Nightfall (*/F)

Warning: This story contains acts of violence. This does NOTinclude rape, painful torture, abuse or acts of sexual humiliation, nor is it included as part of any kind of sadistic or domination fantasy, nor is it glorified. It is only present if advancing the plot without it is impossible. The author absolutely does not condone acts of violence against women or towards anyone for that matter, unless, you know, they’re just really really asking for it like that guy who sat behind you at your kid’s little league game that was completely frickin’ obnoxious because his team was winning and wouldn’t shut up no matter how much you glared at him and then started calling your kid “Air Lardass” after he struck out and still wouldn’t take the hint and besides Billy is just husky, so it’s perfectly all right under those circumstances to just drive your elbow into his groin so hard his prostate shoots out his nose, and being banned for the rest of the season is completely overreacting, even if the guy did puke in the hot dog vendor’s tray, because vomit could only improve the overall nutrition, and don’t tell me there was actually fifty dollars worth of hot dogs in there you wiener-peddling Nazi.... oh, was that out loud? Anyway, to sum up: some violence, no condoning, prostate. Enjoy.


Nightfall
by Tarr2k

This is not where it begins. To think otherwise would be to deny the thousand tiny choices, the subtle Brownian motion of human behavior that influenced the chain of events that now arrived at this point. There was more here, much more, behind this moment, a centuries-long culmination of subtle influences that has nevertheless shaped reality like a bonsai gardener to arrive, not at the beginning, but at the now.
The radar gun clocked the speed at 93. State Trooper Mary Collway grinned despite herself as she flicked on her car's siren and took off after the little black sports car. She was still upset about the boyfriend she'd dumped three days ago after finding out he'd been hooking up with a waitress in Kansas City. The chance to pass a little misery on to someone else felt better than she'd normally have admitted. Fortunately the driver had the good sense to pull over; in her mood Mary would've enjoyed the excuse a little resistance would provide.
"License and registration," she asked as the driver rolled down her window. They were thrust in her face, the driver visibly anxious. "Do you know how fast you were going?" she asked to draw out the moment, glancing over the ID. "Shelly Smythe" was the name on the Connecticut license.
"I don't know," Shelly Smythe said quickly. "Please, just write me the ticket."
"The speed limit is 65," Mary continued. "You were nearly thirty over. That's unsafe, bordering on reckless."
"I'm sorry," Shelly said quickly. "I really need to get to Kansas City. I have to catch a plane."
"It's better to leave sooner than break the law," Mary said, continuing to draw out the moment. "You can't fly anywhere if you're dead."
"Please," Shelly said, half-pleading, half-ordering, "just write me the ticket."
"You seem anxious," Mary said, enjoying herself. The woman reminded her a bit of the slut her scum ex-boyfriend was with. "Is this car stolen?"
"It's a rental," Shelly said. "I have the receipt. Please, I really can't miss my flight."
"They can bump you to a later one," Mary said.
"No!" Shelly said forcefully. "I can't throw the schedule off. Please, just write me the ticket."
Mary stuffed the ID into her breast pocket. This lady was asking for it. "Step out of the vehicle," she said.
"Why?" Shelly asked, uncertain of what was going on.
"Have you been drinking, or are you on any type of medication?" Mary asked.
"That's ridiculous!" Shelly shouted. "I don't have time for-"
"Step out of the vehicle, ma'am," Mary repeated. "I want you to take a simple drunk driving test. If you comply you'll be on your way, but if you refuse I'm going to have to take you in on suspicion of DUI."
For a moment it looked like Shelly would take off, but finally she switched off the engine and got out of the car. She looked hastily put together, not at all what you'd expect from someone heading to the airport. She had on a tight pair of faded cut-offs and size-9 running shoes. Below the waist she had the appearance of the farmer's daughter with her exposed, tanned legs; yeah, she was probably a slut like the waitress. For some compromise to modesty she had an opened fall coat on top. Her smooth mid-riff was visible below a pink tube top that was clearly at its weight-tolerance limit. She was at least a DD-cup, and it was clear she wasn't wearing a bra underneath. Mary smiled inwardly; she was going to enjoy this.
"Step onto the white line," she ordered, "and walk along it for fifteen feet." Shelly quickly obeyed. "Now stand on the line and face me," she said. "Stretch out your arms to the sides, then touch your nose."
Again, Shelly did as she was told. "May I go now?" she asked.
"No," Mary said. "Keeping your feet on the line, do jumping jacks."
"What?!"
"All part of the test. Keep your feet on the line."
Shelly was visibly upset but she went along with it. Mary pretended to be watching her feet, but behind her sunglasses she was watching for the inevitable. Mary was a buxom woman herself and knew from experience what would happen. Sure enough, the bouncing was too much; her massive right boob slipped out the bottom of the tube top, soon followed by the left one as the fabric slackened. Shelly stumbled off the line as she quickly tried to stop and tuck herself back into her top. Mary already had her handcuffs out. "Okay, I'm going to have to bring you in on suspicion of DUI." Immediately Shelly began to protest. "You've failed the test. We'll need to take you down to the office to do a complete check. If you're clean you'll be on your way."
"Please!" Shelly begged, "I have to catch my plane!"
Mary was just about to put on the cuff, then stopped. Okay, she told herself, you’ve had your fun and gotten that out of your system for the moment. No sense tormenting the poor girl any further. She probably wasn't going to speed any time in the near future either, she thought with an inward grin.
The break-up had been harder on Mary than she would ever have admitted even to herself; if it hadn’t she’d never have missed what was going on. The woman tensed, then struck Mary in the chest. During the moment she was off balance Shelly pulled her gun off of her. Mary held her hands up as Shelly slowly backed away, shaking with agitation. "I need to catch my plane!" she said with a choke of desperation.
"I understand," Mary said. "But before you do anything, think carefully about the consequences." The hand steadied and was pointed right at the center of Mary's chest. "I don't think you want to do that," Mary said. "You'd be throwing your life away."
"Life?" Shelly said with a half-sob. "You call this a life?! I had one chance, don't you see! You destroyed any hope I'd ever have of a life!" She took a deep breath, but Mary could see the look in her eye. The woman was more than desperate; she was backed into a corner with no way out, but who knew deep down that no matter what the peril, she just wasn’t a killer.
“There’s still a way out of this,” Mary said calmly.
“Not any more!” she sobbed. “Thanks to you, there’s no way out!” Her jaw was trembling, the gun shaking in her grip, but Mary couldn’t take the chance of trying to jump her. "Maybe I should let you find out what it's like."
"Shelly-"
"I just hope you're ticklish," Shelly said. Then she put the gun under her chin before Mary could react.

