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  • Writer's pictureT.R. Slauf


Star light twinkled through the inky veil of night; sliver sparkles, splattered across the void. The weeping willow danced on the warm breeze, the leaves glittering in the pale light. A chorus of frogs and cicadas rang out across the pond, filling the heavy summer air with their song.

The soft ground pillowed beneath Martin’s feet and the thick air clung to his skin, suffocating his breath. But he didn’t care. Tonight was the night.

Tonight he was going to take charge, tonight he would have the object of his desire, the siren that sang just for him. She was the perfect example of femininity; an Aphrodite sent to torment his mortal flesh. He’d resisted her for as long as he could, but he was a lowly human and she a divine goddess from above.

She was perfect, and that made her terrible. Everything about her lured him in, enchanting his dreams and haunted his nightmares. Thoughts of her consumed him. He had to have her. It was the only way to stop the torment, the sleepless nights, the teasing of her being so close yet unobtainable. And tonight he would finally have her; he would feel her soft brown skin, untouched by another man. He would taste her innocents, untainted by the sorrows of life.

She’d teased and tormented him for years, but soon he would have her. Martin’s torment at the hands of this vixen, his endless agony by this sultry wench would be at its end. He would finally have his release, his triumph over her.

Cold despite the warm summer’s night; thinking of her made his hands tremble. Her young face, her eyes full of innocents and wonder, glistening with sweat under the southern sun. His pants grew tight and his knees weak. Martin had to have her tonight or he would go mad from unfulfilled desire.

Standing in the shadows of the house, the sweet perfume of magnolias filled his senses. The perfect floral scent, for his perfect feminine desire. He gazed up into her dark window, open to allow the sweet breeze to enter. He climbed the trellis the short distance to her window. Hovering in the opening, he watched her. A white nightdress clung to her dark skin, slick with sweet summer sweat, her breath a rhythmic song. Her large brown eyes closed, her soft face a picture of serenity, his flesh burned at the sight. He was to be the one to twist that face into pure ecstasy.

Silently, he hoisted himself up, crawling through the worn wooden frame into her room. He was there, he’d finally done it.

Looming over her, Martin studied her sleeping form. Her every breath, her very presence filled him with desire driving him to the brink of insanity. Trembling to his core, his breath came in raged gasps. He stood in the presence of feminine perfection, and tonight she would be his, and would remain his for eternity.

Stroking himself, Martin quivered with excitement. His torment would be over soon.

He pulled the crisp sheets from her sleeping form. Crawling into the bed, he ran a hand up her thigh, intruding into her warmth. The touch of her young skin felt like nothing he’d ever felt before.

Stirring awake, she tried to yell. He forced a hand over her mouth, smothering her cries. He knew she wanted him; the way she tormented and teased him. Why, now that he was with her did she resist?

Her small body fought against him and her cries threatened to escape into the night. Seizing her neck, he silenced her. The tighter he gripped her neck, the closer he came to rapture. Martin gazed down at her; her eyes wide, staring up at him. How he loved his vixen.

Forcing himself into her innocents repeatedly, he gripped her neck tighter. His Aphrodite, his vixen, his feminine perfection was now truly his. Finding his release of her tormenting, he pulled back and regarded her. He had claimed what was rightfully his.

Brushing a hand against her innocent features, he wondered why she didn’t stir at his touch. Shaking her gently, her head lolled to her shoulder. Her brown eyes were wide and glassy, her mouth agape desperate to air. She didn’t move. Leaning over her listless body, he felt no breath nor heard no beat of her heart.

Why was she doing this to him?

He who loved her more than life itself. He whom she had teased into madness. He finally tasted the sweetness of her innocents only for her to abandon him. Why had she abandoned the one she loved and who loved her?

Fleeing her bedside, he ran across the yards to his house. Old and covered in vines, it reeked of neglect. Rushing inside, his palms grew clammy and his hands trembled. Slamming the door shut, he fell against it panting.

He’d loved her; her very essence surrounded him. He existed for her and only her, he loved her more than his existence on this earth. Now she was gone.

His mind was reeling. Falling into the abyss, he tried to grasp onto something, anything to ground him. But his minds eye filled with her.

Her smile under the southern sun. The way her sweat tasted, the way her innocents had enveloped him. The feel of her neck beneath his crushing grasp.

He couldn’t live without her. He wouldn’t.


The coroners wrapped up the young victims’ body, securing her in the back of the van they drove her way. The police Sargent watched, her face set in stone. She could hear the mother crying inside.

Despite years on the force, cases like this never got easier. Sargent could never understand the mind that would do such a thing, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. To rape and murder a child, what type of depraved monster could do such a thing?

Reviewing her notes, she looked across the swampy yards to the neighbor’s houses. Furrowing her brow, she set off towards an old house. Its siding once a brilliant blue, was now weathered, the paint faded and peeling. Vines overgrowing the yard broke through delicate stained-glass windows, colorful shards tossed light into the Sargent’s eyes.

Regarding the crooked shutters, missing shingles, and chipped paint she sighed internally. Allowing a beautiful old house to fall into such disrepair was a shame.

Stepping over the uneven walkway and dogging vines, she went to the front door. Her knock echoed through the house with no answer. Knocking again she tried the doorknob, it was open.

“It’s Sargent Anderson, I just want to ask a few questions.” Her greeting echoed through the emptiness.

Opening the worn door, sunlight illuminated the dusty manor. A grand staircase overlooked the entrance, a stained and ragged sheet tied to the highest banister. The victims neighbor hung aloft in the air.

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