D.O.A. Extreme Horror Anthology (13 page)

She turned again and thought she heard a noise at the door—the click of a lock. She stole a glance, but saw nothing amiss. In any case, the key was on this side of the room, and Spiric was hardly in any shape to turn it.

He didn’t stir. No movement and no sound. It was almost like he was hypnotized. She liked the thought.

“I’ve got both thumbs hooked in my thong now and I’m bending… just sliding it down… over my hips… thighs… knees…”

She felt a hand on her back. Icy cold palm flat against her skin. Thin fingers pressing between her shoulder blades. No sound escaped her lips, but she jolted with fright and stumbled forward, almost tripping on the panties snared about her ankles. She caught herself, kicked off the thong and spun about. There was no-one near her. Spiric, in his bed across the room, looked like Lenin’s corpse in its mausoleum.

Mother fucking Christ
, Fiona thought, still breathless from the scare.
What the hell was that
?

She found her place again quickly, ignoring the fright for the moment. There was only a minute or so left of the song and she couldn’t waste it.

“I…I’ve turned back to you,” she said, starting to swing her hips again, a little half-heartedly. “I…” She stopped. Stood still. “I…” She was looking around her, eyes searching the room for the source of her discomfort. Something was dreadfully wrong. She could sense it. Her hands dropped to her sides. She looked back to the bed. “Mr. Spiric?”

An invisible hand snatched at her left wrist.

“Oh, God!” She cried.

A second clawed at Fiona’s right arm, pulling it back. Something kicked against her knees and knocked her to the floor. She hit hard, face smacking against the tile. Hands grabbed at her ankles. Fiona tried to kick them away, but it was like kicking at mist. One of her shoes went spinning into a corner. Fingers dug into her thighs, prying her legs apart. She thrashed her arms, trying to break free, but felt more invisible hands, descending like a swarm of monkeys to smother her. One wound its way into her hair, snapped her head back and thrust it into the tile. Her bottom lip split, blood rolled down her chin.

“Spiric…” she cried, as fingers prodded between her legs. “Somebody…Help!
Mr. Spiric
!!!”

“Shhhhhhhh…” came the calm reply. “I am in complete control.”

She felt fingers at her throat stretching, winding their way around her neck time and again… and tightening. “Ple—!” She spat without enough air in her lungs to finish. She gasped wantonly, unable to take in another breath.

Spiric smiled, slowly. “Took me for a weakling, did you? An old man. A
piece
of a man…”

Fiona’s head was tugged up by the hair, her body raised up off the floor, arms pulled up to her shoulders and out, so she was dangling like a marionette. She was held aloft—a naked Pinocchio without strings—toes scraping against the floor, while she looked down at the stuffed eye-sockets of Spiric, still lying peacefully in his bed.

“But I’m stronger than you,” the old man hissed, the voice emanating from his mind rather than his mouth.

Fiona was choking to death. Mouth agape and tongue flapping, eyes bulging, tears on her face… She wanted so much to breathe. Wanted to flail her arms and kick her legs, but every instinct was held in check by Spiric. Movement was impossible. Escape impossible. There was a thick pounding in her skull. Her vision began to cloud and she knew she was going to pass out.

Spiric’s awful voice echoed across the room. “I am in complete control,” he repeated. “And you… are powerless.”

At that he dropped her. The binds holding her aloft faded to vapor and she collapsed, crumpling to the floor—a gasping, quivering wreck. She breathed deeply and desperately, air burning in her windpipe as it flowed into her lungs. She rolled onto her side, pulling her legs into her stomach, folding her arms over her chest. The places where he’d touched her stung as though his hands had been soaked in acid. The pain was fierce.

Spiric cleared his throat and spoke again. “I suppose you’re wondering how all this is possible…”

“I don’t give a FUCK!” she screamed in reply, surprising even herself with the volume of her voice. Spiric’s heart-rate monitor spiked a little with the shock.

“Well,” he replied, after they’d shared a passing moment in silence. “That’s a shame. It’s a fascinating tale…”

Fiona wasn’t the least bit interested. All she cared about was survival. Even now, as the old man was speaking, and before she truly felt capable, she was dragging herself up onto her hands and knees, inching towards the door.