Mary stirred a cold cup of coffee back in the sheriff's office. She couldn't bring herself to do anything but think about what she had done. It was just supposed to be some harmless fun, she thought, unable to escape her guilt. She straightened a little as Sheriff Loeb sat down across from her. "The girl was messed up," he said after a few seconds. "Friends and family said she started going crazy back in June when she hit a pedestrian that had jumped in front of her car. Cut herself off from everyone, starting making weird purchases... two days ago she maxed out her credit cards and took out a loan against her car title buying plane tickets. She's booked enough travel to go around the world." He shook his head. "It wasn't your fault."
"It was my gun," Mary said.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "We'll cover you. You did the right thing." She couldn't look at him. "Why don't you head home early. Get some sleep, try not to think about it."

"That was Misplaced My Love by Young Virile Teens, and you know they are," the radio automaton said. "It's 6:58 on a beautiful Friday night. Temperature in KC is a comfortable 68 degrees just before sunset. Enjoy it while you can folks because tomorrow is Daylight Savings and the days are going to be getting shorter, but I don't care because I'm here to rock the night away on-"
Mary turned off the radio, pulling her robe closed a little tighter to keep the chill out. The bath had helped a little, but she still couldn't shake her depression. She sat on the edge of her bed, thinking about how something as innocent as a practical joke -which was how she viewed it- could turn into something like this. She watched the setting sun through her bedroom window, wondering if tomorrow would be any better.
Just as the disk slipped below the horizon she felt a passing wave of exhaustion. She fell backwards onto the bed. Before she could think about what had just happened she heard an odd noise... almost like a feminine giggling. She looked up and around the room, hearing it again from several directions. "Who's there?" she demanded.
"Hi Mary," came a collection of echoing deep feminine voices.
"I have a gun!" she lied. Her gun was evidence now, and she'd never thought to get a back-up weapon.
"Shelly can't play with us any more," they replied. There was a chuckle of agreement among the voices.
Suddenly Mary was picked up and dropped flat on her back on the bed. The robe tore as it was pulled from her body, the towel around her hair unraveling and flying out of the way. Her arms were pulled together straight up over her head; her legs were likewise pulled together in the opposite direction. She was stretched out almost to her limit, barely able to move, unable to do anything despite the fact there was clearly nothing there. She started struggling harder as she watched the shadows begin to move and slide off the walls towards her.
The voices continued, speaking out of sync with each other. "Are you ticklish?" they asked in their echoing voices crawling across the bed towards her. Mary screamed in terror as they approached, then...
Mary had been so terrified that at first she didn't register what was happening. It was like a handful of nails was suddenly digging into her outstretched armpits. After a few seconds she began twisting and yanking, trying to get away from the sensation, but it was inescapable and overwhelming. "Stop it," she said before descending into a sudden fit of giggles that transformed into laughter. The invisible fingers scraped all around the inside of the tiny hollows, then began tracing the outermost part of the armpit. Mary was in a fit as the finger started to slide further down, then slowly began on her ribs. It was terrible! Each rib was poked and squeezed in sequence, causing a squeal or laugh from her every time. "You're tickling me!" she screamed, as if stating the obvious would make it go away. It only seemed to encourage them. Fingers ran up and down her ribs as if they were the strings of a harp, but the only music was Mary's voice becoming a high-pitched gale of laughter. After several minutes of this she had a very brief respite, then felt the hands grab at the front and lower parts of her ribs. They must have had at least twenty fingers each as they prodded at her lower chest, moving around with each squeeze to catch a different part of the rib on the next grab and drive Mary further into hysterics. They were relentless as they systematically checked every exposed part of her ribcage, and every moment was agonizing.
Eventually the hands continued to move down her body. They squeezed at the sides of her stomach, then moved down an inch and squeezed again, and continued until Mary was sure she was going to pee. Just above the hips was one of her most ticklish areas, and her stomach was doing flips as they continued squeezing it.
"STOP!" she shouted during her laughter. "PLEEE-HEHEHEASE! NOT THERE!" Then her voice was lost among her deep laughter. The fingers continued, now working over her hips. She tried twisting them as best she could but was just as unable to get away as before.
And in an instant, it stopped. Mary was panting for breath, afraid of what was going to happen now. Half a minute passed, and then she heard the voices giggling again. "Are you ticklish?" they asked, apparently not paying attention to the past hour. Mary couldn't think of what would be safe to say, but it didn't matter once the tickling started again. This time it was brutal; every spot from her armpits to her hips was targeted by probing, stroking, prodding fingertips. She screamed and bucked and tried to get away, but she was helpless as they continued their tickle attack. Within moments she was begging them to stop; the same woman who earlier that day had forced someone to do jumping jacks for her own amusement. The irony that she was now something else's plaything wasn't lost on her.
All at once the tickling stopped and the hands released her. Mary didn't waste a second as she jumped out of bed and looked about for any sign of another tickle, but after about a minute she relaxed slightly. She reached up to run her fingers through her hair, only to find it wrapped in a towel. She looked down and saw that she was still wearing her robe, which showed no sign of the damage caused the night before. As she looked out the window she could see twilight, and she slipped into the front room and saw the sun just beginning to rise through the east window. It was morning.

