Page 11 of Fed By Fear

“Let us. Please, Gator. We have to. We’ll die. We can’t fucking make it.”

“Cockroach.” Gator spits on the back of Madness’s neck.

My body is so tense. I’ll tear through this human facade if I’m not careful.

Gator jerks Madness’s cock again, even rougher than before. Precum streams out of his darkened tip. “You have thirty seconds to come. Count it, Hunt.”

My mouth is dry. “Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…”

The sounds Madness screeches out turn full demon. He’s thrusting into Gator’s grip, face pressed against the table, snarling so loudly I’m worried they’ll send someone to investigate.

My eyes are locked on his pulsing cock. “Eleven, ten, nine, eight?—”

“Fuck.” With a scream of absolute relief, Madness finishes. His cum spurts beneath the table, a heavy, oversized load hitting the bloodstained wooden floor. My tongue slips forward, swiping beneath the burlap mask.So shiny and wet.

“Great job, cockroach. Now get out of my sight and don’t fuck up again.” Gator slaps Madness on the ass before pulling him upright and shoving him away from the table.

Madness stumbles but recovers as he pulls his pants back into place.

“No more slipups,” I reiterate as Madness scuttles past me.

He nods, disappearing into the corridor.“No more. We’ll be good.”

The lights shut off. Machine-created fog fills the cabin.

Gator’s pig mask tips down, assessing the bulge against my jeans. He steps forward, hand sliding against myexposed lower abs. I’ve only got half a shirt on. The owner of this body has a thing for throwbacks to the 80s. A time when men apparently wore something as ridiculous as this cropped grey shirt.

The tips of his fingers burn a trail to my jeans button. “We might have time.”

A fresh round of screams carries through the air. We both sigh. They’ve reopened the doors.

“Later.” I bury my fingers in the long, dark hair on the unshaved side of his head.

Gator nods, brushing his fingers over my hips before returning to his knives. My anger returns as I hurry back to my own room.

Madness was in shambles before his release. Now I’m the one hoping I can make it through the night.

Chapter 4

Githany

The choice of adult costumes among haunted-house goers is unsurprisingly repetitive. Girls in lingerie disguised as animals and princesses. Guys in plain clothes and scary masks. The occasional group in cartoon onesies. What happened to the good ol’ days when we all put some actual effort into our costumes?

“This is going to be so much fun!” Amber adjusts her ears. When she found out where we were going, she insisted on joining us. Her costume falls into the slutty animal category in a two-piece tiger ensemble.

Her date is dressed in his college hockey gear and goalie mask. His name is Andy or Anthony. Or maybe it’s Ansel? I’m fairly certain it starts with an A. I’ve been referring to him like we’re bros to avoid the uncomfortable “what was your name again?” conversation. A little “Hey, man,” and “How’s it going, dude?” have saved me thus far. They’ve been together five months now so I should probably figure it out. Amber just calls him pet names like “honey bunches” and “babe,” which is not helpful.

I stand in line with the TAPIT crew while Amber’sbeau waits for her to use one of the joyous porta-potties outside the attraction.

“Hey, goth girl. What are you supposed to be?” It takes me a minute to realize the guy slurring his words is speaking to me.

Ignoring him is my best bet. I’m not looking to engage in meaningless conversations with drunk bros. It works for a few seconds, but even silence isn’t enough to deter this douche.

“Let’s see.” He tips his Scream mask up. “Green hair and a throat tattoo. You’re the walking embodiment of daddy issues. Did I guess right?”

His friends snicker. He’s not entirely wrong. Childhood trauma gave me these ghostly superpowers. I wouldn’t pin it on my dad, though.

The judgments irritate me enough to bite back. “And your costumes? Let me guess. Do those matching jackets mean you’re active members of the incurable venereal disease club?”