Bolts: Chapter One; The Wife of the Devil

[jonsmith]

Bolts Thread

Bolts

The Wife of the Devil


Kay and Yarrow slammed the heavy metal door shut, locked it, slid the heavy steel bar in place, and shut the peephole. They proceeded to gather the ammunition that lay to their far left on a long table, and afterward they opened the first aid boxes, tended to the cuts or bruises they had endured in their battles to the safe room, and then they sat down to rest.

Kay was tanned with fiery red hair that had begun to show its blonde roots. She was always on the lookout for a pair of scissors, because she intended to cut off the red locks; she didn't like her blonde color, but what she hated even more was her natural and artificial colors clashing. At 5'2” and 98 lbs. Kay looked like a lot of girls at 20 years of age. Only, she was leaner, because though there was food, it was hard to get at; and most of the other girls who looked like her, were either dead or dying.

She wore a black turtleneck shirt with sleeves that clearly had been cut since the frigid winter months had worked their way into the blistering summer. She wore a pair of tight, ratty denim jeans with holes in the knees and a pair of equally ratty skate shoes.

Yarrow was completely different from Kay. She was a dark haired girl who had been raised most of her life in Hong Kong, and came to the United States in her teens to finish high school. She was dressed in a pair of khakis and a pair of old trainers. She looked just like any chinese girl that you'd meet on the street.

She wore her hair in a braided ponytail, and always tucked it in her brown t-shirt to avoid it being grabbed by their foes.

Yarrow neatly placed the items on the table together on one side and then laid down on the cleared end. At 4'11” she was able to curl up just about anywhere. She promptly fell asleep. Kay on the other hand kicked off her trainers and walked around the room, thinking about what Tito had told before he had been captured.

There's a camp in Vienna where refugees have a stronghold, its near GMU, its a shopping center, that's been blocked off on all sides. They're expanding every day but are always in need of more people to help the cause. But watch out for the roaches.

Kay knew about the roaches. They were the cause of the infection. They had one of two reactions upon meeting a new host. They either turned you into a feeder, a deceptively aimless corpse that captures and tickles people for as long as they are able, or they turn you into a bolt.

Bolts, as their names imply, are the ones who run from the feeders. Bolts are very thin, because of their metabolism being sped up, but unlike their names, they aren't made faster because of their infection. They run because they are made more ticklish because of each infection. The level of ticklishness woul increase by five.

It was soon found out that to become an infecte feeder, you could not be ticklish. Meaning if you were never ticklish before, your chances of being a feeder after a bite was one hundred percent. And to be a bolt, you'd have to have been born ticklish. And the likelihood of becoming a bolt when bitten was the same as a feeder. No one escaped.

Kay had been bitten by roaches hundreds of times. The roaches themselves were not killers, but the feeders were. Being a rckless fighter by nature, Kay had become notorious for beating the pulp out of feeders. She stole her jeans from one after her pants grow to be too big for her new skinny frame.
She encountered the roaches when she was in a vacant, dilapidated house in the division avenue area of D.C. She had made camp there and that evening she woke up to the sound of a banging on the basement door. She got to her feet and went to the shaking and pounding door. She unlocked it and leapt back, allowing the delirious feeders to tumble over each other.

She grabbed a butcher's knife from the kitchen, and leapt full force into the broup, pushing them backward down the basement steps, she slashed one of their throats and blood squirted on her shirt as it fell backward clutching its throat. Two hands grabbed her sides and dug in, forcing a guffaw from her lips as she squirmed away, stabbing one of the feeders before her in the eyeball. She dashed to a corner of the room and turned to see how many more she had to kill. Four more were closing in fast. Four muscular feeders, three women and one man, eyes glowing yellow, charged with their hands like roaming claws, looking to snatch up their prey.

Kay bent down and launched herself at the largest one, catching it at the neck and forcing it to slam its occipital bone into the rock hard floor. Blood poured out of the wound and with that blood on her knuckles, she left a bloody fistprint on the face of another feeder that had grabbed her tee. The final two feeders pulled her off their mate and pinned her arms to the floor.

Looking like a floorbound christ, Kay was forced to endure the beginning of the feeders' work as each of them took a side and ran a set of fingers from up in her armpits and down into her tummy. Kay pulled and bucked and roared with laughter. She would not beg the feeders who would not stop for all the pleads in the world. It was not their way. They would dance upon her until she could not laugh anymore.

