back, arm hanging over the head rest, the warm winds blowing strands of white hair in her face.

“The back was empty last time.” She sneered, pointing down to the girl’s feet.

Stephanie bent down. There was a shroud of blankets covering lumps on the floor. She lifted a corner up, peered beneath the mound and cackled with delight.

Karla stole a peek, shot back up and glared at Charlotte. She stared at Bethany, who was completely silent; her eyes locked to the road. As soon as she tapped Bethany's shoulder, Bethany burst out laughing as well.

“Jesus Christ, you knew about this?” Karla demanded with a hot streak of annoyance lacing her tone. “I thought we were waiting until next week. I mean, I have to work tomorrow, you know, unlike some people.”

“Get over it.” Bethany mumbled through the filter of a smoking Malboro, leaving her cherry sucker to collect dust on the floor of the car. “We'll have ya home by dawn, darlin'.”

“I work at 8:00, you retard!” Karla yelled, kicking the back of Bethany's seat. Everyone except her was now in hysterics.

“Yeah? Not a problem, then; last time I checked, dawn was at like fuckin' 6:30, so I guess you'll be on time, right?” Bethany shot back, howling with laughter.

Karla crossed her arms and lunged back into her seat, defeated. “Miserable cunt.”

The girls piled out of the Barbie and onto the sidewalk, except for Bethany, who roared off down the street to the parking garage a block away.

“I hope she crashes and dies in a fire.” Karla muttered as they took their place at the end of the line, waiting behind forty other drunken junkies to make their way into the Panic Lounge.

Charlotte snickered. “If you were so worried about getting to work on time tomorrow, you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life by coming out with us tonight. What did you expect anyways: a quiet night with a movie and popcorn?”

Karla shrugged. “Kinda.”

A few hazy, inebriated minutes passed by before Bethany came marching up, all business, one heel after another clicking along the pavement.

“That was quick.” Karla said. “No hot chauffeur tonight or what?”

It would have been a low blow to anyone but Bethany who said, “Yeah, plus, I have a policy about not riding the chauffeur before he has had a chance to take a ride in my car.”

Karla rolled her eyes. “Apparently that standard only applies to tonight, as opposed to last weekend.”

Bethany and Karla never really got along well. Their inherent incompatibility could of been blamed on astrology or conflicting frequencies -- or even the arrangement of numbers in specific mathematical equations. However, it was most likely due to the fact that Bethany had slept with Karla's ex-boyfriend, on their couch, while Karla was in the deepest moments of a DMT trip on the shag carpet below them. She had imagined that two steel cats were on the couch, hissing and screaming and wrestling for dominance over a rattle snake standing erect between the two of them. But in reality, when a cat gets a snake in it's mouth, it isn't half as vicious as when Bethany wrapped her lips around…

“Alright girls, need identification and cover, please.” the impish, short, but rather built-looking bouncer muttered in his deepest voice in a vain attempt to impress one of them.

They rummaged through their purses, handing him a wad of crinkled up bills, and a handful of ID cards.

“Good enough.” he said with a curt nod and a slight frown.

“Thanks, Rudy.” Bethany said, which resulted in them laughing and a frantic dash to get into the bar.

The Panic Lounge was a private club in the sense that it was seemingly overpopulated with good looking women, which now included Bethany and her crew. Anyone else had a tough time getting in, and anyone else meant pretty much every male who wasn't at least a nine in the looks department with cash to boot. But once past the main doors -- it was anything goes. Even on the weekdays, the place was wild.

A few odd studs were scattered around the place, trying to slide their way in between girlfriends on the dance floor, or putting themselves out of house and home with massive bar bills in an attempt to sneak one or two sloshed vixens away from their friends.

Women came to spend a night out with the girls, to humiliate a guy or two, or in rare cases, to have a lucky (yet desperate) male take them home for the night. Bethany was there to do quite the opposite -- and she didn't waste any time.

“Right there. The handsome hunchback. That's him -- right?” Bethany pointed across the room, through the crowded, strobe-filled room to the bar on the other side; a well-dressed man, hunched over a pint of beer.

“Christ,” Karla commented, “You don't waste any time at all, do you?”

“Well, according to you, it's nearly bed time. So I guess there's no time to waste.” Bethany retorted, baring her pearly whites through a wide, smug grin.

Stephanie grabbed Karla's arm and shouted above the crowd, “Let's hit the dance floor! I don't want him to see me.”

Charlotte smiled back at Bethany who winked in return as she sauntered through the crowd, over to the bar to find a seat.