Mary sat down on her sofa, trying to put things together. The most obvious answer was that it was all just a dream. After all, the night had passed, she was exactly as she had been the night before, and she wasn't the least bit tired. Nevertheless, she found that answer hard to accept. Sure she was guilty, but how could she have gone through that nightmare and not woken up even once? And the tickling had been so real, she couldn't imagine it just being part of a dream. But what other explanation was there? She was still thinking about it when she got into work that morning.
"Mary," Julie Byers, their weekend dispatcher, called to her. "Sheriff wanted me to let you know that ballistics backed up your story, so you're in the clear on the Smythe case."
"Thanks," Mary said absentmindedly. After last night's ordeal she'd forgotten all about the young woman. She started thinking about it some more, remembering the last thing she said, about Mary being ticklish. Maybe that's why she had the dream, she thought, to fulfill her subconscious need for punishment. She did her best to put it out of her mind as she went through her daily routine. When she got off work at five she'd already decided to just go home and veg in front of the TV for the night. She had Sunday off and there was no need to turn in early for once, and with the clocks going back an hour there was no reason not to just stay up and enjoy herself.
Mary showered and took care of a few necessities, then slipped on a pair of flannel pajamas. A small container of ice cream completed the ensemble as she curled up on the couch, experiencing her first Saturday night alone for some time but grateful that she could at least be herself for once. She flipped over to the Lady's Channel where Crying Inside was playing, then started enjoying her strawberry-kiwi.
The spoon and container slipped from her hand as she suddenly felt overwhelmed by exhaustion. She was about to reach down for them when a chill went up her spine. "Oh Maaaa-reeeee," came a familiar chorus of voices. She looked around and saw the shadows flowing off the wall towards her. She screamed and darted off the couch, but they surrounded her in the living room. She fell face first onto the soft carpet. Instantly she was pinned, and she couldn't budge an inch. She felt a set of hands slide up the sides of her legs, then tuck into the waistband of her pajamas. Slowly they were pulled down her body and off her feet, yet not once did Mary manage to find the grip weaken. "Let me go!" she cried as her legs were pulled open still on her stomach.
"Are you ticklish?" they asked. Before anything more was said Mary felt a set of nails on the small of her back. They slid slowly up and across her butt, causing Mary to begin struggling furiously. The gentle tracing around her cheeks gave her goose bumps, then they stopped.
Mary worked out alot, so her butt was firm and perfectly curved. All in all she was proud of her butt the way Marilyn Monroe was proud of her legs. As the fingernails dug into the fleshy shapes she wasn't thinking at all about how shapely it was, she was thinking of how ticklish it was. Her ex-boyfriend –who, if there were any justice in the cosmos, would rot in hell– appreciated her ass but she couldn't stand when he would playfully pinch it. It had always tickled her like crazy, and now with the swarm of hands prodding it she couldn't help screaming and trying to escape despite her every failure. "Not there, anywhere but there!" she cried as she struggled, succeeding only in wiggling her ass provocatively. The fingers pinched and squeezed until Mary thought she'd go insane, her laughter mere shrieks as her defenseless behind was tickled for what had to be an hour.
There was no letting up; instead the hands began to slide off the cheeks and down the backs of her legs. They pinched right below the cheeks for a little while, then began slowly sliding up and down the back of each perfectly straight leg. She'd never even known she was ticklish there, but after just a few seconds she was giggling like mad. "Please, hehehe, let me go," she pleaded. After a few minutes of this they continued moving down her leg and began scratching at the back of her knee, and the giggles turned into high-pitched laughter.
This IS a dream, she told herself while trying to ignore the sensations coming from her knees. If I was awake I'd have pissed myself by now, my jaw would hurt and my lungs would ache from laughing this hard, and most importantly of all it wouldn't keep tickling as bad as it had from the start. But if it was a dream she couldn't seem to wake herself up, and she couldn't ignore the ticklish torment any more as she felt the hands move down to the soles of her feet. What felt like dozens of fingernails scratched all over her soles. Her toes were pulled back and the base of each was being assaulted as well. She couldn't breathe she was laughing so out of control, but she couldn't pass out either. "NO MORE! A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" She felt hands back on her flanks again, and she was soon begging for whoever was tormenting her to stop.
Her feet were finally safe, but the intensity on her sides had made her all but forget that detail. The hands kneaded them like dough, and huge belly laughs escaped as she lost all control over herself. Even if the hands released her at that moment she was too weak to escape.
After what felt like a century the hands returned to her butt again, this time playfully stroking all around her cheeks, running fingers along her crack and pinching here and there. After the previous experience it was almost a relief, but Mary still couldn't help but laugh like crazy as her posterior received their unwelcome attention.
Gradually the hands were replaced with the whispery touch of feathers. This different sensation was no less of a torment as they stroked continually up and down between her cheeks and across their rounded peaks. Slowly she began realizing the direction where they were going, and Mary started struggling. Too late, the feathers continued down her crack and began tickling the lips of her pussy. Soon she felt fingers spreading her open to let the feathers have full access to her sex. The violation was the furthest thing from her mind; she was only concerned with how much it tickled! It suddenly felt like a hundred microscopic feathers were stroking her clitoris. Any other time the thought would seem arousing, but all she knew was that it was the most sensitive part of her anatomy, and someone was taking great pleasures in reminding her of that. "WAHAHAHAHA!!! NO! STO-HAHAHAHAH!!!"
As the tickling in her pussy continued feathers began stroking the soles of her feet, causing a renewed struggle that quickly ended with high-pitched shrieking. Every instant was the last Mary could endure, and every instant was followed by another just as grueling as the one that preceded it. As the night continued the invisible ticklers continued to switch between her knees, thighs, feet, butt, sides and privates, never tickling more than two at once, but never giving her a moment's peace.
And then, as quick and sudden as lightning, Mary was lying on her couch, melted ice cream lying in a pool beneath her. She was fully dressed in her pajamas, the TV broadcasting the early Sunday morning infomercials. She turned and saw the sun just peaking over the horizon.
Something wasn't right, that much she knew. She wasn't dealing with some creature in her house that was pestering her, but there was definitely something more going on than just bad dreams. Mary again thought about what the young woman had said before killing herself. Before she did anything else, she needed to start putting together some facts.