“There’s a great many, I’m sure, who would love to know the secrets of unlocking my power,” Spiric continued, as Fiona slinked past his bed. “It’s somewhat inspirational… A testament to how much can be achieved by the human mind. Thought over flesh. And all it takes is money, patience, a little knowledge… and
will
.”

Fiona was shivering as she crossed the tiled floor, her body still reeling from the shock, aching from his touch. Her nudity, and the temperature in the room, only compounded her discomfort.

“But perhaps you’re right,” said Spiric. “Enough with the foreplay…”

And then his ghostly hands were upon her again, colder than before and just as eager. They gripped her limbs and spun her about, onto her back. She cried out and a flat palm pressed down over her mouth. Fingers gripped her throat, but there was no pressure.

“Don’t test me,” Spiric warned her. “Play
nice
… And perhaps I’ll let you live.”

She tried to nod and relaxed her muscles, relenting to his icy embrace if only he let her keep breathing.

“That’s good,” he said.

His hands were rough on her breasts, squeezing and tugging her nipples. She could imagine the outline of his arms by the indentations his invisible fingers made on her skin. Fingers curled through her hair, caressed her brow, cheeks and lips. Each touch felt as though it were searing her flesh. She bit into her lip and tried to keep from making a sound.

He grabbed her under her knees and pulled her legs up. Fingers cold enough to burn spread the lips of her cunt and sank inside her like wriggling worms. Fiona told herself not to cry. Not to think. If she could will her brain to shut down, she would have done it. A moment later and the fingers withdrew. Hands forced her legs wider apart in preparation for the main event.

“Yes,” Spiric groaned. “Yes,
indeed
.”

The head of his psychically-projected penis nuzzled against her vulva. Fiona tasted acid and Franco’s whiskey in the back of her mouth and feared she might puke.

Franco! That FUCK! He knew. He KNEW
!

Spiric entered her slowly, struggling to force himself into her modest opening. His mental dick was fiercely hot and rigid, with a touch like hard leather, and grotesquely oversized in both length and width. Fiona felt her flesh straining against his monstrous cock and was certain he’d make her bleed.

With his first thrust he knocked her back across the tiles. With his second, her head hit the wall. She grit her teeth against the pain and realized her hand was flattened uncomfortably atop an awkward object. She clutched it, turned her hand over and found she was holding her discarded shoe.

Fiona could sense Spiric’s projected presence was repositioning himself to resume intercourse. His hold on her was considerably weakened while he navigated. As strong as he was when projected out of his head, the man was still
blind
. He couldn’t see her or what she held. He lay on the bed, motionless as ever, a pathetic impression of a human being.

Fiona took her shot and hurled the shoe at the bed. The thick heel struck him hard on the temple. He blurted a shocked cry as his head snapped to the side, his bank of life support machines blaring madly.

Fiona sank to the floor again, her legs falling through clawing hands turned to ether. She dragged herself to her feet—

against her body’s agonized protests—and hurried towards the door. She could feel a hysterical wail rising up out of her throat as she placed one hand on the doorknob, the other on the key in the lock.

“NOOO!!!” Spiric cut her off with a cry of his own. His phantom hands grabbed her at the door. His arms wrapped about her waist and hauled her back.

She was lifted into the air and thrown backwards, landing with a crash against his bed. The door key—knocked out of her hand—bounced across the tiles into the far corner.

Fiona gripped the side of Spiric’s bed and tried to heave herself up, not wanting to go another round with him on the floor. She looked up and blinking through tears, saw him in the bed looming over her. He was sitting up, sheets ruffled, his eyeless sockets cast down towards her, seeing her without sight. There was a dark smear of blood on his temple where her heel had caught him. “Just for that,” he said, “I’m going to play
rough
.”

“Oh please…” Fiona replied, her eyes following him as he calmly lay back down. “Please no…”

Hands grabbed her wrists, holding them almost hard enough to shatter her bones. Her arms were bent back and held firmly in place as she was raised up and forced to bend forward over the bed. Her feet were spread far apart. Hands clawed at her buttocks. His fingers toyed with her anus.