The hunched man arose over his half-empty, nearly piss warm beer he had been trying to finish for the last hour. He thought there was little hope of getting laid tonight, until he saw the Bethany’s wide-pupils and numbed up face grinning at him, milky legs crossed, knees rubbing up against his.

He was handsome enough, although the odd striped, black and yellow tie really didn't go well with his gray jacket: a minor oversight; an obvious rush job, most likely the result of a last minute decision to getting laid. Flawed in execution, but perfect in principle.

“I want a rum and coke, no ice.” Bethany stated bluntly, putting a hand on the man's knee.

He grinned. His blue eyes were glazed over from one too many drinks as he lifted his hand to call the bartender.

“Alright...don't you want to know my name first?” He asked, brushing his fingers through short black hair.

He looked older, probably in his late thirties. Too old to be poor and single. She guessed he was probably loaded and there was no question he dyed his hair.

“Not really.” she replied curtly. “It's not likely I'll be screaming it out anytime soon anyways.”

He furrowed his brow and smirked. “And why not, exactly?”

She pointed across the bar, to the end of the room. The door she was pointing at had the word: “WASHROOM” above it.

“Because in about ten minutes, I'm going to take you in there and you're going to fuck me. And if we don't want to get kicked out in the middle of it, we will have to keep real quiet,” she said, moving her hand up his thigh.

*

Bethany, like Nostradamus before her, was able to predict the future. And ten minutes, fifteen seconds and five drinks later, Mr. no-name had his pants around his ankles and had Bethany kneeling on the toilet, face pushed hard up against the back of the stall and was seeing red; the color of her bra and panties, the latter of which was hanging off the heel of one of her shoes. Mr. no-name had engaged in rough, dirty sex before, but never with a specimen as loud and foul mouthed as Bethany; her screams being the one flaw in her pre-cognitive prediction. It was so brutal in fact, that as he pumped her and slammed her head against the wall with each thrust, he was beginning to feel himself become a bit limp and uncomfortable.

“--Fuck me harder, you fucking pussy!” and “go faster, you pathetic piece of shit!” and even “why the fuck can't you go any deeper, you worthless cunt?” were all beginning to spoil the mood for Mr. no-name, as if the gallons of malt beer swirling around in his gut wasn't making him feel sick enough.

Bethany got her rocks off that night, leaning back to slap Mr. no-name in the side as hard as he could, causing him to groan in pain as she enjoyed sweet release. Mr. no-name came out limp as a worm and fairly disappointed. When Bethany turned around, grabbed him, and shoved her tongue in his mouth as she let out that final whimper of relief, he felt instantly better and ready to take her home with him.

They dressed quickly, and as soon as Mr. no-name pulled his pants on, he started feeling anxious again to rip off the clothing which she was seductively sliding back onto her body, silk red panties slowly covering that round, perfect pale ass.

“Ready to go?” he asked eagerly. “We'll take my Corvette.”

She looked him up and down dismissively and shrugged. “I'll pass my keys off to my girlfriends.”

Mr. no-name was a bit off put by her sudden disinterest, but he took her hand and they pushed their way through the crowded bathroom, ignoring the scornful gaze of others who were one drink away from doing the same thing.

Charlotte spotted Bethany on the dance floor where she, Karla and Stephanie were grinding up against random bodies some distance away, letting the drugs and the alcohol settle in; letting themselves move to the vibe of the room.

Now it was Bethany pulling Mr. no-name along, tugging at his arm with little regard for his well being as he bumped and crashed into other party-goers on their way to the center of the dance floor.

Bethany leaned in close to Charlotte, giving her a vile whiff of rum as she whispered into Charlotte's ear, “Time to go. Take the keys.”

Charlotte smiled and pulled Bethany in for a deep, long kiss, looking over Bethany's shoulder to see if he was watching. The wide grin on his face indicated a positive.

“See you soon,” Charlotte whispered.

Bethany and Mr. no-name disappeared back into the crowd.

“Hey, aren't your friends coming?” said no-name with obvious enthusiasm.

“Maybe later,” Bethany replied.

*

“So where is your place, exactly?” No-name asked, drunk and perplexed, zooming down the interstate at a hundred miles an hour in the middle of the pitch black desert.

“Just down a ways,” Bethany sighed from the passenger's seat, leaning her head back, deeply enjoying the climax of her wild trip.

He peered into his rear view mirror. That same set of white headlights had been far in the distance the entire time and it was beginning to worry him.

“I sure hope that isn't a cop behind us. I'm drunk as a skunk right now.”

Bethany rolled her eyes and shrugged her head."Drunk as a skunk?" He really was fucking old.