"Sheriff's Office," Julie said after the first ring.
"Julie, it's Mary," she said quickly. "I need to talk to you about something. When can you get off?"
"I'm on 'til ten," she replied. "Is it about the Smythe woman?"
"You could say that," Mary replied.
"Sure, no problem. I'll stop by once I get off."
"Actually, do you mind if I come over to your place?" Mary asked. "I don't feel like being here right now."
"Mary," Julie said a little sternly, "you're not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?"
"No, I just really need to talk about this."
"Okay. I'll be home by ten thirty." Mary was already waiting when she arrived.
"I'm sure it's not easy," Julie said as she sat at the kitchen table across from her. She set down a mug of coffee in front of her, which Mary dutifully drank. "But you've got to accept that you didn't kill her - she did."
"That's not what this is about," Mary said. She opened her mouth, then closed it. "This is going to sound crazy," she said finally. She explained everything that had happened, including Shelly Smythe's last words.
"Look," Julie said when it was all finished, "it was just a dream."
"No," Mary insisted, "it wasn't 'just' anything. It was as real as me talking to you. And it doesn't explain why I fall asleep at exactly sundown and wake up at exactly sunrise." She could see Julie wasn't buying it. "Look, people may think we're rubes because we're state troopers and not cops, but that doesn't mean we're dumb. Logically I should be able to stay up past sundown if I want to, and if I fall asleep you should be able to wake me up. If I do fall asleep from sundown to sunrise, and you can't wake me up no matter what, won't that mean that there's something more going on?"
"You want to spend the night here?"
"I don't want to; I don't want to fall asleep at all. I'm just saying that if you could be an objective witness, maybe I can understand what's happening."
Julie sighed. "I've been up since one in the morning," she said. "I don't know if I'm up for a long haul."
"Please," Mary pleaded. "I need somebody to help."
"All right," she said finally. "Let me take a nap. Sundown won't be until six anyway." A few hours later the two were dressed in some comfortable sweats, watching as time passed.
"So what's it like?" Julie asked eventually. "Are you paralyzed?"
"No," Mary said. "It's like someone's holding you down and you just can't get away."
Julie thought about it. Finally, "Is it... erotic?"
"No," Mary said as if it was the stupidest question in the world.
"Just asking," Julie said. "One time Lewis started tickling me right in here," she ran her fingers along her inner thigh near her pelvis. "I couldn't stand it but it was also an incredible turn on."
"That's part of it," Mary said. "All it does is tickle. I don't have to pee, I don't get aroused, I don't get tired out, I just laugh my head off."
Julie glanced over at the clock. "It's almost time," she said. Outside her window the sun was halfway below the horizon. "Are you tired?"
"No," Mary said.
"Then you shouldn't fall asleep."
"I know," she replied. "But it won't matter." There was only a sliver of yellow left. Her heart was pounding as she watched it start to disappear.
"Moment of truth," Julie said. "No matter what hap-"
Mary felt herself pass out on the couch. I'm asleep, she told herself even though it felt like she was in the room. The only difference between the moment before and now was that Julie had disappeared. It didn't matter; Mary didn't need any of her deductive reasoning to know what would happen if she stayed. Just as she was standing up she felt something push her back down onto the couch. She tried to roll over the back of it as she heard the same feminine giggling. She was half-way over the couch when she was grabbed again. She was twisted until she was on her back, her legs pulled towards the front of the couch and her arms backwards towards the floor with the small of her back resting on the top of the couch. She tried to move but couldn't escape or tip over the couch. Her sweatshirt was ripped open, exposing her torso.
"Are you ticklish?" they asked again.
"Of course I'm ticklish!" she screamed. "You've been tickling me to death every night!"
"Tickle you to death?" they replied in their echoes. "What a lovely idea! Thank you, Mary." Immediately a single fingernail was drawn straight down the center of her stomach, causing her to hold her breath. No, she thought, not pinned like this. My stomach is stretched to the max! "Please don't tickle me any more," she begged.
"Not even on the tummy?" they asked coyly. "Can't we just spend a little time playing with this smooth, sensitive little tummy? You don't want us to squeeze all over its tight surface say, here?" Mary felt a single fingertip touch her near her appendix. "Orrrr here?" Another just below her ribs. "Or here?" just below the bellybutton. "You don't want us to start digging into the hard muscle just below this beautifully soft skin again and again and again until we start looking for more spots on your tummy that might be even more ticklish?"
"No," Mary said, near tears in terror of the inevitable. Just the fingertips on her skin were tickling; she couldn't stand it when they started.
And then, to Mary's shock, they said, "all right, Mary. Since you've been such a good plaything." The fingers left her stomach. She waited for the strike she knew would come, but was surprised to find that the grip was loosening. She started to pull herself off the couch, when she was grabbed again and spun around. "But we're not done yet," they said.

