No wonder I haven't seen any boys in town, Ann came to the bizarre conclusion. Ann came to the bizarre conclusion. Their mothers put them all up for adoption. Their mothers put them all up for adoption.

Chapter 24.

Scierors tied the figures down, laying open abdomens in single swipes. The helots still twitched as their organs were systematically removed. Heads were lopped off with great machetelike blades which whirred in the firelight. Genitals were sliced off groins. Some were thrown onto the fire whole, others were filleted first, the choice meats added to the boiling chettles of blood. Females, fattened for weeks on corn mash, were hauled screaming from the pens. Wreccans expertly flensed them alive as they thrashed, peeling off sheets of skin...

Erik shivered in the dark. These weren't just visions, they were memories. They were the feks he'd watched in his past. And he'd seen it all again, in his mind, the instant he'd stepped back into the cirice.

He'd been lucky. Zack's pickax had nailed his hand to the door. He'd reached the shotgun in time; fortunately, there'd been a round in the chamber. Zack's knife had flashed. Just as it would've sunk hilt-deep into his solar plexus, Erik had squeezed the trigger. The 12-gauge blast knocked a hole into Zack's chest, blowing him six feet across the room.

Gunsmoke rose, and a static silence. Erik dislodged the pick from his hand, bandaged himself, and entered the cirice.

Its darkness greeted him like an old friend, and its smell. The smell was always the same, like pork roast. The heat lingered in the air; embers still glowed from the great cooking pit.

The memories held him in numb stasis. He panned the flashlight through the nave, more pieces of his grim past. The chettles, the irons, carving knives, stokers, and the stone dolmen. Blood streaked the cinder-block wall, where they'd decapitated countless husls, and there were the iron hooks, from which they'd been hung upside down. Erik stared at all this for a length of time he could not determine. Last, he found himself gazing upon the back wall of the nave, at the uneven double-orbed sheet of gray stone, the- "Night-mirror," he muttered.

Leave, he thought. he thought. Leave this evil place and never come back. Leave this evil place and never come back. But he couldn't do that, he knew he couldn't. Who else would stop them? But he couldn't do that, he knew he couldn't. Who else would stop them? There's only me, There's only me, he realized. he realized.

Suddenly, he felt engulfed in rage. He broke, throwing things. He cleared the racks of utensils, kicked over the candelabra. The smaller chettles he picked up and threw, cracking them. The larger ones he could only tip over. Next, he grabbed a sledgehammer-which they used for cracking open heads-and attacked the dolmen with it. He banged and banged, but the thick granite wouldn't break. With two-by-fours, then, he managed to lever the slab itself off its seat and slide it off the twin plinths. His rage roiled, carried him, and next he was slamming the sledgehammer against the face of the nihtmir. He slammed at it for minutes, almost mindlessly. When he stopped and looked at the slight damage he'd done, he thought: No, no, not No, no, not good enough. But- good enough. But- Of course. The maintenance shed, outside. Lawn equipment and... Gas, Gas, he thought. he thought.

He dashed back outside, around the side of the church. He was giddy with excitement. What a perfect way to announce his homecoming: burning the entire church to the ground. The studs in the bas.e.m.e.nt would carry to the ceiling, then everything would go. He rummaged through the shed where they kept the mowers, and there it was, shiny red. A five-gallon gas can. It was almost full.

The pinkened moon followed him back to the stairs. It made him feel watched. Protect me, G.o.d, protect me, Protect me, G.o.d, protect me, he thought, or prayed. When he was back in the cirice, he looked for the best way. he thought, or prayed. When he was back in the cirice, he looked for the best way. Yeah, perfect, Yeah, perfect, he thought. A full cord of wood lay neatly stacked against one wall. It would catch the studs, leading the flame to the wood rafters above. By the time the fire truck got here, the whole church would be in flames. he thought. A full cord of wood lay neatly stacked against one wall. It would catch the studs, leading the flame to the wood rafters above. By the time the fire truck got here, the whole church would be in flames.

He unscrewed the cap, was about to douse the pile of wood with gas, when he stopped. Had he heard something? No, he felt felt something. He felt... something. He felt...

He set the can down, turned. Erik, Erik, Erik, Erik, he heard, but not in his ears, in his head. He stepped forward. Now a faint glow seemed to rise in the cirice, from the nave. Light like mist, like luminous fog. The fog seemed pink... he heard, but not in his ears, in his head. He stepped forward. Now a faint glow seemed to rise in the cirice, from the nave. Light like mist, like luminous fog. The fog seemed pink...

Erik. Brygorwreccan. Come.

"No," he croaked in his ruined voice.

He was standing before the nihtmir. Its dead gray stone seemed to glow. Yes, he could see it, could see into into it. it.

Something moved there, in the pinkened depths.

A face. A- Her face, he thought, staring. he thought, staring.

He couldn't take his eyes away.

Protect me, G.o.d. Protect me.

The face smiled at him, a great maw jammed with teeth.

h.e.l.lo, Erik, it said. it said.

