It has been so long since the last time I posted here on sixpencee stories. Anyway, here's a story that is supposed to be Part II of another one I wrote, hope you like it, I would really appreciate some constructive critisicm tho
I am writing this as fast as I can. She will find me soon.
For so long I was a puppet of this creature, this monster. For long as I can remember. It’s all blurry when I think about the past. And when I try to recall what happened that brought me to this place, the facts get scrambled, I can’t remember, yet, I can’t forget a single thing about it.
It was not so long ago, I was a normal person, a usual human being living a usual human life. I saw her that lovely spring afternoon, wearing that orange dress in the park. It was weird to see a woman wearing that kind of dress in this part of the city. I could see that she attracted attention in a very special kind of way, as I saw every single man taking a glance of that fine woman as they walked by. She was there, sitting on that old bench, reading that old, hardcovered book with no title. The days went by, and I as I walked by that park on my daily routine, I kept seeing her, same bench, same dress, same book. One day, after a long time of thinking about all possible scenarios, I decided to go and talk to her.
None of my scenarios worked. She was completely different of what I thought. We made an instant connection, almost magical. We talked, and talked, and talked, until the sun went down. We both could see in our dilated pupils lit by the weary street light that we wanted more. I invited her to my place, in which we kept talking until the hours passed. Nothing else happened that night, nothing but that extreme soul connection that made me fell in deep, blind love with her. We ended up together, started dating, going out, and as years passed in total happiness, we finally got married.
Then it all started.
It wasn’t long after the honey moon when she asked me to go upstairs with her to talk. She said “I have a really big secret to confess to you” and I remember those words sending a shiver down my spine. My mind flew with endless possibilities of what she could confess to me. Yet again, all my scenarios fell as she confessed about this rare sickness she had. “It is extremely rare” she told me. “it has no cure.” She said, “And I am completely out of medicine”. I tried to make her tell me more. But she wouldn’t. She started to cry deeply after that as I held her, and whispered in her ear that it was going to be ok; “We will find a cure!” I kept telling her. And I could swear that her crying sounded more like laughing at times.
After that, things started to get out of hand. I was a very sane man. Despite my age, I’ve never gotten sick. I have healthy habits. I practice sports. Diet. Yet, as soon as I started to live in the same house with her, I started to feel sick. The dizziness, the nausea, the inappetence. It was like if I was the sick one instead of her. But soon that started to change. My symptoms faded away, transmuting into worry. She started to grow sick and weary. Barely eating at all. I told her that we needed a doctor, but the very whisper of that word made her angry. She said that she didn’t needed a doctor, that she only needed me. And so, I was there for her. All the time.
I was there as she started to grow more and more sick. She kept refusing to tell me what was her sickness, how to treat it, what to do. She just said that she needed me there, and for years, she kept deteriorating more and more. And the smell, the horrid putrid smell she emanated. At first it was hard for me to be close to her, to sleep in the same bed, the sex was the hardest part. But I got used to it, as I got used to her face, slowly crumpling day by day. As years passed her skin grew slimy. At the very touch, it would fall, and stick to my fingers like tree sap, provoking her horrible pain, so I could no longer touch her. She wouldn’t eat, and her mind fade away just like the rest of her body. “I’m hungry” She used to say “I am so so hungry”, yet, she wouldn’t eat anything at all. She was now living in the bathtub at the second-floor bathroom, she decided to be there for a reason I did not knew. Day by day her skin got more and more liquid. Slowly melting away like a candle. I loved her, just like the very first day. But the sound of her sweet voice turned into a horrible deep creek, and slowly I started to get more and more afraid of the sight of that bathroom, day by day, afraid of what I could find the next time I walked in it.
One day I secretly decided to bring a doctor to our house. And old childhood friend that accepted my cry for help. I told him all that had happened, and he, both skeptical and curious, went to my house the next day. “WHAT IS THAT MAN DOING IN OUR HOUSE” she screamed, as soon as we walked in, like if she already knew what I was planning. “I SAID THAT I DON’T WANTED ANY DOCTORS, TRAITOR, BASTARD” she kept cursing and cursing as we both walked towards the bathroom. I could see the horror in my friend’s face, induced both by the screaming, and the horrible putrid smell. Yet, the curiosity in his nature made him stay, and as I lead him to the bathroom and closed the door behind me, I prayed to whatever god that could hear me, that he could heal my beloved wife. She screamed and moved with grotesque movements inside that small bathtub as the doctor tried to examine her. “Amazing” he would mutter “Incredible” he would say. I could see my wife’s pain in her eyes. Her screams of pain and fear made me feel horrible. Yet I knew that it was for her own good. “We need to take her to a hospital, we need to research her” he said, after a while. My wife would scream in agony, begging me not to do it.
The room soon filled with noise, and so did my mind; my wife begging for help, and my doctor friend begging me to see reason. He kept saying that she needed treatment and she kept screaming for help. “KILL HIM, DON’T LET HIM TAKE ME, DON’T YOU LOVE ME? DON’T YOU TRUST ME? KILL HIM, MURDER HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM.” She started to scream, over and over. I could hear her deep in my mind, begging for help. The look in her eyes, the tears, looking at me, begging for mercy. I did love her very very much. My friend grew nervous, and I saw in his curious eyes the horror that my wife’s voice caused in him. I could see it in his shaking hands trying to move me away from the door, so he could leave that place and that putrid smell. I could see it in his eyes, yes, opened up like plates as I delivered the first blow into his head. The curiosity banished from his face, I could only see terror. Horror in his eyes as we fought in that small bathroom, as I kept hitting him against the handwasher. The horror of seeing his own blood spilling all over the room, at the rhythm of a horrid deep voice screaming “KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM”.