Mary was now kneeling on the couch, her ribs pushing down on the top with her arms pinned behind her back. Her large breasts dangled over the other side. There was a giggle, and then she felt hands caressing them, then squeezing them gently. Like always, there was nothing particularly sensual about it, it was just a touch.
The fingernails started at the outer top part where her breasts connected to her shoulder. They slid slowly down the sides, sending goose bumps down her back. They did it again, and Mary tittered despite herself. Then they came down again, and Mary started laughing as they continued down the sides and underneath, then began scratching the undersides of her boobs. It was electrifying; another spot she'd never even known was ticklish. "No! NO! Please!!!!" Her pleas faded into her laughter as she felt another pair of hands tweak her nipples. They began slowly rolling the little buds back and forth, causing a staccato of laughter before another gush came pouring out of her. Soon they had hardened to oversized pink marbles, which only intensified the sensations. Eventually the fingers were replaced by the slow stroke of feathers. It didn't make the tickling better or worse, it just filled her with a different agony as she tried desperately to shake the jiggling mounds away from the torturous attack. Like all the other times, she was never able to escape the torment for even a second unless they allowed it. Soon more fingernails were stroking the sides of her breasts, making it seem like each globe was a dangling ball of ticklish nerves.
"HAHAHAHAH!!! NO MORE!!! NOT THERE!!! YEE-HEHEHEHEHE!!!"
Mary wasn't a porn star -or even as big as the late Shelly Smythe- but her D-Cups were quite impressive. As the stroking gave way to a multitude of hands giving tiny ticklish squeezes all over her boobs, she was really wishing she was an A-Cup. The prods caused her tits to shimmy and bounce even more than her frenzied laughter had been causing. The ones near the bottom where each one connected to her ribs were especially devastating, although the little pinches near her areola were doing a great job of driving her crazy. In truth, she could pretty much sense every individual little poke and tease on her jugs until she thought they were going to fall right off her chest.
The tickling finally relented and for a second she hoped it was morning. Then she felt fingers grab her nipples again, pulling them up and out to separate them from one another until her nipples were pointing near the corner of the ceiling. Then she felt the feathers return, teasing the bottoms of each breast with an agonizingly soft touch. More joined on the sides of her breasts, and then in between them. It wasn't the intense torture of before, but it was an unavoidable ticklish presence that seemed to encompass this womanly part of her. Her laughs weren't intense, but they were the deep kind that came from unrelenting ticklish ordeal. Every once in while Mary would squeal as the fingers holding her nipples up would provide some unexpected tease. It would only last a few seconds, but it always got Mary laughing harder. She would have fallen over laughing if the force wasn't there to bind her in place.
Finally, mercifully, it stopped. Mary quickly wrapped her hands around her exposed chest in protection. Like the previous night it had nothing to do with modesty and everything to do with the tickling. She looked around for all the good it did, becoming more frantic as she heard the giggling voices again. "Leave me alone," she said, half crying as she did.
"You shouldn't have taken away Shelly," they said. "But we don't mind."
Mary was alert but it was impossible to be ready for something you couldn't see or hear coming. She was grabbed and twisted, bent back over the couch as she had been before. "Time for your belly," they said.
"You said you wouldn't!" Mary shrieked.
"We lied." They giggled as they drew a finger along the boundary between her ribs and her stomach. "We do that sometimes." The finger transformed into a feather and slid down to her navel. It gave a slow, agonizing orbit before slipping inside. Despite Mary's laughter-filled pleas they stroked all along inside the dimple. Mary found herself gasping for breath sometime later as it finally vanished.
Is it morning? she wondered as she glanced over at the clocks. She was shocked to see that they had no hands, a sign that she must still be in the dream, or whatever it was. She couldn't think about it any more as the hands descended on her tummy. She couldn't tell how many there were, but every spot from her pelvis to her ribs had a probing hand digging into the tight abs and firm muscles. She was screaming now. "WAHAHAHA!!! NO I CAN'T STAND IT!!! PLEASE DON'T TI-HI-HEHEHEHEHE!!!"
Mary felt the grip on her hands and feet vanish and she moved to escape. Unfortunately, the rest of her body was stuck, almost as if she were impaled on the couch. She tried reaching for her stomach, but somehow she couldn't bring her hands near it. All she could do was kick her legs and swing her arms madly as her stomach was brutally tortured. She was banging her fists against the sides of her heads in frustration, pulling her hair, trying to stop laughing long enough to bite her finger. Nothing could take her mind off the tickling until suddenly the hands vanish.
Mary was wrapped up in a blanket on the couch. She looked over to see Julie was kneeling right next to her, a look of worry on her face. "You okay?" she asked. "Was it bad?"
"As bad as it always is," Mary said, relived for the moment to be free from the horrible tickling.
"It happened just like you said," Julie told her as she passed her a cup of coffee. "You just went under like that, and nothing would wake you. Shouting, shaking, cold water, I even ran down to the pharmacy for some smelling salts, but you didn't even twitch. It was like you were comatose." Mary just sipped at her coffee. "You're not crazy," she added.
"But I'm going to be," Mary replied. "I can't do this every night." She wrapped her arms around herself at the memory, as if she needed to protect those vulnerable spots from a sudden attack.
"Where'd they get you?"
"My stomach," Mary said. "And my tits." She shuddered. "Never knew they were that sensitive."
"Was it like you were nursing a goat?" Julie asked.
Mary gave her a look that was justified by the absurdity of the statement. "This some fantasy of yours?"
Julie held up a small leather-bound book. "Someone else's," she said. "From Shelly Smythe's personal effects. I picked it up while you were sleeping. Remember her accident? She hit a woman who ran into the streets without regard for her own safety. She never had a chance to stop the car. Here's the entry for the day after.
"'Had the strangest dream last night. I was pinned over the edge of my bed, and my nightshirt was completely ripped apart. Then, two invisible goats came in and started suckling from my breasts. It's crazy, but I could hear them and feel them as if they were really there, and they just nursed away from me like I was a mother goat or something. But the weirdest part of this weird scenario was that it tickled - I mean REALLY tickled. I couldn't stop laughing for a second! And the goats never stopped. I mean, I was laughing so hard my breasts were bouncing all over the place, but they never lost their grip and just kept right at me. I wanted to die I was laughing so hard. I know it was just a dream, but it felt so real I'd swear it actually happened.'"
Mary had been squirming in sympathy the entire time. "So she had it too," she said when Julie was finished reading.
"Yes," Julie said. "Every night since she killed that woman until the day she shot herself." Mary couldn't imagine what it must have been like. "There's more. This is from August 9th. 'Last night was the worst. I've learned that whatever's doing this to me has been studying me all this time. My feet, my armpits, my breasts are my most ticklish places - and last night they were worked over mercilessly.' That's why whatever's tickling you hasn't been repeating itself much: it's trying to find your vulnerable spots."
"And they already have," Mary thought. "My butt, my stomach, my sides - they've probably already figured out how much I can't stand it there." She put down her mug, unable to think about anything but the horrible fate that lay before her. Every nightfall would mean the beginning of grueling torture, and the nights were getting longer. "Maybe Shelly had the right idea," she said. "Maybe it's better to die-"
"Okay, first things first," Julie interrupted. "Things are bad, but we're going to get through them. Just trust me, okay."
"Okay," Mary said, but there was no escaping the sound of defeat in her voice.
"Now, you're not letting me finish," Julie said, flipping further through the book.
"I think I've heard enough," Mary remarked.
“Trust me, you’re going to want to here where this is going. This is dated just two weeks ago. 'I'm closer to understanding what's happening, but I'm not there yet. I found a reference in the myths and legends archives of a poltergeist like the one that seems to be plaguing me. There was a curse that seems like it fits what's happening. Apparently a spirit is summoned to torment some poor soul during the darkness when they are unable to fight back. If the victim dies before the curse is removed, the soul is bound to the poltergeist and travels to the nearest victim to continue, now even stronger.
"'I did some digging and found that there is a spell to "curse a young maiden with unconstrained laughter." If this is what's happened, then it looks like the curse has continued down through the years to me. It explains why the tickling is so overwhelming - it's the result of dozens perhaps hundreds of women being tickled over the years. Unfortunately I haven't found any way to counter the spell, and night is coming. Perhaps this will be my last night of ticklish agony.'"
"I'm taking it that it wasn't," Mary said.
"No, but two days later: 'Found out a bit more about the curse. Apparently the curse is bound to the darkness. If that can be postponed for twenty-four hours the curse would lose its hold. In the same way if it's dark for twenty-four hours the curse continues night and day. I picked up a sunlamp today, and I'm going to lie nude under it to see if maybe that will prevent the curse from happening. Hopefully this is the answer.'