“Nooo…” she moaned, voice muffled by his bed-sheets.

She felt the blunt, rounded head of his penis pressing against her, preparing to force his way inside.

He’s going to kill me
, she thought.
He’ll kill me
!

She fought and thrashed as best she could but every attempt was rebuffed as she was slapped, thrown up and brought down against the bed with such force that she was almost knocked unconscious.

When she opened her eyes… she found her head was in his lap.

His lap
. Not phantom Spiric. Not unstoppable mental Spiric of the thousand hands and monster cock. Old Spiric. Infirm Spiric. The withered husk of a man she’d almost managed to off with a high-heeled shoe. The man hooked up to a hundred monitors, checking every beat of his ancient heart. Because too much excitement can
kill
.

She felt her legs drawn up, ass spread wide as he attempted to force himself upon her.

She was pinned. Couldn’t move her arms, legs, hips… All she could move was her head.

You want satisfaction
? She thought, and bit into the bed sheet. She jerked her head and tugged the sheet down with her teeth to expose his naked belly and groin. His antiquated penis was revealed to her in all its flaccid, withered glory.
I’ll give you satisfaction
.

She sucked the shrunken organ into her mouth, taking it fully down to the base.

Spiric howled suddenly and she felt all coordination drain from his supernatural attack. The bank of medical equipment shrieked. She heard his heart-rate rocket to dangerous heights.

“Stop…” he wheezed, raising a weak hand to push her head away. “Please…”

Blood rushed into his prick, enlarging it in her mouth as she licked and sucked, coiling her tongue around the tip, her lips working the shaft.

“P-please… God…”

His phantom self gradually came undone. Invisible fingers unwound from her limbs, hands slapping limply against her naked flesh like empty gloves.

A new alarm sounded, pitch and volume greater than any before it. Fiona could hear people running down the hallway outside, but she let nothing distract her from her task.

“P-p-please… N-n-n… Oooh…”

When she finally managed to free her arms she put her hands to work pumping Spiric’s dick and massaging his balls. She could feel the blood pumping in his flesh, his pathetic little prick fast approaching climax.

People were hammering at the door, trying to get in. She heard muffled cries about the lock and confusion regarding the location of the key. None of it mattered to her. She had but one goal in mind.

“Dear…G-G-GOD!!!” Spiric’s hands slapped pathetically against the mattress as his whole body arched upwards, head rolling back beneath a plume of spittle he’d sent spurting from his quivering lips.

Someone was throwing their full weight against the door. One thud. Another.

In Fiona’s mouth there was a shudder of movement and a modest spurt of lukewarm fluid. She swallowed, drew her head back and gasped for air.

Behind her, Franco broke down the door in a flurry of splinters. He ran to the bed, grabbed Fiona and threw her to the floor. Spiric’s doctor followed, cradling an emergency kit in his hands and rushed to his patient’s side.

Fiona lay where Franco had thrown her, making no effort to move. Exhausted, body wracked with pain, she lay sprawled on the cold white floor and watched the duo as they struggled valiantly to save their employer.

There were injections. Tubes were attached. Medicines and electricity administered. They pounded on his hollow old chest like it was made of iron.

But in a few minutes it was all over. Decided. Case closed. The doctor shook his head, grimly. Rembrandt Spiric was gone.

To a far worse place
, Fiona hoped.

Franco said nothing to the Doctor. He stared a long time at Spiric’s body, expression imperceptible, intentions impossible to gauge.

And Fiona began to tense, knowing that her ordeal might yet not be complete. What kind of men were these? What were they capable of? To what lengths might they go in order to preserve the reputation of their employer, even after death?

If she were able, she’d run. She’d hurl herself out of the room and out of the building and run naked down the streets screaming for help. As it was, she had hardly enough energy left to keep her eyes open. There was nothing but to wait, watch and accept whatever gruesome punishment was handed out.

“Well,” Franco said, at last, turning to fix her with his forbidding gaze. “You did it. You killed the boss. You know what this means, don’t you?”

Fiona made some attempt to raise herself up on one quivering arm, cleared her throat and tentatively asked, “What?”

Franco held out his hands apologetically and sighed. “No tip.”