The smile lengthened, drawing up.

Erik screamed. He ran out of the cirice, up the stairs, and into the woods, his fear propelling him like a missile, away, away from that hideous unholy visage.

He lay awake now in the front seat of the van. He was staring up through the trees at the moon. The moon was pink. "Protect me, G.o.d," he whispered. "Protect me." But in his desperate prayer, he didn't see G.o.d. All he saw was the perverse pinkish moon, and suffused in its sphere, the memory of her horrid face remained. Grinning at him.

Chapter 25.

It was a dream. Of course it was.

It had had to be. to be.

Milly was unwrapping her warm legs from Ann's face. Ann had no breath. "That wasn't bad," Milly said. "You're learning."

Milly's naked body shined pale white in the lamplight. Excitement filled her nipples. Ann sat up, wiped her mouth off on her wrist. Where am I? Where am I? she thought. She was sitting on a carpet. When she looked up, she gasped. She saw a bed, but why was she on the floor? Then she heard grim, steady beeping. This wasn't Milly's room at all. It was her father's. she thought. She was sitting on a carpet. When she looked up, she gasped. She saw a bed, but why was she on the floor? Then she heard grim, steady beeping. This wasn't Milly's room at all. It was her father's.

"Let's see if I can find it," Milly said. She was bending over one of the dresser drawers, looking for something.

But Ann was aghast. Her father's pallid form lay still in the bed, his face sunken. Needles jammed in his arm led up to inverted IV bottles on wheeled stands. Suddenly, his old mouth popped open, and he groaned.

"You seemed to like the black one a lot last night," Milly was commenting. Was that a bottle of milk on the dresser? "Ah, here it is. I think you'll like this one even more."

Ann wanted to scream when she saw what Milly was talking about. From the drawer, the nude nurse had extracted another strap-on phallus. But this one was flesh-colored, longer, and much thicker. Milly was on her knees now, calm as she strapped the grotesque apparatus onto her hips. She turned, still kneeling. The rubber p.r.o.ng pointed at Ann. "Suck it awhile," Milly said. "Pretend it's a real c.o.c.k, and suck it."

Ann felt shrinking. Her will tore like frayed fabric. She was repulsed, but she could not disobey.

As instructed, she commenced. Milly t.i.ttered. She leaned her groin forward, hands on hips, grinning. "That's it, that's a good little c.o.c.ksucker."

Ann, eyes squeezed shut, could barely get it in her mouth. She could feel the hideous molded veins. Against her tongue she could feel the hole centered in the bulblike glans.

"This one's got b.a.l.l.s too," Milly said.

Ann remembered the molded rubber t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es of last night's phallus. This one, though, was different. She brought her hand beneath it and felt a rubber bag of some kind, filled with some warm fluid. Then she saw the rest, a tube leading out, attached to a rubber squeezeball, a pump.

"Keep sucking," Milly ordered. "Suck me like you do Martin." She was sighing now, as though she really felt something. Ann was mortified, at Milly, and at herself for doing this. Why couldn't she stop, get up, leave?

"Yeah, I wish I had a real c.o.c.k," Milly was saying, "just for tonight. A great big long real real c.o.c.k to f.u.c.k you with, to come all over your face with." c.o.c.k to f.u.c.k you with, to come all over your face with."

Ann tried to perform her task more intently, for she knew when Milly tired of this, she'd want to put the monstrous thing somewhere else.

"Almost real, huh?" Milly was grinning. Then she pushed Ann's mouth off. "Hold still," she said. She began to stroke the rubber p.e.n.i.s in front of Ann's face.

"I-" Ann queried. "What are you-"

"Lean up." The odd pale pendant lay between Milly's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "I'm going to come in your face." Her other hand began to squeeze the rubber ball.

Ann flinched, closed her eyes. With each squeeze, the phallus squirted a jet of warm milk into Ann's face.

"There. You like that?"

Ann could not respond. More milk jetted from the artificial glans. One spurt went right into Ann's mouth. The rest ran down her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and legs.

Why is she doing this? Ann wondered in turmoil. Milk dribbled from her lips. Ann wondered in turmoil. Milk dribbled from her lips. Why can't I leave? Why can't I leave?

That was certain. The more she wanted to flee from this perverse masquerade, the more she knew she couldn't.

It's a dream, she a.s.sured herself. she a.s.sured herself. Just a dream. Just a dream.

"Hands and knees," Milly ordered.

"Milly, please. Don't-"

Milly slapped her face. "Just do it."

Milk dripped off Ann's nipples. She shut her eyes, humiliated. Milly knelt right up behind her and inserted the rubberized phallus into Ann's s.e.x.

She nearly yelped. The thing was huge, it bulged her. She almost fainted when she felt how deeply the prosthetic probed her. Her mind seemed like a jigsaw, throwing pieces. Part of her thought, Thank G.o.d Dad's unconscious, thank G.o.d he can't see this, Thank G.o.d Dad's unconscious, thank G.o.d he can't see this, while another part continued to rea.s.sure, while another part continued to rea.s.sure, Don't worry, it's just a dream. It's not real. Don't worry, it's just a dream. It's not real.