"From the next day: 'Guess it was a good thing I put that timer on the sunlamp or I'd by a lobster right now. It didn't work; all I learned was that it's not fun having your feet tickled while trapped in a tanning bed. I don't know how I can break this curse! How can you stop the sun from setting?!'"
"Where is this going?" Mary asked, the recounting of the torments only adding to her anxiety.
"Let me finish," Julie said. "This is from last week Wednesday. 'Had a revelation! The Earth is round - no duh! That means that it's always day somewhere. If you don't want the sun to set all you have to do is just keep traveling west to keep it day for just twenty-four hours!'"
Mary's eyes widened. "So she was flying west to try and break the curse?"
"Yes! Listen. 'I've worked it all out. I've got plane tickets reserved at airports all around the world. I just need to hop from plane to plane and I should be able to circle the world in one day. It's a real gamble - the airfare is going to kill my credit and eat up a chunk of my savings, but I don't care. I'd sell myself into slavery if it'd end this nightmare!
"'The hard part is the waiting. I'm going to get dressed right before sundown so that the minute I wake up I can immediately get started. That means I've got to sit here and wait for them to tickle me again. I'd like to say knowing it's the last time makes it easier, but it doesn't. Every night is worse than the last. I just pray that everything works tomorrow.'"
"That was dated Thursday, right?" Mary asked.
"Yes, here's Friday's: 'I can't believe I'm on my way! I just left New York behind and I'm on my way to LA. From there, I can safely head to Australia, which should really help because the days are longer down there.
"'I was a bit worried at first. They tickled me so hard last night that I actually wet my pants in the real world.' She mentioned that one other time," Julia added. "I guess there is some connection between waking and sleeping after all. 'My dress was completely soaked and I had to just throw something together quickly to catch my flight. Everyone keeps staring at me because I look like the cover of White Trailer Trash Monthly, especially with the tan thanks to the failed sunlamp experiment. Plus this damn top is driving me nuts. I should've taken more time but I was frantic; now my nipples are protruding so much you could hook a coat hanger on them, and I've got enough cleavage to rent it out for a magazine stand. I can't run without them slipping out, which makes getting through the airport nuts. I'm going to have to buy a change of clothes between flights before I get to some of the third world countries or I might wind up becoming part of some prince's private collection.'"
"Then it continues," Julie said. "'I can't BELIEVE this! The plane had engine trouble and they had to put us down on a private runway in western Missouri. I'm on a bus right now headed for some armpit town. I've called ahead and got a rental car set up, and I've reserved a ticket from Kansas City to LA which should get me there in time for my connecting flight. I don't know what I'm going to do if I miss it. I can't just try this again tomorrow, I only have the resources to try this once. But I can't think like that; I've got to make it in time. I don't care if I have to go a hundred the whole way, I'm going to make that flight. God, I wish this bus driver would hurry up.'"
Mary hadn't even noticed she'd started crying. So it was her fault then, wasn't it. She'd let her own petty feelings stop this poor woman from completing the one task in the world she absolutely had to do for her sanity. No wonder she'd chosen to die - after months of torture to be that close to salvation only to have it yanked away so thoughtlessly. She really did deserve this punishment, she realized.
"Look," Julie said, holding out a stack of plane tickets. "This is the answer. I've called you in sick for today and tomorrow, and I've got the planes lined up. Tonight we're going to stay in a motel in KC near the airport. I've got us the first flight out to LA, and from there we just follow Smythe's plan."
"You don't have that kind of money," Mary said.
"No, but the tickets were already reserved," she said. She half-shrugged. "Shelly's not going to need them now. I figure, who's it gonna hurt?"
"That thinking is what got me into this mess," Mary said.
"Well, it's either that or spend the rest of your life being tickled to death."
With that kind of persuasion, there was no choice for Mary. Later that day she was sharing a motel room with Julie just blocks from the airport. She'd picked out something to wear and, as an extra precaution, she'd thrown her pride out the window and put on an adult diaper. She could always take it off in the airplane restroom, she reasoned, and she didn't want to face the same problem Shelly did. After all, when it came right down to it, she probably wouldn't have made her do jumping jacks in a sundress, she'd have just needled her a bit. It made her wonder if it was deliberate, if the "poltergeist" had made her piss herself to stop her from making it on her trip.
"Five forty-eight," Julie called into the bathroom. Taking a deep breath Mary came back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. "Any last words?"
"I just want this over with," Mary said.
"It's the last time," Julie promised her. "Good luck." Soon after, Mary felt herself pass out.
Mary wasted no time, jumping over the other bed without slowing and grabbing the doorknob. Voices called her name after her in that playful tone that sent shivers down her spine. In the hallway shadows were coming off the walls and she was in a full sprint. There was a window at the end; closed, but it didn't matter to Mary. She jumped, the glass shattering harmlessly as she hit it. The ground was approaching rapidly... this was Mary's last ditch effort. She knew that you always woke up before you hit the ground. It was a long shot, but she was willing to try anything.
Mary felt herself slow and then stop. She hung in the air over Kansas City while she heard the giggling come closer. "Don't worry, Mary," they said, feigning reassurance, "we won't let you fall." Two hands gripped her ankles. "There, we've got you." Mary yelped as gravity reasserted itself, causing her to dangle helplessly by her feet. She felt the tug and a shoe tumbled past. It was soon followed by its mate, and then by a pair of socks. Mary watched them spin off towards the distant ground, knowing exactly what this meant. She steeled herself.
There was nothing teasing about this time. At least four hands were scratching over the soles of her feet. Mary tried to kick but all it did was shake her dangling form about. She'd scrunched up her toes in defense, but she felt someone pulling them back, stretching them out until her foot was pulled taut. New hands began wriggling between her toes while the ones on her soles staked out their territory. Some scratched at the base of her toes, some explored her instep. Still others found particularly delightful spots on her heel, not to mention the particularly awful place an inch below her pinky toe. Her laughter took on a new energy when they hit that spot. "NOO! LEAVE ME ALO-HOHOHONE!!!" she screamed, struggling wildly. Instead more hands joined in, this time stroking along the outer edge of her foot where the padding turned into regular skin. She hadn't even known it tickled there, but as she tried twisting her foot to escape it she realized it was just one more lesson these monsters had taught her.
Mary couldn't do anything but hang there and struggle. It was like she was attached to an invisible stock in the middle of the air so that no matter how hard she kicked her feet wouldn't move. She felt the odd sensation of tears running up her forehead as she cocked her head back and laughed like crazy. The hands at her feet never relented, and she knew that if this was the real world she would've passed out by now. Her feet weren't one of her worst spots, but this thing, whatever it was, made up for that through sheer diligence. Her words were incoherent as she tried to plead with them. Finally she just hung there, too tired to struggle, but still unable to resist their tickling touch.
After what had to have been hours they stopped. Mary's breathing was loud in her own ears as she waited for them to come again. She was surprised when they spoke to her again instead. "Do you like our play?"
"Please," she said, her eyes closed as tears ran up her face. "No more. No more tickling."
"But we must tickle," they cooed. Mary felt a hand walking across the sole of her foot in preparation. "We live only to tickle." It began wiggling her big toe, then pulled it back as far as it could go. Mary couldn't resist it, and she shook. "But maybe you could help us find someone else?"
Mary's eyes flew open. "Someone else?" she said, not believing it was possible. "Who?"
"Anyone," they said. "Maybe your friend?"
"No," Mary said emphatically, "not Julie."
"Jooooolie," they said, seeming to enjoy the sound of the name. "Yes. I think we'd like to tickle Julie very much."
"No. Someone else."
"Then we'll just keep tickling you," they said. "On your lovely, tickly toes?" The hand gently teased the base of her big toe. "No. Probably better places, like here." Mary felt a pinch on her butt. "And here." Another on her right flank. "And here." A squeeze of her breast. "That might be better for you. You love it there."
"All right!" Mary said in desperation. "You can tickle Julie! Anything, just leave me alone!"
"You'll help us get Julie?"
"Yes!"
The hand released her toe. Mary shook with relief. She couldn't last another minute of the teasing on her foot, much less the full...
Mary screamed as the hands descended on her helpless feet again. "That wasn't very nice of you, Mary," they said as she began laughing despite herself. "Julie's your friend you know."
"You - HEHEHEHE - you said you'd let me-heheHAHAHAHA let me go!"
"We lied. We told you we do that."