She saw the formerly punched feeder coming up to her sneakers. It grabbed a leg and tugged off her trainer, revealing a filthy worn ankle sock. The feeder looked at it for a moment, possibly trying to understand what it was. Maybe it had not seen a sock before. It did not take it long before it planted its nails in her foot, and found that no matter what it looked like, a foot was still ticklish.

“FUUUUUUUUCK!” Kay screamed as the first nails made landfall on her arches. She jerked her leg and fought harder and wilder to release her foot form the grip, but slowly, her resolve had begun to wear down. Her belly ached badly and she wanted to throw up. Her throat burned from the screaming and her cheeks were bright red and tear-soaked.

After ten minutes the feeders changed their game up; the eeder on her right had left her side and the feeder on her left, mounted her so she would not escape. The feeder at her feet stripped off her sock and dropped it to the floor. It began dragging a finger up and down her amazingly wrinkled arch. Her toes moved like they were set aflame. Kay figured out where the final feeder had gone when she felt her jeans come unbuttoned.

Oh God, don't let them rape me! She thought as her belly manufactured giggle after giggle from her foot. She felt the feeder pulling her jeans down to her knees. She continued to pray for the worst not to happen.

Then she found out she was ticklish down there.

The feeling of the fingernails of the feeder as it dragged them over the front of her cotton panties was the funniest tickle she'd experienced and the sensation seemed to scoop the deepest and most forceful laughter from the pit of her belly.
“NYAAARHARHARHARHAAA!! GRAAAAAHAHAHAAA!!” Kay banged her head on the floor and writhed like a snake on a hot plate. The hands of the feeder on her stomach dug into her armpits and locked there. The feeder at her foot decided to use its mouth, and its slick, rough tongue weaved skillfully through her toes, danced along her arch, and it nibbled her heel.

The effect the panty work had on Kay was enough to disable her for twenty minutes before she built up the reserve of resolve to kick the foot feeder off of her, slamming her sneaker into the slurping beast's skull, killing it after a few hard kicks to the temple. She then kneed the panty tickler in the groin, causing it to fall on the pit tickler, and knock him to the floor. She was able to take out her knife and stab the pit tickler in the temple as well.

The panty feeder was undeterred however, and landed on her legs, and put a stron arm around her neck, holding her back while it continued to dance her fingers on Kay's cotton clad cut. She was now howling like a crazy woman, a mixture of the tickling, the stress and the sudden waves of unusual pleasure radiating from below as she fought to gain control of the situation.

“GRRR fuck...FUCK....HAARHARHARHARRR!! IT TICKLES! FUCK!!” Kay felt like she wanted to piss herself, but it was not to be. She finally hooked onto the collar of the feeder's shirt and brought it closer. As a result, it grabbed her middle with one arm, and danced that hand up and down her side. It rolled over so she was on top of it and wrapped its legs around hers.

Not at all what she expected.

Kay was now pressed into the wiggling fingers and she was beet red now, and sweating hard from the exertion and from the new pressure being added by her being on top. She arched her back and let out a scream of laughter that comedians wish they got from an audience. The feeder held her tighter, and the tighter she was held, the harder the fingers tickled, the harder the fingers tickled, the harder she laughed, the harder she laughed, the tigher she was held, and the longer it went on, the more it rocked her world.

This was the problem that was with feeders. The fact that feeders used touch would inevitably excite the sexual aspect of people, and make them want more and more of the same thing. It was a fatal mistake that men and women had been making for months. They'd stop fighting the feeders because pleasure overtook them. They'd sometimes try to fuck the feeders only to realize that it was no use, and no one got pleasure out of it. Then the feeder would begin the ripping.

But Kay didn't want to fuck the feeder. She wouldn't try anyway, but she couldn't help but pound the feeder with her pelvis, it was too close, it tickled too much, and the mere touch of the sick woman's nails sent her into hysterics and so she would jerk back in order to keep away from the fingers, but like any bound creature, she'd always return for more, and she took it with the same protests of laughter that she had before. Because she knew she was ticklish, and she knew she had a snowball's chance in hell of stopping it, so she could only hope that somewhere between her bucking and pounding that she'd either break the fingers of her captrix or the feeder would stop altogether. Otherwise, Kay knew she'd explode.