“It's getting closer,” he muttered. He honked the horn. “Get off my fucking tail, motherfucker!” He yelled with a drunken slur.

Bethany smiled. She shut her eyes and just let the warm breeze through the cracked open window blow the hair in her eyes.

“Ha!” he exclaimed. “They're turning off into the desert. Christ, I must be paranoid, huh?”

Bethany felt a strong twitch of annoyance flickering her eyelid. “Must be,” she grumbled.

A couple more minutes, a couple more miles.

“Turn here.” Bethany said, sitting up in her seat, pointing to the vast morass that was the midnight desert.

“What, into the badlands? You're kidding, right?” he whined.

Bethany let out a sigh of irritated exasperation. She wasn't high enough to deal with this idiot anymore. “Turn in that way, for fucks sake; my family owns land there.”

He furrowed a brow and shrugged. He twisted the wheel left. With a couple of hard jumps, the car sped off into the desert, sending a dust cloud up a mile high into the moonlit sky. The Corvette roared over cacti and rocks, spitting up debris all around them, resulting in a turbulent ride.

“You do this all the time? You must have a monster vehicle.”

“It's a convertible, actually,” she cooed in her sweetest tone.

He grinned and shook his head at her. “Damn, you really do like it rough, don't you?.”

Bethany chuckled and slapped his knee. It startled him. Good.

“Oh baby, you don't know the half of it.”

Though they could only see a few feet ahead of them at any given time, Bethany knew where they were going and she knew where to stop: when the ride got a bit rougher, when there was no more vegetation to be found, when the sand gave way to the endless miles of cracked sandstone that lined the desert floor.

“Hit the brakes.” Bethany roared. “Now!”

Mr. no-name obeyed instinctively, ever the submissive type. No wonder he'd disappointed her so thoroughly back at the Panic Lounge. The car skidded to a screaming halt, sending waves of dust into the air. Even with the high beams on, they could barely see a thing.

“Alright.” Bethany sighed, cracking the car door open.

She put one heel on the ground, smiling with satisfaction at the gratifying crunch the hard slate provided. No-name followed suit, his head darting around like a bird as he desperately tried to ascertain the situation.

“Where the hell are we?” he asked through a long, drawn out yawn.

Bethany grinned as the sound of another motor overpowered his voice. He was in such a stupor, he barely noticed.

“The end of the line,” she hissed as the Black Barbie screeched up beside them, spitting a cloud of dust up toward them which Bethany jumped into with her eyes closed, laughing gleefully.

“You were so eager to see my friends again back at the bar!” Bethany yelled over the deep rev of the convertible's engine. “I didn't want to disappoint you!”

He caught a lung full of dust and bent down to cough it up. He tried to look around, but it had filled his eyes. As he went to rub it out, he caught himself off balance and hit the dirt, landing on his ass. After sputtering and swearing and forming quite a thick cake of mud on his face, he was finally able to open his eyes. And what he saw looking back at him was not the lusty lady he had brought into the desert, but instead, it was the horrifying visage of two bright eyes peering out of this deformed, skeletal frame; the massive head of a horned goat, eyes penetrating him with a silvery gaze.

He let out a horrified wail and scrambled back to his feet only to bump into something else, which pushed him to the ground. He thrashed, attempting to stand once more and ran, only to find his shoes slipping on the thin film of sand lining the stone terrain sheet below him. He rolled on his back and saw four grotesque faces staring down on him with humanoid bodies and skeletal heads. He could not fully see through the shroud of darkness around him.

The things cackled away into the night, a symphony of devilish laughter that pierced his ears, causing him to cry out. And then he took a closer look.

One of the things was holding a sledgehammer.

And its fingernails were painted red.

“Your name is Gary Brookfield, correct, yes?” A deep, bellowing voice boomed above him with just a hint of veiled femininity. Suppressed laughter followed.

“W-what?” he replied nervously seeing that the twisted demons above him were not demons at all, but were rather four women, wearing the discarded pelvic bones of some dead desert animal on their faces like masks.

The sledgehammer came down hard on his foot. He screamed at the crunch, before the excruciating throbbing, tearing pain even hit him.

“You got ears, bitch?” The voice exclaimed. He recognized it as Bethany's, but it wasn't coming from the girl with the hammer.

The pain shot up his foot and into his chest. He gasped in utter panic.

“He doesn't wanna answer, Beth.” Another voice said. “Maybe if we cut something off.”

“Alright, alright, alright!” he cried out in horror. “It's me!”

One of the voices scoffed. “Whatever. Good enough, I guess.”

