The Storyteller (20 page)

Macy raised her hand to strike Rainier on the face, but before she could do so, his eyes glowed red. Had panic not run through Hailey’s entire being at this moment, she would have noted how much he was like Christopher Lee, rather than Lugosi in the films.

Macy froze, lowering her hands to her side and standing there.

“Now what do we do?” Rainier signed. “She knows too much.”

“I forgot to lock the door,” Hailey said submissively “It’s my fault. You better let me down from here.”

“But of course,” he offered, stretching to undo the shackles. They had never been truly locked. “Now we have to do something. I could block her mind if you want.”

“No,” Hailey answered after a moment of thought. Her sister was still unmoving before them. She was conscious, but unable to respond in any way. Revealing who and what he was would have been obvious at this moment to any comic book reader. Rainier’s gaze had turned Macy into a living block of ice.

It was Hailey who spoke at long last.

“You could block her mind for now, but she’s going to be back again. She suspected something weird was up and that’s what brought her here.”

“I can initiate you both tonight,” Rainier suggested. “She is certainly not unattractive. With her new powers, we can find her a boyfriend in no time. One who is, dare I say, suitable. There has to be someone out there for her. After all, we found each other. Somewhere in the night, someone foreign to her now, waits for her coming.”

“Do it,” Hailey commanded. “Just do it.”

Rainier turned to the frozen Macy and opened his mouth, bearing two sharp canine fangs amid his glistening white teeth.

“You were wrong,” his voice snaked, as he fell upon her with his head guided by an invisible magnet to her throat. “I am not a fucking pervert. I am however something else you never dreamed existed. I am indeed something else.”

Chapter Eight

Redwing Adult Books

“When you go to college, a whole new and dirty life opens up before your eyes.”

Carla Craig could not recall who told her that during her high school years, but fresh into the university setting, she had found it to be true. Graduating with honors and gaining a full academic scholarship was the easy part. The hard part was balancing her time.

Keeping up her grades was no problem. She realized this just weeks into her new life. The problem was balancing school work between episodes of pleasure. She’d discovered men and women both. In just a few weeks of passing time, all she had been told was moral or righteous had been tossed into the trash can.

She had never considered herself bisexual. Women held no interest to her back in high school, and while she had lost her virginity on a night time date to another school brain, she had never felt much like exploring new sexual realms.

Then the new world came. Marijuana. Alcohol, made all the more appealing by underage drinking. Sex with a male student without being concerned over discovery by parents. A romp with her roommate in her dorm room when the mood suited her. That had come quite by accident.

She’d walked in on Gillian, with whom she’d been paired to spend the year. Her roommate had heard the click of the key being turned and had already tried to cover herself, but to little avail. The double headed dildo sticking partially out of her snatch said it all.

“I’m so sorry,” Carla had gasped, but then a new curiosity hit her. Within no time, she was undressed and enjoying the other end as they moved their hips, forcing the odd contraption to fuck both of them as they sprawled with their legs spread on the floor.

Her life had taken some definite turns.

This Saturday, she had decided to stay on campus rather than heading for her old home. Thus, she went to do some shopping and when she did, she found the yard sale.

She had no idea what attracted her to a collection of match covers in a shoe box. In fact, there was an entire collection of them. Three boxes in all and for the total of a dollar.

“Those were my dear husband’s,” the woman in charge told her. “He collected those things.”

“And he wants to get rid of them?” Carla asked.

“Not really,” came the answer. “He died last month. I’m clearing stuff out.”

An inner voice told her to take the boxes, though she had no use for them. Maybe she could give them to her father as a gift.

“So what did your husband do for a living?” she asked the woman as she turned to leave with the boxes in her hands piled against her breast like a stack of books. The answer was not only surprising, but chilling.

“He would write nasty books. He wrote the dirtiest stuff you could think of, but he made a killing at it.”

Carla could do nothing but nod and be on her way.

Back at the dorm, she placed the shoe boxes on the counter that served as a massive desk for two. Part was hers and part was Gillian’s.

Gillian was gone somewhere. Maybe to a meeting of her Gay & Lesbian Club? She was open about it, once her discovery had been made. She swung both ways and evidently had a preference.

A new curiosity had been stoked, both about the porn writing former owner of the collection and the collectible pieces themselves. She took out one and examined it. The cover was white, with a blue etching of the U.S. Capitol building on it. She read the caption aloud.

“The B&O. Linking thirteen great states...”

There were no matches within. The staple holding these firm had been removed so only the flat container remained.

“That’s nice,” she sighed. “Link those states.”

Perhaps she could use the match cover to make a magazine story or something? Inside, she wanted to be a writer. There had to be a magazine devoted to collectors of this shit someplace. People collected all sorts of weird things, and there was always someone to do a magazine, newspaper, or newsletter catering to their needs.

“Collect those ticket fees and connect those states.”

In her mind, she heard the blast of a horn and closing her eyes, she saw a huge blue and gray engine pulling coaches into some unidentified railroad station. The front of the engine bore the very same miniature capitol building for a logo and the motto about linking those thirteen states was on the side of the giant steel monster pulling people into their stopping point.

“Odd.”

That was an understatement, for prior to this time, Carla had never heard of the B&O, though it once held sway through Ohio. As she did not know or care what the engines looked like, deep within her thoughts she was somehow dead on.

Carla put the match cover back in the box and extracted another.

This one bore the face of a laughing joker like those found in a card deck. Below was the logo for the Roller Casino in Las Vegas.

“Hey, cocksucker. This is it for you.”

She heard the words audibly, thinking they were coming from the hall, but this was a male voice, with a rough New York accent.

Carla fingered the match cover and shut her eyes, where again, she was met with a picture on a mental movie screen.

“Hey, cocksucker. This is it for you.”