After the brief respite Mary found the strength to fight again, for all the good it did. Eventually the struggling caused her shirt to come loose and fall down over her face. She was distantly aware of the voices coming closer, but her mind was currently occupied with the severe foot tickling she was getting. She felt them yank it down further so that it hung almost the full length of her arms. She felt something prod at her belly; just once, but it made her realize how vulnerable she was there. She tried to reach up, but the shirt was binding her; she couldn’t see or move her arms. More hands descended on her, grabbing at her sides, her stomach, and her ribs. She hadn't thought it possible to be worse, but as the sensitive spots were prodded she was consumed by laughter. It tore out from the deepest part of her, rich and loud without room for words. She could only think about the touches on her body, now amplified by the claustrophobia of being trapped inside her shirt. They even began stroking her back, causing her to jerk as she tried to resist tickling attacks on all sides.
Mary actually woke up crying, but was grateful that the ordeal was finally over. "You okay?" Julie asked, a look of obvious concern on her face over Mary's state. She just nodded dumbly before more tears came. If this didn't work... she couldn't go through this another night. She could sense she'd wet herself last night, just like Shelly had the day she'd left. They must have known, she thought as she grabbed her small travel bag and headed out the door.
To speed things up, the two women hadn't brought any metallic objects they couldn't quickly drop and get scanned. Thus they were able to fly through airport security for a 7:30 AM flight to LAX. From there, Australia, just as Shelly had planned. Mary was tense from the moment they took their seat until halfway through the flight when she finally allowed herself to hope it was going to be over.
"It's going to be a day of airline food, I think," Julie said. "I had to pack the flights fairly close to allow us the time needed to make it all the way in twenty-four hours."
"There's not a chance we'll miss our flight?" Mary asked, worried that she'd find herself in the same position that poor Shelly had found herself in.
"No," Julie said with confidence. "Just get off the plane and head straight to Gate 23. Just relax. It's going to be over."
The plane touched down without incident in Los Angeles. Almost running the two found their way through the airport to Gate 23. They flew through security, and raced to catch the next flight. Mary was a little surprised how close Julie had cut it, but they caught the plane. That was all that mattered as she felt the ground dropping away and watched the Pacific Ocean slide under her. By the time they'd touch down they'd be on the other side of it, she thought She felt far more relaxed than the first flight. They were going to do it.
For the first time in a while, Mary took a nap. Her dreams, for once, were peaceful.
Mary almost jumped as she felt Julie's hands on her shoulders. "Mary, something's wrong," she said anxiously.
"What is it?" she asked, afraid of what she was going to hear.
"The sun is outside the window," Julie said.
"What does that mean?"
"It means we're going north," she said with obvious concern. Before Mary could say anything Julie turned to a passenger. "Excuse me," she said sweetly, "I think we might have made a mistake. Where are we going?"
"Alaska," he said without looking up. "Anchorage."
Mary's jaw fell open. Anchorage?
"Aren't you part of the tour?" he asked. "Sun set in Anchorage a few days ago; ain't gonna be seen for months. You can see the Northern Lights twenty-four/seven."
Mary felt Julie slapping the side of her face. She hadn't even noticed she'd passed out. "Relax," she said. "We can do this still."
"No," Mary said with exhaustion in her voice. "You said I wouldn't have to go through that again. I'm not gonna go through it again."
"I'll get you on a plane out as soon as we land," Julie said confidently. "It won't be long-"
"NO!" Mary shouted. She got out of her seat and stormed up the aisle. Julie was right on her heels.
"Mary! You can't do this!" The passengers were clearly getting nervous with her. A guy got up to stop her, but Mary shoved him out of the way as she marched towards the cockpit.
"Stop!" a strong voice ordered. Mary turned and saw a sky marshal with a gun. "Take your seat."
Mary hesitated. "You don't understand!" she finally exploded. "Please! We've got to turn the plane around!"
"You're not going in there," he warned again, gun trained on her.
Mary looked between him and the gun. Mary saw the look she’d seen in Shelly’s eyes, back when she got herself into this mess a lifetime ago. Duty, obligation, they were important, but in the end, he wasn’t a killer either. She rushed for the door but he had hold of her wrist. Not giving him time to react, she tried wrestling for the gun. Maybe she could hijack the plane with it, she thought desperately. Perhaps she could get them to refuel it in flight like they do in the movies, so she could go around the world in one day. Sure they'd lock her up and throw away the key once she landed, but she'd be free in the best possible way. Yes, that gun was her salvation, if she could-
She felt the bullet hit her in the chest. It was an accident, of course - the result of her struggling for the weapon. She stumbled and felt Julie grab her as she fell. "No," she choked. "Get away..." Mary tried to shove her. "Get aw......."