“Take whatever you want!” he pleaded in fits of yelling. “Just please don't kill me!”

Gary could see one of the bone-faced figures shake its skeletal head in disgust through the shadows.

“Every night for two weeks. Sitting at that bar. Having another drink. Leaving me his business card,” one of the voices said to the obvious amusement of the others.

Gary fought the pain, struggled to suppress it, tried not to move his foot, which must have been cracked in a few places. He had given out his card more than a few times that week, but only once at the bar. It was a girl with black hair. She bought him a drink. She had a pretty smile. She wore black high heels. He remembered he'd wanted to foot-fuck her. Her sister had gone to the bathroom with a vial of coke. Her name was...

“Stephanie.” Bethany said. “Don't spoil it for him. You wouldn't want to ruin the surprise.”

Gary let out an anguished cry. “Ah, ya fuckin' bitch!” he yelled. “You and your goddamn friends! What the hell is this, anyway? What the fuck did I do?”

Bethany stepped up and jammed the heel of her shoe into his mouth. He felt the pressure building on his teeth, and was forced to open up. She shoved it in good.

“You fucked me! Remember?”

*

Off to the races. A hundred miles an hour through the desert. Two junkies sitting in the back, watching with stark terror as the black wasteland rolled by. Charlotte in the passenger’s seat, snorting smack from an extra long pinky fingernail. Bethany was in the pilot's seat, roaring down the road without a care in the world, enjoying the warm breeze on her face. That and the piercing cries of a man named Gary Brookfield, screaming for help as he was dragged behind the vehicle; a rope tied tight to his ankle. And his insistence on making noise was beginning to annoy everyone.

Bethany brought the convertible to a gradual stop, cutting the ignition only to hear the magnified cries from Gary. The man who Stephanie had secretly met a week prior. The man who had been a poor fuck in the bathroom stall of the Panic Lounge. The man who was in his early forties and who had been skipping out on his wife, Charlene Brookfield, of 630 Remington Way to go find a quick fuck at a local bar. The man who was suffering the injuries of a broken foot, a gouged out eye, and a modern keel-hauling over miles of rocky desert.

The man whose screams died out almost instantly after the car had come to a halt.

“Holy fuck, I think he's dead.” Bethany said with a suppressed grin, leaning down to check out the body of Gary Brookfield. “I guess we had a little too much fun. Shit.”

“Fuck him,” Charlotte replied, snorting down another line as she reached down to the floor of the convertible, producing a rusty shovel.

Gary had almost pulled it together. It was his last night in the bar. He couldn't go through with it, couldn't bring himself to cheat on his wife like this. But when that aggressive woman walked up to him, everything changed.

Pussy didn't seem so wrong after she slid a hand down his pants and dragged him away from the bar. Dragged him away and forced him to be unfaithful; a sick, simple justification for horrific acts of violence.

Karla looked at her watch through the pelvic mask and sighed heavily. “Jesus. Only a few hours until work. Thanks a lot, you stupid cunts! You can pay me back by calling in for me  at work tomorrow.”

He felt his arm twitch. He could move again. He could breathe. He heard footsteps, crunching away; voices fading into the distance. Then he heard steel sliding against rock and mounds of stone and dirt slapping the ground some distance away. The voices became audible again as his breathing calmed down. One of them belonged to Bethany.

“...and you just send him on his way? No way that's happening again. Remember the last one? We were this close to getting locked away because of that prick. What kind of fucking guy can detect woman's perfume brands, anyways? I swear, Steph, you always manage to pick out the fags.”

He pushed himself up on his feet, stumbling hard against the cold steel of the convertible. He opened his one good eye, the burning loss of his other one almost sending him into tears. More digging in the distance, more talking.

“...Look, I didn't want to be a part of this shit anymore! I'm fucking sick of covering up this and that, of leaving house and home every goddamn time…”

The excruciating pain kicked in as soon as Gary tried to stand on his bad foot. He slid to the ground, shoving a finger in his mouth and biting down hard to quell his desire to cry out.

“...anyone would give a shit? I'm starting to think you might fucking snitch one of these days, leave us for dead to protect your own sorry ass, as if it wasn't your idea too!”

Gary took a breath, and stood up again, keeping the weight on his good foot. He could see the blurred image of the dusty convertible, could tell he was leaning up against the ass end of it. He could see the white leather interior with the blankets scrunched up on the floor of the rear of the vehicle. He could-

“Fucking BITCH!” And then: “GET AWAY!” And then: “STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!” All echoes muffled in the distance.