She gritted her teeth as the thing slid hugely in and out. Each thrust nudged the bulb of her cervix. "You like it, right?" Milly asked.

"Please, Milly, I-"

She slapped Ann's right b.u.t.tock hard as she could, like wet leather snapping. "Right?" she demanded.

"Yes, yes," Ann replied. The slap print buzzed on her rump. But a forbidden inkling drifted up. Part of her did did like it. like it.

"Close your eyes and look," Milly ordered next.

Ann didn't understand. "Wha-"

Milly grabbed the back of her hair, pushed Ann's face into the carpet.

"Look!"

Ann squeezed shut her eyes. Most of her mouth was pressed to the floor.

"Do you see?"

"See what?" what?" Ann m.u.f.fled. Ann m.u.f.fled.

"Her! Do you see her!" her!"

Ann didn't see anything but her own disgrace. Her hands and knees felt bolted to the floor.

"What have we here?" a voice asked from above. Maedeen walked in. She began taking off her clothes. "You're breaking her in well, sweoster. Mind if I join in?"

Milly chuckled, pumping steadily. Maedeen sat down right in front of Ann, spreading her legs. She too had one of the little pale pendants about her neck. It looked shapeless, a little stone. She pulled Ann's face to her crotch. "Eat it, yeah, that's right." Ann felt helpless; she lapped frantically at the musky flesh. She was crying, gasping for breath. "I f.u.c.ked your precious Martin the other night," Maedeen remarked. "Five or six times. I'll f.u.c.k him anytime I want. He's a good little peow. I'm already pregnant."

"Oh, Maedeen," Milly congratulated, grasping Ann's hips. "That's wonderful."

"And you know what he's doing now? Your precious Martin?" Milly laughed along with Maedeen. "He's watching your daughter take a shower through a hole in the wall. He's jerking off. But don't worry, he wouldn't dare touch her, he knows never to do that."

"Melanie's quite a beautiful girl, Ann," Milly added. "And she's a virgin."

"She's just what we need for the doefolmon."

Ann could make nothing of this madness. She brought her face up long enough to plead, "Why are you doing this to me?"

"We're initiating you," Milly said, thrusting deeper.

Maedeen fingered the pendant between her smallish, big-nippled b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "We're making you holy. For the doefolmon."

"Ready, Annie?" Milly asked. She pulled Ann's hips back, to effect maximum penetration. Ann squirmed; she felt skewered. "Come in her now," Maedeen said, and pushed Ann's face back down, and Milly was squeezing the rubber ball again, pumping. Ann felt the warm spurts of milk launch into her s.e.x. She whined in anguish.

The tiniest sigh of relief escaped her throat when Milly withdrew and began to take off the phallus. Thank G.o.d it's over... Thank G.o.d it's over... But then Maedeen said, "Now let's get her off." But then Maedeen said, "Now let's get her off."

Ann was flipped over on her back. She hissed through her teeth when two metal clips were quickly applied to her nipples; her back arched at the bitelike pain. Then Milly straddled her face and simultaneously gave the clips a twist. "Stick your tongue all the way in," she ordered. The pain at Ann's nipples soon began to radiate into something sharply pleasurable; her s.e.x began to drench. Just as she wondered how Maedeen would partic.i.p.ate, four fingers wriggling in her v.a.g.i.n.a answered the question. Then the shock of thought exploded-No!-when she realized what exactly was being done.

"I'll bet the little prude's never been fisted before," Milly said.

"Probably right. She's real tight."

Ann's bare heels thumped the floor as Maedeen slipped her whole hand in, and she gagged when the hand pulled into a fist within the confines of her v.a.g.i.n.al vault. Maedeen cooed as she pushed her hand deeper, and when she was in several inches past the wrist, she began to pull back and forth, all the while the fist gently revolving. The violation appalled Ann...but she came explosively, her disgust tremoring with the o.r.g.a.s.m.

"Feel good?" Milly unstraddled Ann's face, and when Maedeen withdrew her hand, Ann's entire body flinched. Suddenly, a groan sounded from above. In panic, Ann looked up. Her father, conscious now, was leaning out of the convalescent bed, his jaundiced eyes huge on the scene below. Ann shrieked. Her father's face looked like a bad wax mask. His withered finger shook, pointing down at her.

"That's right, peow," Milly said. "We're f.u.c.king your daughter..."

Ann's father was shaking, murmuring in bursts. Eventually, his twisted mouth formed words. "Guo the wifhands," he croaked. An IV line tore from his arm. "Guo the Fulluht-Loc..."

"Listen to him." Maedeen chuckled. "He can't even talk right anymore, the stupid helot."

"Uor mut go!"

Ann tried to get up, to go to him, but she couldn't move.

"He didn't really have a stroke, Ann," Maedeen said, licking her fingers. "Dr. Heyd gave him something to f.u.c.k up his brain."