Page 38 of Wicked Nightmare

We stood in the overgrown yard, the decrepit building behind us, the stench of death still in my nostrils like a rotting corpse. My eyes scanned the area, searching for any sign of a basement entrance. No cellar attached to the building…

"Well, isn't this charming," I gestured to the wild tangle of weeds and debris. "I can see why you loved it here so much."

Lakey's grip on my hand tightened, her nails digging into my skin. "Oh yeah, it was a real five-star experience. The nightly beatings were my favorite part. The screams of the other girls helped me get off, what can I say?"

Protective rage rose inside me at her sarcasm, but I swallowed it down. Now wasn't the time for vengeance—that would come later. This was recon. My gaze landed on a dilapidated shed tucked away in the corner of the yard, its wooden structure barely clinging to life. It was well hidden amongst overgrown bushes and a couple of dead trees.

"Bingo," I murmured, nodding towards it. "Wanna bet that's our ticket downstairs?"

Lakey's eyes lit up and she bounced on her toes. "Lets fucking gooooo."

Most people would be running for the hills, but not my Lakey. She was as fucked up as I was, and I loved her for it. Bet most of the girls who were in here went on to live lives that consisted of daily therapy visits and opioids, hiding under the guise of some white picket fence mirage, but not her. No. My girl had a hankering for blood, and she was unstoppable once she caught the scent.

A sliver of pride clutched my heart. I made this happen for her. I unleashed her full murder potential, the one she hadn’t even known was lurking in her soul. And she would take it the rest of the way, cutting down everyone who ever thought they could fucking step on her and get away with it. God, I half hoped she’d cut the skin from their faces, and we can weave original masks. The old ones were great, but lately we’ve been so damn rushed, we can’t even be theatrical with it.

Maybe if we find Father Christopher, we can make it a whole puppet show. My face twisted in a grin. Yeah… we were going to destroy these fucks and restore balance. I only hoped all these unwilling sacrifices would feed her inner psycho and not destroy it once her mission was through.

I rather enjoyed the way her shadows danced with mine.

I pushed open the creaking door, wincing at the ear-splitting screech of rusted hinges. The interior was dim and cluttered, filled with abandoned tools and forgotten nightmares. To the left was a rusted pair of pliers and a tooth. Now that was something that disgusted me. Something about someone else’s teeth was so fucking repugnant, it made me recoil. My vision slowly adjusted to the gloom, landing on a skull perched atop a rickety table.

"Well, hello there," I quipped. "Looks like someone forgot to clean up after their last tea party."

Lakey let out a soft laugh, running her hand over the skull. "Wonder if its real." She picked it up, kissing it gently on the cheek. “Think we can nab this on the way out? Would look fucking amazing as a planter.”

I turned to her, cupping her face in my hands, running my thumb over her cheeks. "Most indubititibly.”

“That’s not how you say that word.” Her eyes rolled back in her head, but she smiled all the same.

“Whatever, you knew what I meant, so I did just fine.”

She laughed, swatting at my arms before looking around the shed. “It’s gnarly in here. Look at the rake. Hella rusted. Probably old blood. Fuck, imagine being run through by a rusty rake? Fucking wild. I’m definitely taking the skull. Remind me when we come up.”

I threw my hands up, “Whatever you wish for is yours, baby girl. Take it if you want it. With any luck its one of the sister wives.”

“Nuns, babe. They were nuns.”

“Same thing. They all worshipped at the cock of the Father.”

She opened a rickety drawer, causing the rotten structure to fall apart, “Can’t argue with you there. I heard their moans many nights and the only thing I could think was ‘thank fuck it’s not one of us’. Pretty sure Sister Anne was fucking one of the other sisters. Whenever I had to make dinner, the spatula was always covered in that weird fucking crusty cum shit.”

“I mean… if you wanted to fuck a girl, I wouldn’t care. I’d wanna watch though.”

“Yeah right. Ain’t no one touching me, but you. Your cute lil’ lovers lance belongs to me, and my wounded gash belongs to you.”

“Holy fuck babe, that’s disgusting.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You gotta stop saying the grossest shit, my balls are now in my stomach. Aside from that… you should tattoo that on you. Property of Cameron.” She rolled her eyes, and I continued before she could cut in, “C’mon, it’d be kinda hot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lakey smiled, “get your ass going, look for the stairs.”

I scanned the shed's floor, my eyes catching on a section that seemed slightly off-kilter. Wooden boards, just a hair higher than the rest. Fuckin’ rights.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" I mused, kneeling down to get a better look. "Looks like someone's idea of a secret clubhouse. I wonder what they called it. Sir Christopher and the Sisters: no one else allowed."

Lakey peered over my shoulder, her breath warm against my ear. "Or a portal to the Underworld. Wouldn't that be fun? I’d love to fuck with a demon."