Julie sat in her seat, her face a mess from crying. She'd screwed up, and now her friend was dead. How could she have made such a boneheaded mistake like that? she wondered as she looked out the window at the sun, slipping below the horizon because of the high latitude.
Suddenly a wave of exhaustion passed through her, and all the other passengers vanished. She looked around in panic, and then heard the voice.
"Hello, Julie. Are you ticklish?"

Nurse Boman at Anchorage Hospital checked Julie's pulse. It was fine; typical for someone who was simply asleep. How odd, she thought to herself as she looked over her chart. It seemed the young woman had gone comatose during her flight and hadn't woken up since. She showed all the signs of simple sleeping, but nothing could rouse her.
She pumped up the blood pressure cuff and put the stethoscope in her ears. She lowered the pressure, listening. More, more, more.... Odd, she thought, then she felt the cuff slip. She looked and her jaw dropped open in shock.
Julie had literally vanished into thin air right in front of her.

The sky overhead was a seething gray and red mass, illuminated by lightning. The landscape about them was dark rock, grisly in appearance with its harsh features and jagged outcroppings. The atmosphere was slightly warm and charged like a sweater just pulled from the dryer. And the air was filled with frenzied laughter.
Every girl who'd born the curse before Julie was there, and it looked to be about a hundred. The lifeforce -which was what Julie called it, since she had no idea what it really was- was somehow able to be in more than one place at a time.
Julie recognized Shelly Smythe from photographs. At the moment she was stretched out on a rack. She had no room to squirm away as the multiple hands of the lifeforce dug into her armpits and hips while stroking feathery strands across her ample breasts. Her mouth was locked open in silent laughter as the familiar voice spoke to her.
"You almost made it," it cooed softly. "You discovered how to break the curse, and bind me here all alone. You were resourceful, I'll grant you. But you should have known I have some influence in your world during the night, enough to cause engine problems in your plane. Still, you were so close." The tickling intensified as the voice scolded her, and suddenly racks of laughter tore from her mouth. "Naughty, naughty, girl."
Mary was between her and Julie, bound in a pillory with her legs spread. The lifeforce was working over her behind, her flanks, and the tops of her inner thighs. Her noticeable breasts hung below her as the lifeforce stroked them with the tips of long fingernails. Her laughter was very high-pitched as she swung her butt around trying to evade the tickling. "But you, Mary," it continued, "you stopped her. I am grateful, of course. But I can't show favoritism." Spectral hands ran down the backs of her legs slowly, causing her pitch to somehow go up an octave.
"And Julie," it said from behind and in front of her simultaneously. She was locked into a pair of stocks, her arms pulled up above her head. She'd had only one day, but it was enough for the lifeforce to find her vulnerable spots. Her feet and toes were completely immobile as it worked her arches over with long wriggling fingernails. Stiff feathers ran along the base of her toes and slid over the sensitive flesh between. At the same time, hands probed her armpits and dug into her ribs. Mary was right; there was nothing erotic about the touches. "I was hoping you wouldn't bother double-checking the clerical error I caused when you bought your tickets. Perfect. Thanks to you they've all been brought here, to the world of the sunless sky."
The sunless sky is where the tickling is. Not was, because was implies a past. There is simply the now, the now that finally arrived. The now always has been, and always will be. And that is where we leave our young ladies in the throes of ticklish agony, with each passing moment leading to an identical one of stroking, teasing, laughing torment.
But this is not where it ends.

Awsome, awesome story! It belongs in the pages of "Tales from the Asylum" if it hasn't been there already! Excellent writing!

More, please!
Love,
Anna and Heather

Dark, sinister, inescapable, revisiting, merciless. Great story. Keep it up!