Gary pulled himself up over the back of the car, sliding into the back seat in a fetal position. He felt around the interior, trying to get a grip on the passenger seat up front. He began to pull himself, using his good leg to push off the back seat, up over the driver’s seat of the car.

“Holy SHIT! Bethany, what the FUCK DID YOU DO?” He heard in the distance, a shrill roar echoing eerily out of the darkness of the desert.

He was almost there; almost ready. He pulled himself into the driver’s seat, took a minute to catch his breath. He was panting heavily now, the yelling and screaming in the distance, vague and muffled. He reached for the ignition with his keys.

Then he realized he hadn't checked first to see if they were in there. He patted the seats around him, kicked at the floor, let out a flurry of wild swears. When he realized it was useless, he became still -- and quiet. He heard nothing in the distance.

“Going somewhere, shithead?” came the growl of Bethany in his left ear, causing his the fine hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

And then, a crunch in the back of his head.

And then, nothing.

*

The deputy scribbled notes onto a ragged strip of lined paper. The sun beamed down, hot on the desert sand. The blood had baked in and was now a ruddy brown.

“Visible altercation, first victim, Jane Doe, dead on arrival...how do you spell 'bludgeon,' Dave?”

The Sheriff paced around the mess. A girl with black hair, her brains lain out all over the sand. Another one, throat sliced open by the tip of a shovel, stomach gouged in. And the third, found baked to death nearly ten miles away, in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, not to mention the man with no eye and no face, a crushed foot, hands removed, buried under a shallow mound of sand.

“Any longer out here man, this place would smell like Kentucky Fried Chicken,” he commented, disgusted by the decomposing bodies found dead too many days later.

“All fake names, too.” The deputy pointed out as he doodled drawings of cactuses on his report sheet. “Not a single legit ID found on the lot of 'em. Just a buncha dumb kids. Correction: dumb, young, dead kids.

“I remember,” Dave began, scratching the top of his head, “a few months back I heard something similar, just a couple of States over. Never paid much attention to it back then...gang shit, happens all the time. But the victim was a fella like this one. Same thing happened to him, too. His wife called it in...he was missing. Didn't come home that night, didn't come home ever again.”

“What don't make much sense,” the deputy said, “is that the car was found just about sixteen miles from here. Ain't no way they'd be able to pull that poor son of a bitch that far, especially in this God forsaken place.”

Dave sighed. “Put it all down in the report. We'll deal with it tomorrow. I done seen and heard enough for one day.”

*

“That's a pretty hot ride you got parked out there.”

The diner was off the side of the highway, just in between two mountains and endless miles of forests. The great white north, the heartland of Canada; though it was relatively warm for this time of year.

“It's gonna be pretty cold though in a few months from now.” The bearded, hat-wearing trucker grinned at her over his hot cup of coffee. “Looks like you might need someone in there with you...help warm things up. My name's...”

Bethany put a finger to his lips, still wet with fresh brew. She looked down at the wedding band on his finger. She looked back up at him.

“Don't bother,” she whispered, firing off a wide, toothy grin.

*

Joel Peterson, young 22 year old horror prodigy writer strikes once again and with his forth published SNM story. He absorbs the reader into his story with fresh, unique, non-cliched writing in the tradition of Poe and Lovecraft. So this makes him 4 for 4 with published submissions at a young age. He is an author to watch out for. His other published stories in SNM include: A Foul Grin, The Humble Guest and The Gift. He has also has a featured story in Bonded By Blood II; a collaborative story with Editor In Chief SNM. They shared the pen, now they share the page. Readers can contact him through his website or Myspace.

www.myspace.com/diaries_of_caleb_lang

Joel Peterson

Only Skin Deep

Trevor Donaldson

Destiny was quite the fickle patriarch when it placed me, Walter Durante, on the bunion of civilization. My work life possessed my personal life had long ago become a daily interaction with my television. Extinction’s sickly sweet perfume overcame me that week when I had met Julie for the first time. I stood behind her on the commuter bus, breathing in the scent of her spirit from the nape of her neck on down to her urgent buttocks as they tossed against my pelvis. She never said a word nor did she turn to regard me with amusement or disdain.

This would repeat each day until she disembarked at her stop near the studio apartments on Deadwood Blvd. My stop came later, just enough to put me out of the upper income class apartments and into the subsidized area. Physically separated by an overpass, we met weekly commuting back and forth to our jobs, never in new positions, just her backside and my front side; the best pair on the Earth. This all ended the day that I moved to her apartment community. You see, I was recently promoted to regional manager of my small publishing firm and that small pay hike allowed me to indulge in more lucrative living quarters.

