Whispers - Volume 3: A Third Collection, page 3
"Fools rush in. That's us." Richard half-smiled. A chill stroked his spine. He couldn’t shake the feeling that iced his soul. He tugged at his blond hair, fear spiking at his nerves.
Both men stood still, looking at the house. Thomas took a step forward. The fence didn’t have a gate; the gap between the iron spikes enticed both men, welcoming them to the house beyond. They glanced at one another.
Thomas chuckled. "After you."
"Yeah, go fuck yourself," Richard laughed. They both chuckled and took a step back from the fence. Thomas also felt the icy grip on his veins. The house seemed abnormally isolated. The breeze stirred the tall grass around the house. It filled the air with uneasiness.
Richard shivered. "Do you hear that? Sounds like people talking or whispering."
"That's where the resort got its name. Not just from the house but the grass and trees. When it’s windy, you can hear the whispers of Nature. Some people claim it's the souls of the dead. I think it’s bullshit, personally, but whatever brings in an audience." Thomas breathed in and looked back at the lake. "Shall we?"
"Let me call Harold first." He checked his watch. 11:22. "Where is he?"
"I reckon the wife wouldn’t let him out. Called it." Thomas made a basketball shot motion in the air.
"You didn’t call it. Well, kind of, but Harold would've phoned us if that were the case."
"Bullshit. The guy's under the thumb, pussy-whipped. That woman ruins his life."
"I'll call him anyway." Richard tapped the HAROLD entry on his phone. After a second, the relay connected the devices and the phone started ringing. "Still have signal. Not much of a horror –"
A phone chirped in the grass behind Thomas. It made the obese man jump, spin and step back a few paces. Richard spun around. They recognised the tune. It was the signature theme from Game of Thrones.
Harold's ringtone.
Richard stepped past Thomas and bent down to the grass. Neither man spoke.
A mobile phone, the blue light illuminating the grass around it, was vibrating. Richard reached down and picked it up. On the display, it read: RICHARD. He hung up. THREE MISSED CALLS replaced his name. He gulped.
"What is it?" Thomas asked, edging closer.
"Harold's phone."
Both men stood silently. Richard looked at the foreboding house opposite. The air seemed deathly silent. Thomas looked at the ground, as if searching his mind's eye for some clue. Richard turned to his friend. "Did he tell you he was getting here early?"
"Nope. Didn’t say a thing."
"He didn’t tell me either." Richard studied the phone, expecting answers to form but none came. He gazed at the house again. "Do you think he went in there?" He pointed with Harold's discarded phone.
His obese friend nodded. "Maybe. You know he loves this sort of shit."
"This doesn’t feel right. Maybe we should call the police."
"No point. He hasn’t been missing long enough to become a missing person. I say we go find him first."
"You still want to go in there?" Richard said, appalled.
"Fuck, yeah. It's only a spooky house. Who'd be living in it? A tramp? An old woman? The scariest thing about them will be the ancient piss stains. We can take them."
"So should I call the police?"
"Like I said, it wouldn’t help. He's probably in there now, laughing at us being all chickenshit and lame." Thomas started for the house. "Call them if you want but nothing will happen."
Richard listened and pocketed his phone. "Okay, let's do this."
Both men walked through the hole in the fence, trampling the knee-high grass, and started for the door. Thomas went first; the steps creaked beneath his weight. The wood held but bent slightly as they moved forward.
The front door was coated in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs. However, the handle was shiny. Recently used. Richard noticed and pointed. "Door’s been used recently. I hope it's a good sign."
Thomas gripped the handle and twisted. The door opened with a loud groan, and a dank, musky smell hit both men. They recoiled. Richard covered his mouth with his forearm. "Shit, that stinks."
Thomas chuckled and pushed the door open. The hinges creaked as the weight of the door took it back into the room. It came to rest on an unseen obstruction. Thomas stepped over the threshold. Richard followed cautiously.