“GOD HELP MEEEHAHAHAAAAA WOOOOOOOHAHAHAAAAAA! GREEEHEHEHEEE!! FUCK!” She kicked her legs and squealed harder as the feeder pressed her again, the tightest yet. Her eyes were wide, her pupils tiny, and ready to start rolling like a woman possessed.

“SWEET JEEEEEEEEEESUS!” She yelped as she hit an orgasm. If she was ticklish beforehand, as she was one of the most, at this orgasm her ticklishness increased so much that every feeling in her body was a tickle. It was magnified hundredfold, and her howls could be heard for three blocks. It was attracting more feeders, and she could hear their shouts of hunger above her laughter.

The feeders wanted in, and she was in no position to argue against. The fingers continued to dance and poke and stroke her in the midsts of the wave of orgasm. She arched her back and howled hard, and the feeders howled in response as they broke the front door down. Moments passed before she felt hands and fingers and tongues all over her. Her barefoot was given the tender, loving care only a feeder could give, and her sneaker was snatched away and her socked foot was given the treatment by four beasts at the same time.

If there was a religion that the feeders followed, then Kay would have been their goddess. The fire that engulfed her did not burn, it tickled. It tickled like only Hell could do, and what made it Hellish for Kay was that in all the years that she hated being tickled, finally, as the world had begun to end, she had learned to love it at the hands of the destroyers of the world. It would be hours before the feeders stopped as abruptly as they had appeared.

When they stopped, they left Kay a giggling, sweaty mess on the floor. They walked out of the house and left altogether, and the building was quiet. She lay there for five minutes containing herself, and then, still laughing like a fool, made her way to the bathroom upstairs. And cleaned herself up. When she finished, she opened the door and found herself face to face with a woman in a black suit.

“No, not again.” She cried as she backed up.

“Hush mortal.” the woman said in a deep voice. I will see you again. You will be my wife. But until then, you will be marked, because you are my property.”

“I am no one's property, and I don't like women like that.”

“This is not an option.” The woman held out a hand and inside it was a long, brown german cockroach. It spread its wings and flew onto Kay's belly and bit. The bit was like fire. Out of the sleeves of the woman's jacket more roaches flew, and they all swarmed the now stumbling Kay. She fell on the floor, and was covered in biting roaches. As more and more of them fell upon her, the woman shrunk and shrunk ad her skin broke into pieces which proved to also be roaches. She was reduced to nothing but articles of clothing.


Kay lay on the floor later, a mass of red bumps and running a fever. The fever would wear off in a couple of days, but until that time, her recovery would be hell. During the fever she had a dream of the woma coming to her and kneeling at her feverish body.

“You will be my wife, I said. It is not an option. And if they decide to kill you, I will take them into my heart and crush them with its heaviness. Be they my own soldiers or yours. I will have you, Kay.” She leaned closer in and whispered. “So it is written...so shall it be done.”

As she toyed with her sneakers now, tossing it left and right to pass the time, the intense tickle sensation she felt as the shoe slid on her foot that was now an everyday occurrence for her, was a result o the bites. When they healed she was significantly thinner, and she kept shrinking until she was 98 pounds. She was significantly stronger as well.She roundhouse kicked a feeder so hard that its head flew of and killed another. She later found out what she had become. She knew it was forever, and she was at peace to live with it.

“Hey, Yarrow.” Kay called as the girl stirred in her sleep. “Yarrow, wake up.”
A sigh, “What is it?”
“How did you get that name? Yarrow isn't Chinese.”
“My dad liked the name. Besides I don't need a Chinese name ust because I'm chinese. There are lots of Chinese girls with the name Lauren and Deborah, and Michelle.”
“So, your dad picked the name?”
“Yup.”
“Did your mom have any say?”
“Nope.”
“That's fucked up.”
“Not really.”
“It's her baby she's been carrying for nine months. She deserves to give a name to the child.”
“Look at it this way. There are lots of things that we'll get in this particular society, by virtue of the fact we're women. All he wants to do is have his children have special names. Besides, if it weren't for his sperm, my mom wouldn't have even had me. So, technicaly, he's my mom.” She rolled over and went back to sleep, leaving Kay to think over the situation.

“That;s still fucked up.”

 

[jonsmith]

Kelli sent her knife through the feeder's eye socket, and watched him drop to the ground. Blood gushed out of the fresh wound along with a yellowish syrupy fluid that could only be from the popped eyeball.

