by Laurie Razor
This sweet's not sweet anymore! ~1130 Words (WARNING:- Disturbing sexual content within.)
| Claudine Sauer, that wrinkled temptress bewitched me. She lives next door to me with her young grandson, Evan. They moved next door a week ago, and I've lusted for her ever since. She doesn't see me as a possible love interest; heck, why would she?
I'm about sixty years her junior, and stack shelves at the local supermarket. Other than staring at her through my windows, the supermarket is the only place I see her. I chat with her any time I can. When our conversation ends, she reaches into her purse and hands me a homemade humbug.
Ambrosia served at Zeus' Table couldn't taste better than this vixen's confection. I can't help think of her whenever one of those sweet mentholated joys melt upon my tongue. My daydreams of our coital sins turn dark whenever I dare suckle the boiled treat. They start the same, she disrobes for me in her foyer, then drapes her discarded garments over the stair rail. I walk behind her, bend her over a glass-topped cabinet with vicious aplomb, and rip at her grayed hair. She whimpers as her arthritis-ridden hips break with a snap. I don't care for her pain and unleash my manhood. Like a beast possessed, I hammer her snatch until her face plunges through the glass. Once again, I yank on her hair and see the knick-knacks from the cabinet protruding from her face. Broken glass, porcelain, and ceramic shards push deep into her wrinkled canyons. That vision of her broken face ends the fantasy, and I face reality with a startling sickness.
I've never succumbed to a violent lust before, but I need her. After I swallow her candy, I ponder; does she want me to ravage her to death? If she's the architect of my hallucinatory desires, I must imagine so, but if not, am I a monster? Only while partaking in her delectable sweets, do these debaucherous urges surface. Is she drugging me with candy, and if so, why don't I care?
As I stand at her front door, I doubt there's any truth in my suspicion. I've only ever liked an older woman once when I was in middle school. Things never progressed with Miss Applebaum for understandable reasons. A small part of me hopes this won't advance either.
My shaking fingers coil inward; my knuckles whiff the wood-grain, the door swings open. "Young William, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Her occidental lilt near lifts my feet from the concrete. My top lip quivers and quavers as my hand shoots toward her throat. "Where's Evan?" She smiles as I force her inside and close the door behind us. "He's gone." My aggressive nature frightens me, but she remains calm.
"Do you know what I am going to do now?" She nods and shoots me a grin. "I suppose you want to know why first, don't you?" As my hands rend her dress to shreds, I look back to her with a predatory gaze. "No. I know all I need to know." I bend her over the glass cabinet as I'd fantasized, and heard her hips crack. My fingers slip my zipper down, and I enter her, although reality overcomes my compulsion. I stop myself after the first thrust.
"What am I doing?" Her face presses hard against the glass as my firm hand remains on her back. "What you must." Her words infuriate me, and I continue my assault. She screams as the glass beneath her shatters. Almost terrified, I yank her hair, pulling her face back near mine and inspect the damage. The spell breaks as I stare into that broken face I'd seen a thousand times before.
"Oh, Mrs. Sauer. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" With tears in my eyes, I pull out of her and spin her around. She smiles through the myriad of breakables in her flesh. "I'm fine now, and I'm the one who should apologize because you're next!" As she finishes speaking, she crumbles through my arms like a pile of powdered batter.
I turn toward the door, but it's not there.
Nothing's anywhere anymore.
The room is empty.
My body tingles as though ran over by a million ants. I close my eyes to escape this nightmare, but can't. "Evan's in the attic making humbugs. Join him or join them. Evan's in the attic making humbugs. Join him-" She says that line over and over until I open my eyes again.
I'm at the bottom of her stairs. My hand reaches to the railing, and I notice it isn't mine. Covered in hair and liver spots, this hand belongs to someone much older than myself. I look down at the other and see it's the same. Feeling an answer may lie in the attic, I ascend one step at a time. Each step feels like a new torment. Is my entire body as infirm as my hands look? A youthful giggle emanates from the platform above me.
"Grandpa Bill? Do you need a hand?" I hear heavy footfall but see nothing. An arm reaches around me, causing me to jump, before looking to see Evan beside me. "Evan? I'm not your Grandpa. I'm your neighbor. Don't you remember?" He looked toward me and smiled as he steadied me. "You're funny, Grandpa." Evan always stood out as a weird kid, but I never thought him daft.
After forever, we reach a door leading to the attic, and he runs inside. I grip the handle, my hand's older-looking still, and open the door. Dozens of metal canisters skirt the walls. Inside each stands an unconscious boy with a tube inserted into his stomach. Each one hangs from a tangle of multicolored wires which penetrate their shoulders. "Who are they?" Evan runs over to me, excited. "Don't you recognize them? They're me. They're all me."
I look again, and he's right. Every one of these half-naked children looked like him. "Why?" He walks over to a little round machine in the center of the room and presses a button. The strange gizmo emits a blinding flash, and a humbug sits atop it. He grabs it and presents it to me with both hands outstretched. "They make the humbugs so tasty."
I notice then that the tubes jabbed into their stomachs all lead to this machine. "Come on, Grandpa. Take the humbug. They'll make more. Besides, don't you want to see what happens next?" He holds the striped treat in my face and pressures me to take it. I snatch the candy from him and gulp it down so fast my eyes roll backward. My throat rolls as I see a plethora of violent sexual deviancy play out. One of these fates await me, and I deserve it.