They were in a wide foyer. The room before them opened up into a vast welcoming area. Old, withered floral carpet covered the floor, its colour faded with age. A huge leather couch stood off to the left, its black leather silver with dust and grime and creased through neglect. A single set of stairs stood right of their position. The stairs rose into the darkest recesses of the house, angling left and across the room. White sheets covered most of the furniture. A black substance was slathered all over them.
"Wow.” Richard tiptoed forward. "This place is huge."
"Not to mention a mess," Thomas uttered, his breathing coming in short, wheezy breaths.
"Waste of a house if you ask me." Richard paused, listening. He heard nothing.
Thomas ambled across the carpet. It crunched beneath his feet. He stepped back, puzzled. "This doesn’t sound good."
"What?"
"Crunchy carpet."
"Probably the dust and age. Things dry up over time."
Silence filled the room. Thomas chuckled. Richard noticed and frowned. "What?"
"Don’t know … I feel I missed a grand opportunity for a vagina joke…"
Richard rolled his eyes. "Nice." He stepped towards the center of the room and frowned. He gazed up the stairs. Darkness filled the void above. "Still want to do this?"
"No … but Harold is here. We need to find him." Thomas rubbed his face. "The faster the better."
"True, that."
Richard breathed slowly. He tucked his hair behind his ears again. He looked at his friend and smiled. "Be prepared to run."
The obese man frowned. "Why, what are you –"
"Harold, you in here?"
The shout shattered the silence and echoed around the empty house. Thomas flinched and leaned back against the wall, almost toppling onto the leather couch. Richard simply smiled and waited for a response. Thomas spat, "Don’t you ever do that again. Cunt!"
The blond-haired man stepped to the foot of the stairs and looked up. No noise, no sounds came from the house. He stepped over to Thomas and patted him on the back. "You okay? Sorry if I frightened you."
"It's okay. I'm due a heart attack, might as well be you that gives it to me."
"Don’t say that. It wasn't that loud."
Thomas laughed. "Banshees are quieter than that."
Both men looked at one another. The look was mutual. What the hell are we doing here?
"So what brings you gentlemen to my humble abode?"
Richard and Thomas spun around at the sound of the new voice.
A female voice.
At first, they didn’t see her. She emerged from behind a wall, the movement attracting their eye to the top of the stairs. After a second or so, it wasn’t just the movement catching their eye.
The woman was completely naked. Long, honey-blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, billowing slightly behind her. Her pert breasts were part of an amazingly sculptured body. Flat stomach, toned arms, smooth thighs. The downy hair between her legs was slight, nearly non-existent. Her dark nipples were erect and her hands were roaming across her cleavage, stroking gently.
Her lips were plump and perfect. Blow job lips, thought Richard. He felt himself growing hard at the thought, at the sight of this beautiful creature, his body betraying him. The long locks of honey covered her left eye. The lips smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. Her tongue slithered out, licking her glistening lips, toying with the men before her. Her wondrous ocean-coloured eyes were enough to entice even the toughest of men.
"Erm … have you seen our friend?" Thomas groaned as the dumb question left his lips.
The woman grinned and took another step. Her pubic region vanished behind the bannister. "Your friend? I don’t recall. What does he look like?"
Thomas looked at Richard.
This doesn’t feel right.
His friend nodded. In all the houses of all the countries he'd been to, no woman had ever approached him naked. Not once. He didn’t even get this much action in his own bedroom. Richard checked his phone. He still had signal.
Thomas noticed and sighed gently. They both turned to the woman on the stairs. "Erm … grey hair, skinny, wears glasses. Married; so has that forlorn look about him." Richard nudged Thomas, who objected. "What, don't disagree. He looks like a cat shit in his shoes." Richard smiled at the retort.
"Yes, I've seen him." The woman walked down two more steps. She flicked her hair with her left hand and sighed. "Let's just say we had … some fun."
Richard was surprised to feel a surge of jealousy and anger shoot through him. "What do you mean, fun?"
"He fucked my brains out. An aggressive lover. All the signs of a married man."