The twelve woman search party had gone out to look for one of the children who had wandered out during the morning and hadn't come back. A little girl named Mary with short golden locks of hair framing her chubby cheeks. The child was always curous, and always wandering off. But she never stayed out after dark; and with the feeders roaming the streets at night, the search party was forced to go out during the daylight only.

Having searched through the area with the thoroughness of a lice comb, the search party made its way back to the Safe House. The large house on the corner of Wicker Street and Farquad Place was barred up and looked abandoned, but inside it held resources like first aid, food, water, ammunition and weapons like pistols shot guns and blades.

The group was around the corner from the Safe House; it could be seen over the nearest row of homes like a dark angel waiting for some event. Each woman confirmed their presence in the group, and got ready to go forth.

And then a Goochie flew through a window and landed on one of the women, a tall, blonde bolt with the face of a very slender Marilyn Monroe. The woman in the black pants, shirt and sneakers grabbed the monster's hands and held them back, not realizing that his inner hands were there to do their work. Wrapping its legs around her waist, the Goochie began to dance his fingers over the blonde's ribs, and as she stumbled and wavered throug hthe parting crowd, the laughter she produced sounded like a clown toy that short circuited.

“NO! Heheheheheheheee WAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAASTAAAAAAAP! HAAAAAAAAAWHY!!!”
The woman fell to the ground and the Goochie continued its attack. The woman thrust and shook but to no avail. She threw her head back and let her laughter flow like water from a burst dam.

“SHOOT THE FUCKER!” Kelli screamed! “I DON'T HAVE A GUN!” She was a blond haired girl who wore a cap, tight blue jeans, a red t-shirt, and sneakers. She looked at everyone else and realized why they did nothing. They were looking upward at the roofs of the houses. Feeders stooped watching them. At least a hundred of them.eyes hungry and fingers twitching. Kelli's blood ran cold as she knew exactly what would happen next. She'd seen it happen to a passerby when she was in the safe house.

Backing away, she unsheathed her katana and bolted down the street. Seeing her run, a feeder stood up and roared with a deafening power. The roar sent all of the feeders leaping from their roofs and flying toward the women who instinctively began laughing hysterically before the fingers even touched them. Guns went off, followed by howls of laughter and pleas.

Ten feeders ran ater Kelli, who was now on the street in front of the safe house. She took a glance back and saw how close they were, leapt further back and turned to face the charge. She took a swing at one with her katana as it leapt at her belly, slicing its head off with ease. She took a swing at the legs of another, then beheaded it as well. She was broadsided by one and her sword tumbled out of reach.

“NOOOOO!!!” She wailed as she reached vainly for the clattering sword. The feeder reached right in her armpit and had a field day. Other feeders gathered around. Some held an arm, others a leg, and then her etnies were pulled off.

“Oh fuck me! WAHAHAHAAA!!” The feeders pulled Kelli further away from her katana and began to feed on the young blonde, almost twenty hands poked and prodded and scribbled all over her vulnerable body. Kelli tugged and pulled but could't defend herself from the assault of the feeders. She could only howl and buck while the feeders pulled off her socks and her shirt and dug further mining more laughter from the young woman's belly.

A feeder buried its mouth in Kelli's belly, and its slimy tongue sent her into a craze. Her eyes were wide and her mouth looked dangerously close to unhinging as she screamed and cried. A bullet would have been preferable to this.

Camilla sat on the roof of the safe house and aimed at the feeders. She zoned in on a chinese man with hair that had fallen out in clumps. His fingers had gripped Kelli's left foot in a horrifically strong and hellishly ticklish grip. His head exploded and the bullet that obliterated his head took out the shoulder of an Indian woman who was kneading Kelli's thigh. Another shot blew off the side of a german man's head, while an african american woman's jaw was ripped out by the force of the same bullet.

“Hmm, four for two. Kelli can fight them off now.” She swiveled to face the north, where a horde had gathered among the others. Camilla was not a fast shot, but she made up for it in accuracy. She methodically picked off fifty feeders. Leaving their headless bodies stumbling around aimlessly, and some falling unconcious on the spot, while their victims tried to pull themselves together, shake off the residual laughter, and make their way back to the safe house. As a group they had all decided that the child was not worth saving.

Camilla spoke into her walkie-talkie. “She's on the roof of a house. I can see her.”

“How far off?” Kelli asked as she put on her sneakers.

“Three blocks away, it's a big mansion house with high iron fences. Three blocks from where the big horde was. Take a....a right.”