He laid there, dead, his skull opened up like and old broken jar, spilling his brilliant brain all over my bathroom floor. “Put him inside the bathtub” My wife said. And so, I did. I obeyed like an automaton, it was like if her voice penetrated deep inside my brain and moved me out of my free will. I carried my friends body and threw him in the bathtub. Instantly, my wife vaulted towards it and started to eat it like a starving wild beast. Bit by bit, part by part, she chewed and ripped and swallowed. I just watched, frozen, as she ate the body of the friend that I just murdered. “Bring me more” She said, and I did.
For the next years I kept doing the same thing, over and over, I seduced people and brought them to our home so my “wife” could eat them. She became a monster. A horrible deformed mass of tissue, she took the shape of the bathtub, her body became almost liquid. For years and years, I kept feeding her. At first, I abducted homeless people, people no one cared about. I took them home, sometimes with the promise of food and shelter. Murder them in cold blood and give their bodies to her. Later on, she told me not to kill them, that they tasted better if they were still alive. The horrible screams of the people I took inside that bathroom still haunt me every single night.
She then asked me for more, more young people, cleaner. She said she wanted females. And so, I did, I kept obeying her every command, and while I did, the nausea and the headaches grew stronger. I convinced myself that I still loved her, that the fuel that moved me to do such atrocities was love; but whenever I walked inside that bathroom and saw her moving around that death filled bathtub I could help but to feel horrified by the sight. The hardest part was to hide the smell, but doing that, no one ever suspected a thing. Specially the girls I started to bring home. Young single girls that feel prompted and easily attracted to promises of fake love. I used to date them, take them to nice romantic places, earn their hearths and then take them home, just to lead them to that small piece of hell that stood inside my bathroom.
The day it all went down it started a little different. She would call me every day to the bathroom at times just to be with her. I had to stand near that grotesque mass of tissue, pretending to like it. She would just whisper “I love you” with that sordid deep voice, as I replied the same. That day, however, she asked me something different. “I’m so hungry, I’m still so hungry, please, help me” I leaned closer, as close as the repulsion I felt would let me. “I just fed you yesterday” I said. “I want more. I want you.” She said, louder. “LET ME EAT YOU” She screamed. I stood there, shocked, and nodded my head. Stroke by the same sorcery that made me bring all those people to their demise.
She crawled out the bathtub, taking some sort of human shape, as much as her melted deformed body would let her. I saw a face, eyes, parts with hair, arms, her naked torso and some sort of legs, and her mouth; her mouth that opened up wide showing some gigantic white fangs. I was horrified, yet, I couldn’t move a single muscle. She crawled towards me with grotesque movements, and started to touch my legs with her slimy deformed hands, leaving a trail of skin at every touch. I could hear her fast breathing, excited, like if she felt pleasure of what she was doing. She started by my leg, putting it all inside her mouth like a gigantic snake. Her mouth suddenly closed, and I felt the sharp pain of her fangs thrusting deep in my leg, she violently shook her head, and ripped it off of my body. I screamed in horror and pain. Suddenly, it all flashed before my eyes. The things that I have done, the horror of what was happening right in front of me. She looked confused, like if the spell she put on me wasn’t supposed to break, like if I was supposed to cooperate trough my consumption. She swallowed, and crawled again towards me.
Blood was oozing from my leg as I crawled away from that demon. I was horrified, dizzy and confused; terror wouldn’t let me think straight. As the things I’ve done for the sake of that beast flashed in my mind, my terror became a sudden rush of terrible anger. No. I was not going to die. I was not going to submit again into the will of that creature. I took strength out of my anger and reached for the lid of the toilet, just in time before that monster vaulted towards my face. I stroke her down, hard, and broke the porcelain toilet lid. Seeing the chance, I stabbed the demon in the chest with the sharp porcelain lid that remained in my possession. The horrible scream of pain the creature led out shook my body whole. I crawled out of the bathroom while my “wife” grotesquely moved around the bathroom floor.
I used my belt and tied it up hard around my stump leg, crawling, I rolled down stairs, trying to escape that god forsaken place. My anger became horror once again, and that moved me towards my freedom, yet, as I heard that monster opening up the bathroom door, screaming my name, I knew that I would not reach the front door in time.
Crawling, I managed to open the basement door, with all the pain of my cuts and bruises after rolling down stairs. I closed the door behind me, and stretched myself to seal the lock in place, before rolling down stairs once more. I crawled to the gas tank that we store in the basement, and made a whole with some nails and a hammer. The smell of gas fills the room as I write this.
She is there, screaming my name. “I love you, please understand” she screams with that horrible demonic voice. I have my lighter close by, the one I use for my cigarettes. The door won’t last much longer. Once she gets closer we will burn. The booth of us. She will no longer eat. I will send each other to hell to meet all the people we murder. We will both burn, along with this demonic house.
She broke down the door.
It is time, my loving wife.
I will show you how much I truly love you.
Thank you for reading!!
Is self promotion prohibited? well anyway, I also draw stuff! So if you liked what you read give it a look, I would really appreciate it
Thanks, whoever read this :3
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