Like chess, she and I danced the board more like a Chess game than a true relationship. My swift, skillful moves were suddenly outmatched by her diagonal slide knight’s maneuver. She never looked at me during the weeks that flowed in the wake of my move. She was always first mounting the bus steps, followed by her loyal romantic pawn. Knight takes pawn; one man down.

I found out her last name today from her mailbox. I caught her silhouette through the hall window of the third story studio as she went about her business. That makes her apartment 301 because there was only one tenant to the third floor apt. I could never forget this mundane information because the landlady kept trying to sell me one of the studios stating: "That’s real prestige up there, Walt. We only have one studio per building.” Her eyes gleamed greedily as the bait was dropped in front of me to take in lewd temptation.

I rolled my eyes when her back was turned and chose a first floor apartment that very day. My 103 apartment sits directly across building 3, affording me a constant view of her space. Days turned to weeks as we rode the commuter bus together like twin soul mates that never met face to face; sending their astral cords looping out with bi-polarity. The blur of time came to a halt for me the day she didn’t show up at the stop and I spent my entire workday in soulful abandonment as I pined for her presence.

The mystery grew as she didn’t show up for the remainder of the week and I grew to loathe the coming days. Like a siren’s call, her presence became a drug to my senses and thus, led to nights of insomnia with days of longing. The light from her window flickered during the night as if the incandescent bulbs were hiccupping their doom and I was left to shattered abandonment, alone in my quaint abode.

Fall came and no sign of my woman-goddess for two months now. I queried the landlady several times, but she paled and would always respond by saying that her name was confidential and I was not privy to such information. Furious though I was, I had waited patiently and promoted an aspect of familiarity with the woman in 301 and soon I met with success!

‘Mrs. Dukes, how are you today?” I asked with faux concern.

“Fine, fine Mr. Durante. What can I do for you, young man?” Her tone was not patronizing and had always made me feel at home in this complex.

“I had received a package today for the lady in 301 and I wanted to drop it off for her but couldn’t get into her building. Is there any chance you could let me in over there or take it over for me to Ms….umm. What was her name again?”

“Steward, Mr. Durante, it's Julie Steward, and I’ll handle the package for you, just drop it off when you are ready and I’ll manage its delivery for you.” She responded without a frown, although she was clearly not interested in our conversation.

“Thanks, Mrs. Dukes, I’ll drop it off later.”

Looking at my watch, I mimed owl-eyes and said, “Gosh, look at the time, I have to go.”

I smiled and waved as I exited the Manager’s office, leaving Mrs. Dukes waving limply.

Being single, I'd taken to staying up late at night and watching movies or catching up on my favorite books. Peering out of my window, I could see Orion’s belt in the brisk night sky as it trekked across, making its walkabout through space. That’s when the flickering stopped and the light from the third floor apartments went out. I froze and let my book slide down my knees.

The portrait of De Maupassant looked at me, smiling up from the book’s frontispiece as I stared across the lot. The frogs had ceased their evening chatter and the rustling maple leaves were all I heard through my window screen. I set the short story book down and went to the window, clawing at the sill with my left hand while my left palm spread spider-like upon the screen. I’m not sure I blinked but I swear something moved inside the studio apartment; her apartment.

The movement was slow and came again. I shuddered as a stray car light reflected off pale skin momentarily before sliding off and down the walls. Then, once more, the figure moved behind her window before sliding down from my view. The frogs resumed their chorus and the breeze exhaled through the complex as though relieved.

That night my dreams were dark and sluggish, but thankfully I had awoken with nothing but the sounds of clawing tingling in my memory. I readied myself and quickly forgot the events of last night, save for an odd sensation that trickled down my neck when I glanced toward Ms. Steward’s shrouded window. The bus ride was cold and dull, the seats were full, yet her handle bar remained unused in front of me.

The week was long and belabored by thoughts of Ms. Steward and her apartment. Not a single light had shown since that one evening three nights ago. The longer I sat and stared at her bay window the more my impression grew of a face imprinted on the glass; a silhouette of a pale oval and two yawning pits where its eyes should be. I closed my curtain to obscure the vacant window and forced myself to watch some old reruns of giant mutant rodents on late night TV.

I must have drifted to sleep because my television screen had colored bars and code. Shutting the television off, I dimmed the lights of my apartment and turned in for the night. My Saturday morning was slow and restful, consisting of a hearty breakfast, enough to bypass lunch, a nice walk down to the video store, and my subsequent return home before noon.