The man leaving the casino parking lot looked up and horror filled his face. He had no more time to react, for the two men had revolvers which they fired into him.

Carla heard the pops of the pistols and saw the bullet holes. Spurts of blood emerged from the target’s back as they went straight through.

The sound of a screeching car rocked the air more loudly than the guns, and the two men rushed inside, speeding off into the night.

Beneath the street lamps, Lucas the Fish sprawled on the asphalt, breathing his last.

“Stories?” Carla questioned, both alarmed and amazed by what was happening. “I’ll be damned, but these things are telling me stories.”

She should have been afraid, but instead she felt compelled. A magic spell had been thrown over her and there was no escape.

“Stories?”

She extracted a third matchbook and examined it carefully. It was the picture of an old fashioned pistol, indicating the cover had come from Tombstone, Arizona.

Western movies had never been her thing, but she had seen enough of them to recognize the name of the town. Fingering the match cover, she closed her eyes and a whole different era emerged in front of her.

“I’ve come to disarm you.”

At least that was what she thought she heard, but the words were garbled.

“No! I don’t mean that.”

Suddenly a group of men just outside what appeared to be a horse corral started firing upon each other. One had a shotgun for sure. Another was struggling to free a rifle from a saddle sheath, while shielding himself with his own animal. Yet another man was running toward the main shooter and protesting that he was unarmed.

“The fight has commenced,” the other man said with supernatural coolness. “Get to fighting or get out.”

The shorter man turned and chose the latter, running into a nearby building.

It lasted less than a minute, but the roar of gunfire was deafening, and when the smoke started to clear, several of the men who had been standing before were now down.

The scene changed, so she now watched a group of men being led to the gallows. The air whispered about that these were The Bisbee Bandits, now about to meet their doom. She had no idea who these marauders had killed, but judging by the look of things, she knew their actions could not have been church-like ones.

“Bisbee Bandits,” the voice whispered in the air. “Death to them. Death to the Bisbee Bandits.”

There was another scene, and this time a man dangled from a telegraph pole as the victim of an obvious lynching.

“We’re going to have to cover this up.” one of the members of the mob whispered to another. The former looked like a newspaper editor. The latter looked like a medic of some kind.

“I’ll take care of it,” he responded. “On the coroner’s report, I’ll say he died from emphysema. He lost his breath at a high altitude.”

The scene changed yet again. Now outside the town itself, a drunken gunman staggered and fell against a tree. His new boots must have been hurting his feet, for he had taken them off and limped toward the shade. Suddenly, he plopped down and in one swift motion put a gun to his head, pulling the trigger.

John Ringo, the gunfighter who never was, had just gone away from the earth and into legend. Funny how the movies would never show him dying this way.

“Jesus.”

Carla opened her eyes, now fully aware of what she had purchased. This happened in movies and novels, but not in real life. She should have panicked. She should have thrown the things away or gone back to the house where she’d made the purchase and demanded an explanation. She could however tell no one, or they’d think her insane.

“Redwing Adult Books.”

She wondered if there was a reason for this particular match book to be in the box. Had it been the spot where the previous owner had done business?

She shut her eyes, and the world started to spin as she imagined herself descending down a long, dank staircase. Disembodied voices whispered, and she knew she was being guided to her destiny.

“Blessed be the one who discovers the secret of the match sticks. Blessed be the one who is chosen to carry on with my own work. Riches and blessings await you if you will move toward this gift.”

There was a knock at the door. Certain she was still caught within a dream; Carla went with it, accepting whatever was being shown to her. It had to be a dream, because she was able to see herself rising from the dorm counter to see who greeted her.

“You have my collection,” an angry little man snarled. His eyes were flames. “If you aren’t going to use them right, then I want them back.”

“You’re him,” Carla protested. “You’re the writer of the dirty stories.”

“Yes I am,” the little man informed her. “Benjamin Bennett at your service. Now how would you like to experience firsthand what I wrote about, so you can understand it better?”

Carla shook her head.

“Sorry, dad. I do it with guys and do it with a girl now and again, but it’s always with people my own age. Aren’t I a bit out of your league?”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Bennett ordered. “In fact, that merits a spanking.”

Before she could object, Carla felt the man grabbing her by the wrist. In one smooth motion, he kicked the door shut behind him and dragged her toward the bed.

“Now get down across my lap,” he ordered.

Carla again went with her dream, though in reality she would have considered this absurd. Bennett, however, was trying to show her something beyond the surface. Aside from being a brain, she had been athletic in high school as well, with a sturdy build and notable lower body strength. She used to run and jump high hurdles. If she really wanted to fight, she could have resisted being forced into this new situation with ease.

“This is what I wrote about. I did plenty of outright sex books, but other readers wanted things outside the norm. That’s what I gave them, and so will you.”

Carla was forced across her intruder’s lap, lying with her upper and lower body on the bed, but her rear end elevated higher due to her position on his legs. At least he was letting her leave her pants up.

“Someone will hear us,” she objected, but the man was unyielding.

“Everyone but you is gone in this hallway. You can yell, you can complain, and you can beg all you want.”

“Why would I cry?” Carla questioned, but that answer came in a hard smack against her rear end. She was again glad she had her pants on.

“Ouch,” she protested. “What’s the point in this?”

“Erotic spanking,” Bennett informed her. “Don’t tell me you never heard of it. Maybe you should ask your room mate. She’s had a spanking or two from some of her girlfriends.”

Another whap came, this one more forcefully, and Carla shook slightly upon impact. It was not overwhelmingly painful, but it did leave an impression.

“Maybe you should hit from side to side if you’re going to spank my ass,” Carla suggested.

Instead, Bennett brought five hard whaps down on her right cheek.

“That’s for telling me how to spank you,” he fumed. “I know what I’m doing.”