“Got it. Will you cover us?”

“You mean will I come out of the safe house and cover you?”

“Or from the safe house.”

“I guess I have no choice, now do I?” She crossed one ankle over the other and stroked her bare sole with the big toe of the other foot. “I'll be watching you.”

“Thanks.” Came over the radio in unison.

“No problem.” She lay on her belly; a viper ready to strike. She was rail thin, with black sweat pants and a white t-shirt. Her skin was almost the shade of unburned charcoal. Her hair was done up in a black head scarf, and her eyes did not blink, but moved between the scope and her own surroundings.


The ten minutes it took to get to the end of the street where the large mansion stood was uneventful, but one of the most tense lengths of time the women had undergone in their lives. Every twig snap or leaf skating on the street drew a sudden twist and turn in the sounnd's direction.
They could see the child on the roof of the mansion, and Kelli dashed forward to call her down.
“Marcia,” Kelli called loud enough to reach the little girl's ears, but not loud enough to wake up and feeders that might be sleeping nearby. “Marcia, come down!”

“I can't!” she whined. “I'm scared!”

“Shit,” she cursed, “Let's go in.”

Camilla scanned the block with her rifle scope for the third time as she watched the feeders. The street was clear as the group entered the gates of the mansion. It was a beautiful, but dead place. There was a line of topiary bushes, three large balls on top of each other filled with dead leaves, at each end of the gate. A cobble stone path led right to the three story resident's door.
The house itself would've been beautiful if it had been given the right treatment, but it had been neglected in order that the yard be beautified. The paint was chipping, the porch creaked as they each stepped upon it, and the windows had been blown out. The door opened with difficulty, and the house was filled with dust.

Kelli tried the lights, but they had died long ago, “Let's go up.” She ordered.

Marcia sat on the roof looking down. She had grown anxious, and couldn't stop looking around. She wanted to be back at the safe house, and she swore to herself that she'd never run away from her family again.

Marcia noticed movement from the corner of her eye, and turned to look down. Her blood went cold as she saw a very large, muscular feeder that everyone knew as the Slammer. They called it the Slammer because when it grabbed a bolt, it would firt slam them against something hard and then take them off to be tickled. It was rare when the bolts returned from this type of feeder because they were uualy too injured to even move, and then the continuous laughing would cause further trauma.

The Slammer looked like it was going to pass right by the house. Marcia sighed softly, and watched it as it continued along the road. As it almost left the sight of the yard, a Goochie leapt from the roof of one houe, and leapt on the Slammer's back. The goochie was grabbed up and tossed over the fence and through a window on the first floor of the mansion. The screams of the girls in the house filled the air for a moment, then suddenly went quiet.

“Fuck,” Camilla gasped as she got up from the rifle. She picked up the radio. “Ladies, you're going to have to move fast. We have a slammer, and you all have just had a Goochie thrown in your building.” The sound of guttural howl carried through the air, and from the west a horde of feeders coud be seen, at least one hundred-fifty strong. They filled a street, the yards, and they leapt over porches. “You've got a big horde coming in from the west!”

“Holy shit!” A woman with her hair tied in a bun screamed as the goochie hurled itself in her direction and slammed into the banister that separated them. The railing shook as the goochie fell to the floor. Everyone else had moved up to the second floor. Kelli scampered down the corridor and turned to go up the next flight of stairs that would lead to the roof. The house started shaking, and the air was filled with the loud, BOOM BOOM BOOM that sounded like a stampede was approaching. But this was not the sound of over one hundred fifty feeders. This was the sound of a single, gargantuan slammer. It roared in anger and pounded the ground more. There was a crash, and the sound of a woman screaming, the scream was cut short, and the roar of the slammer returned as it dpearted.
“They got Shayna!” someone shouted. “The damned monster took Shayna!”

Kelli came out on the roof in time to see the Slammer pounding off into a backyard, carrying hayna over its shoulder. She cursed. “Marcia? MARCIA, WHERE ARE YOU?”

“KELLI!” The little girl cried as she came running rom a far corner of the roof.

“Let's go.” Kelli said as she turned to go back down the stairs.

“Kelli, LOOK.” Marcia cried pointing at the massive horde that was now filling the street.

“Crap.” Kelli breathed as she watched the feeders converging from both ends of the street, and coming into the house. She turned to the roof doorway and locked it.