As I passed her apartment with videos in hand, I noticed how the sun picked an outline of a hand upon the bay window, trailing long fingertips. I never took Ms. Steward for a slob, but perhaps my judgment had been poor lately when it came to women. I saw the dark curtains jostle slightly from the corner of my eye, but turning to look, I saw they were still and void of life. A few minutes later I was seated and my attention was drawn to the television. I later glanced at the clock above my stereo which had bloody numbers displaying 11:59 p.m. I rolled my eyes in disgust and mumbled incessantly. I had forgotten to grab my laundry from the wash house next door. It was well lit at night and generally safe for both genders. It also had video cameras and secured access for resident’s safety.

I crossed the pavement beneath the moon’s silver glow and entered the wash house. The fluorescent lights held steady and wan in the small room and the scent of fabric softener rolled over me in a wave. Shoving my shirts into a cheap plastic linen basket, I stood erect, arms wrapped casually around the basket. I started as someone else entered the room. The hairs of my neck stood on end. “Man’s primitive instinct responding to danger,” I suppose my biology professor would say. Julie stood half in the shadows of the doorway and the other half clutching a laundry basket filled with linens.

“Ms. Steward,” I exclaimed addressing her. The radiant female figure I had so coveted this past year was a few feet beyond my reach, tending to her own apparel.

“Walter, isn’t it? I thought I recognized you.” Her voice was as ambrosia to a God; a melody fit for an Emperor. Her face, however, hung a bit slack as if she was overtired. No matter though, now was my chance to say something keen and witty, but all that came out was “Great night, huh?”

She smiled, flashing her teeth momentarily, enough for me to get a glance of her pink tongue. My attention drew back to her body for a time lingering on her flushed chest. A small scar was tracing up from her cleavage towards her neckline, tapering off towards her right shoulder to disappear beneath her shirt collar. The scar looked fresh and angry, but lacked the normal reddish hue that would accompany such a wound. Julie caught my puzzled expression.

“Oh, this thing?” she grinned without care. “Just a small accident I had while biking last year. I stitched it up myself.” Julie made a gesture to hide the scar by moving the shirt collar closer to her neckline, but it failed and the material snapped back. She shrugged with no shred of embarrassment.

Julie’s smile returned. “Well, I really should tend to my laundry a bit more, but I have some time tonight to socialize. What about you Walter?”

This was my chance, and I tried hard not to screw it up. “I’ve got some time tonight, not doing anything right now, and I could use a break from the monotony of my place.” I put on a good smile and worked to hide my blush as my pulse drummed to a marching band.

“Care to come up for coffee? I’m just finishing Children of the Corn.”

“Oh, I love that one, and was just watching the movie a few minutes ago. I’d love to stop over. Is 5minutes okay?”

“Sure, Walter, that’ll give me just enough time to prepare.”

Julie giggled and soon left me standing alone in the washroom. I took a quick look around just to make sure I had not left my belongings behind and my eyes dropped to the drain tile in the floor. A light red stain remained from the last bit of laundry; mascara perhaps?

Flaunting a stupid teenager grin, I walked double time back to my place, shaking my head at my dumb luck. She had used the word “prepare,” which excited my imagination more. This could be a night I’d never forget...

I hurried, dropping the linen basket on the floor and checking my appearance in the mirror. “All set,” I uttered to my reflection gleefully and looked at my watch. I showed up half a minute late, just right I thought, so as not to appear over eager to be there. My stomach knotted and growled, lightly warning me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. All in good time, I figured.

Her door opened, revealing her buxom figure swathed in a thin blue blouse and a darkly shaded skirt around mid-thigh.

“Hey, are you ready?” I asked stupidly, not knowing what else to start with.

“Oh, I’m all prepared Walter” her grin ate up my vision and the redness of her gums drew my attention more than usual.

I entered her studio and took in the surrounding kitchenette, dining area and living room. A great wide screen television cloaked the far wall opposite a concealed bay window, which must have faced my apartment. I turned back to the screen and caught the movie at the point where the boyfriend abandons his girlfriend in their car while she is surrounded by the crazed teenagers.

“Have a seat in front of the television, I’ll grab some snacks. Do you like wine?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Is Merlot okay?”

“Certainly.”

“Excellent!” she said grinning and went through her pantry. I noticed her walls weren’t well lit and some old hues specked the paint here and there, but nothing I could quite pinpoint. I heard glasses clinking for a moment and then a subtle swish of liquid. Relaxing, I sank back into a leather loveseat and allowed myself to become enthralled with the movie.

“Here we are,” a glass of purple wine was set before me.

“To new friendships.”