"You’re shitting me," Thomas gasped, not believing the woman's story. Richard glanced at his friend. His erection was obvious beneath his trousers. It stuck up awkwardly, butting against his overhanging stomach. Richard looked away, cringing.
"You're next … Thomas."
Richard looked at the woman, not believing what he was hearing. He took a step forward, concern etched on his face. "Where's our friend?"
"He's around."
"What do you mean, around?"
"What are you blind? Look around."
Richard gulped. His eyes roamed the room, his head raising to the walls. Thomas stood up and shuffled forward, his eyes locked on the woman.
Richard screamed.
Inches from the high ceiling, Harold's head, decapitated, ravaged and skinned, was impaled on a board on the wall, its skin peeled, leaving behind the slick, shiny muscle and red-raw sinew beneath it. His scalp was still intact, his glasses placed back on his face. A stub of white, bloody bone pointed to the ground, protruding through the shredded skin and trailing tendons of his neck. Blood had begun oozing down the board, leaving a dark stain on the wall. Harold's last emotion was one of pain and suffering, his face skewed into one of absolute agony.
Richard vomited on the floor. In the background, Thomas shuffled closer to the woman, ignoring the corpse formerly known as his best friend. He reached the foot of the stairs. The woman came to meet him slowly. Richard straightened up, wiping his mouth. He spun around. "No. Thomas, Thomas!"
The woman glanced in his direction and laughed. "What's wrong? Jealous of your fat friend getting all the attention for once?" She reached Thomas and lowered a hand, cupping his bulging crotch. Thomas groaned; his breathing labored as he closed his eyes. She gripped him, pulling him towards her. The woman shot a look of disdain at Richard and guided Thomas's hand between her legs. "Now, Thomas, be gentle with me. Your friend there nearly tore me a new one if you know what I mean."
Richard was about to object to the action. He didn’t, seeing as Thomas was lost in the moment, keeping her distracted. He glanced around the room, thinking on his feet.
What can I do?
Thomas groaned again, lost in unfamiliar lust and emotion. He could feel his penis throbbing beneath his trousers as his fingers slid into her warm, hot sex. The woman licked her lips and closed her legs, groaning as his digits slipped inside her. Her eyes closed as she began thrusting against his hand. Thomas shuddered and moaned as he reached a premature orgasm. The woman smiled, leaning in close, breathing hot breath into his ear. Her gaze flicked to Richard and she smiled seductively. "Never mind, darling, there's plenty more where that came from."
Her hand unzipped his fly expertly. The blonde woman moved her face past Thomas, her lips inches from his, and dropped to her knees. Within seconds, her lips slid down his erect shaft. She pulled away and smiled. "You taste good … creamy."
Richard turned his head, groaning in disgust.
Thomas's grunting became more feverish.
"How about you bend me over and fuck me?" Richard turned back to the sex show and started walking towards the couple. Thomas was already pushing his trousers down, exposing his doughy, pale legs and slimy, engorged penis. Richard looked at his friend and then the woman. The look in her eyes was strange, alien.
Eerie.
She winked.
Then, she lunged forward and bit a chunk out of Thomas's neck. A dull squelching filled the air as blood spurted in several directions. A few spatters landed on the carpet before Richard, who backed off in shock. Thomas howled in pain before his jugular was severed, reducing the howl to a mere, damp whine. The man fumbled and fell to his knees. The strange woman stood proud, blood oozing and dripping from between her pink, foaming teeth. A chunk of viscera was hanging from her lips, wobbling against her crimson chin. She wiped her face with her forearm and diverted her gaze to Richard.
Richard wobbled, edging towards the door. His eyes locked onto hers.
She chuckled and glanced upwards. As her head fell level, her gaze serious, the laugh gone from her blood-soaked mouth, she breathed in and narrowed her eyes. "Yum."
Thomas's dying body fell forward, his blood spattering loudly on the floor. His heavy weight sent him rolling to the side, until his body came to rest against the sofa. Richard saw the black patterns on the white sheets and looked up at Harold's mutilated corpse.