“What about the others?” Marcia whined. “You locked them down there!”

“They're screwed, Marcia, they're screwed.” Kelli said as she went back to the edge of the roof. She peered over the edge and almost marveled at the sight. They swarmed over the fence and plunged themselves into the doors and windows. Glass shattered and crunched under their feet and hand, the air was filled with their hungry roars.

Camilla jumped on the motor scooter armed with various weapons including a katana, her rifle, and two glocks, among other pieces. She sped down the hill and turned the corner. She could hear the roar of the horde growing the closer she came to the corner of the blook of the mansion. She stopped at the corner and got off the scooter. She saw the mansion property; it resembled an ant farm. The feeders had all entered the fence, and were making feeble but determined attempts at climbing the wall.

The first of the others to see the feeders coming was a short redhead named Audrey. She screamed at the top of her lungs as she backed up the stairs. Her ankle was caught in the grip of a feeder and she was pulled down into the flood of gripping fingers and hungry hands. Her laughter wa drowned out by the screams of the hungry feeders as they climbed further up the stairs.

“Get a weapon!” another woman screamed, “They got Audrey!”

“Mikey, take my Glock!” A short haired brunette called as she tossed the pistol to the other woman. The sound of gunshots echoed through the ceiling and an abrupt stop, then horrified screams that dissolved into terrified giggles which further dissolved into full blown helpless laughter. Kelli could only stand and plan a means of escape.

“Kelli!” Marcia shouted, Kelli turned to the girl to find her at the other end of the roof. She smiled.

Camilla walked toward the property, she pulled the pin mid-stride and tossed it over the fence. It bounced among the feeders and then into the house. The explosion send feeders through the walls, and through the windows. Another grenade exploded, followed by loud pops from Camilla's glocks. Heads exploded and bodies were dropped like flies in cloud of poisonous gas.

After the glocks ran out, Camilla dropped them in the street and pulled out two Uzi-Automatic pistols. She strafed the mob and entered the fencing. She made her way into the house as body after body dropped to the floor. As one gun finished, the second was put into action.
Kelli held Marcia in one arm, and walked to the opposite edge of the roof, turned, and bolted across, and leapt onto the branches of the tree that dangled over the fence. The feeders didn't even notice them dash overhead. They landed on the branch, and balanced a little on the wavering limb, and then clung tight to the branch.

Camilla pulled out her katana and sliced into body after body, she pushed back the horde for as long as she could, and then even she was overcome by the groping fingers. She slipped and fell on the floor, and was covered as if by water. No amount of kicks could keep her from being probed by the curious fingers of her captors.

On the floor above Camilla, all the remaining women dealt with their own ticklish demons as they whooped and hollered while they were pinned to the floor and explored with the skill of a tour guide on a trail to show all the hideaways of the American Underground Railroad.

Kelli and Marcia ran across the street and then down to the corner. They founnd Camilla's scooter.

“Let's go.” Kelli said as he got on the bike. Marcia got on right behind her and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Let's.”

The scooter sputtered to life and they were off in the direction of the safe house. They would leave as soon as hey gathered some supplies. Extra ammunition, weapons and food. Lots of food. They'd get the truck, and leave fast and never return.

Volad sat on the rooftop and watched the scooter as it rolled up the hill. In the yard was the laughtered body of the slammer that had carried off Audrey. It had been ripped to shreds, meat was hanging in ribbons from the bone, and the blood soaked into the ground.

Audrey hung beside Valod, hanging from the entrance of a hole in the roof. Valod's fingers ran along her bare soles and the young woman swung from side to side filling the attic she dangled in with uncontrollable laughter. She held her head as if she wanted to keep the voices out. Around her, Feeders stood in the shadows, absorbing her laughter.

“Oh GOD!” She squealed. “HAHAHAHAHA!”

Valod knew that once Audrey was let go, the Feeders would finish the job; Valod was quite alright with this end and had no feeling about it one way or the other. With each passing second, the nails that had caught onto her jeans ripped through the denim and brought Audrey further toward her doom.

“My, if a single finger does this to you, what will a thousand do?” Valod looked down at the woman. “Let's find out shall we?” With a rip, Valod sent Audrey falling into the attic. The woman lay in a jagged ring of light as her chest heaved up and down. The silence was only momentary. Hand lashed out from the darkness and began dancing all over the young woman. She could not stop them, she could only scream. Valod smiled while watching the scene.