She raised her glass in salute and toasted mine. The brown curls of her hair had been combed back behind her ears, but they slipped over and forward as she leaned over. A sweet whiff of her perfume tantalized my senses and I felt my tension drifting away. Melded with the perfume was a slight musky odor that was out of place and nearly repugnant. But as soon as it was there, the scent left to be masked by her opiate perfume.

I drank deeply of my wine and relished the warmth it gave me as it hit my empty stomach. Thinking of food, I noticed there were no snacks to be had as she had suggested. Brazenly, I asked her about the snacks to which she replied:

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have any need for snacks tonight, Walter.” Her tongue ran over her lips slowly, savoring the remnant of Merlot upon them. Hungrily, her eyes glowed with an inner fire, obviously augmented by the wine and my empty stomach.

“How do you feel, Walter?” She asked with a grin that bespoke less concern and more impatience. Confused, I lifted my arms to shrug and was shocked that my shoulders would hardly respond.

“How are you feeling?” Julie asked between sips of Merlot.

“Numb and fuzzy -- and I can hardly move my limbs. It must be my empty stomach and the wine.” I grinned in embarrassment.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not the wine, that’s the drug I put in your wine to relax your muscles to induce a comatose state.”

I must have looked confused because she continued.

“I need your body, but not in a way you’ll like.” She rubbed her eyes which seemed to sag a little beneath her brow. “I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere,” she giggled.

I was frozen and numb now. The heat made me feel flushed while I slowly drifted back onto the loveseat with eyes wide open, unable to blink. The dryness was horrid at first, but then the sight of Julie dragging a long plastic tarp into the room along with an extension cord chilled me as she proceeded to lay the tarp on the floor.

“Don’t want to leave permanent stains, they might just take that out of my security deposit,” she said dryly.

The extension cord was plugged in opposite the couch and I could hear the thump of my heart play a new tempo in my ears now. Stars were at the perimeter of my vision and my toes were tingling. Julie stopped and straightened herself. Yes, her face had begun to sag a bit. In fact, her eyes stayed perky while the skin beneath mashed in towards her nose, leaving dark boney pits below them.

She smiled, revealing those too-red gums and teeth that were spaced rather unevenly. She coughed, spitting up a little red phlegm which vanished under her tongue’s ministrations. She continued her task without speaking, merely grunting and sniffling ever so often with mucus-ridden overtones.

I made the effort to say, “What are you going to do with me?” but that cliché never came from my numbed face and mouth. The coldness had given way to tingling and nothing but that cold numbness which allowed little sensation to permeate me.

 Julie, or the thing that had been Julie, turned and looked me in the eyes, sputtering, “Such beautiful skin, you’ll do nicely,” followed with more gobs of bloody phlegm from her ruby gums. She produced a rusted turkey knife with a motorized handle.

“Oh, don’t look at me that way, Walter, everyone has to eat now and then. Your face is saying No, but your body is saying Yes to me.” She giggled and choked on something meaty before continuing. “You humans have always had a special place in my belly for your variety and spice of life.

“Your friend Julie was a bit sour however and she struggled a bit too much.” A slim finger ran over the scar upon her chest with a sagacious look. “I find your skins to be more comfortable than other mammalian or reptilian ones and the vocal chords are correctly adjusted to meet my needs. You see, Walter, I am but one of many “Others” who still exist beyond your mortal visions. No, we are neither gods nor demons, but something else you could not pronounce.” Faux concern depressed her countenance and she hacked up another fleshy particle. “Oh no, Walter, don’t fear for your race, just fear for yourself. I was tasked with finding a species that was a perfect fit for us, but now that I found out how easy it is to live amongst you, I just might keep you all to myself.”

“This won’t hurt…too much.” The grin widened and her throat convulsed in its pulpy existence while she, no, it laughed! It started with my arms and then continued to my feet, removing the skin with that rusted knife with professional ease. Lastly, before my heart gave out, she lifted my arm and began to tear away the skin. Before the light faded from my eyes, she said “…it just wasn’t the proper fit, but I’m sure he’ll do nicely.”

The lights flickered oddly again in the 3rd floor apt. building.

*

Trevor Donaldson makes his debut here at SNM and steals SOTM! Trevor is a Book Dealer from Wisconsin, specializing in Sci-Fi, Horror and Fantasy. He holds a Bachelors Degree in Business Management. When he is not running hs hook dept. in Green Bay, Wisconsin, he travels to libraries and estate sales buying antique books for his business as well as his personal collection. He is currently finishing his novella entitled Derelict. If you have a book to sell and will be in the area, please contact him to set up a visit. Check out his website and his bookstore:

www.donaldsonbooks.net

Trevor Donaldson