A black substance.
Dried blood.
Richard felt vomit rising in his throat again.
It took all of Richard's willpower to glance in her direction.
"I'm sorry for your loss … or losses…" The woman strode sideways, keeping her distance. Her tongue was lapping at the smeared blood on her lips. Her right hand was teasing her pubic region, smearing crimson over her tanned skin.
Richard felt a bulge in his pants. There was something about the woman, something enticing … he'd read about the succubus in books before and knew they didn’t exist.
Or did they?
Of course not. It's in your head. Beautiful women have that effect on men.
Richard sniffed and stood up, braving the terror before him. The stench of death and copper was strong in the air. As the woman sidled away, he did the same, keeping the distance level. "Why … why did you do this?"
"Because I can," she said. The woman chuckled. "I'm sick of men leering at me. I came to Lake Whisper to escape the perversion of the modern man. It seems there is no escape. Last year, a man photographed me naked whilst sunbathing. Got a great shot of my cunt, my legs spread wide. You know how violating that is? A woman shouldn’t feel degraded like that. No man has a right to make a woman feel so insignificant. I mean, in hindsight, it all worked out. My husband cut his balls off with a straight razor and fed them to him, but it was then I realised I could use my … talent for good. To stop the perverted, the supposedly entitled, and make the world a slightly better place."
"You're sick."
"No, I'm normal. Men are sick. Thinking with their dicks and throwing money at anything that moves or sucks cock. Society has made men powerful for all the wrong reasons. I'm not standing for it anymore."
Richard backed up a step. The woman slid a finger inside her and moaned, shuddering slightly. "I need you to finish me off … fuck me, make me cum. Can you do that?"
In another place, another scenario, Richard would have jumped at the chance. The woman was beautiful, stunning, and perfect. She could easily have graced the cover of Vogue. Except for the bloodstains. Even now, despite the carnage, Richard felt a warm surge in his groin.
"You killed my friends."
"I fucked them. Turnabout is fair play, don’t you agree?"
A huge wave of nausea threatened to topple Richard. He closed his eyes for a second, breathed in, and ran for the door. The woman chuckled once more.
He reached the door. The woman sat down and watched him go. "There is no escape."
Richard expected the door to slam in his face. It didn’t. He reached for his phone and spun, keeping an eye on the woman. She was straddling Thomas, her tongue licking his bloody skin. Crimson glistened on her face and chest, her blonde hair matting to the mess. Rivulets ran between her breasts, finding their way to her stomach.
As he turned away, the woman reached between her legs and slid two bloody fingers inside her once more. She groaned and thrust against Thomas's mutilated corpse.
Richard ambled out into the open air and missed the steps, falling head first onto the ground below. He hit the dirt with a thud; dust and dry grass shot up, leaves rustled and lifted on the air. He put his hands out to break his fall. He was only partially successful. His phone bounced away, into the brush.
Richard groaned, spat dirt from his mouth and stood up. He patted himself down. Looking at the house, the door had closed.
Thomas was inside.
So was Harold. Both dead.
With the woman. That … he had no words to describe what he'd just seen. Richard looked around for his phone. "Oh shit." He started sweeping the brush aside.
A shovel smacked him in the side of the face.
A comedic clang echoed across Lake Whisper as the man collapsed to the ground. He groaned, slumping on his back. He felt his consciousness slip away. As he did, he made out shapes of people surrounding him. A dozen of them. Amongst them was Penny, the waitress, and the chef who didn’t cook food.
They were staring at him, watching him.
No smiles and no friendliness. Richard felt his scrotum shrivel in fear.
The chef bent down and smiled. "Sorry, buddy. It's you or us and … well … you don’t belong here." He grabbed the dazed man by the arm as the others stepped forward to help. They began dragging him to the house. As they bumped up the creaky steps, Richard lost consciousness.
Richard awoke. His head pounded and made him wretch. Several sensations hit him at once.
The copper taste on his lips.
The vomit tang on his tongue.
