The Terror At Sunshine Hill ~ page 2
Chooli
let out a short, small scream of fright as she is grabbed from behind. She
nearly faints as she recognizes the ‘ghost’s’ voice from behind her. Except…
Except he felt far too solid for a ghost. Then pain flares from her neck for a
brief heartbeat to be replaced by the sweetest pleasure the woman had ever
felt. Her knees buckle, her nipples harden, and wetness spreads from between
her legs as she moans in pure bliss. Her hands grab ahold of an arm around her
body to help hold her upright. She clings to it as images briefly flit by her
mind’s eye of her life and loss, but they do not distract from the pleasure.
She feels a darkness starting to steal over her as she is drained nearly dry.
She starts to become dead weight as she hovers on the brink of unconsciousness.
Distantly she hears his voice and feels him caressing her hair.
Whitaker feels her body begin to grow slack, and he smiles at her helplessness. Still, what to do now? He was a monster, but he wasn't cruel enough to leave her out here to die, especially when he wasn't yet done with her. She was alone; even her tribe was growing frustrated with her, he could tell that much from the brief thoughts he'd read from her mind as he'd fed. An idea came to him then, and he smiled at the thought. The more he considered it, the more he began to like the idea.
He turned her around, and bent, lowering her swooning form over his shoulder. He straightened, hefting her weight easily onto his shoulder, and began making his way back to town. Whitaker had his own private lair that was carefully hidden in an underground crypt in the town's cemetery. He hadn't made much use of the place other than to store some personal items and to keep his slumbering form safe during his day time sleep. It was dark and cold, but its walls were thick and it was far enough underground that nobody would hear her screams.
He patted her backside almost affectionately at the thought of having her tied up and subdued in his crypt, and he quickened his pace.
She felt herself turned and lifted, her gut resting on something hard and rather boney. She feels swaying, like she is being carried by someone, and it was making her rather sick. Her stomach heaved a few times, but since she had not yet eaten for the night, thankfully nothing came up. She felt a pat on her rump and distantly was indignant. But the quickening pace sent her to heaving again and the stress and strain of that finally sent her spiraling down into oblivion.
In the darkness her family appeared. She smiled with joy and ran to them, only to come to a halt still out of arms reach. They looked so sad. She didn’t understand. “My love?”
“You are gone to us now Chooli. We will always love you.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Her family fades and the blackness is complete, a wail echoes in her mind, she never realizes it is her own voice voicing the loss she doesn’t even yet know she will once more experience.
Chooli struggled with consciousness as he carried her aloft, mumbling quietly as if reliving her memories. A part of Whitaker felt sorry for her, but it was a small part, a bit of him that still remained that was human. No, he was set on his course, and no part of sympathy for her would stop that. Besides, there was nothing left for her in Sunshine Hill. Her tribe was weary of her stubbornness, and the townsfolk of Sunshine Hill would only view her as inferior, as a savage to be exploited. At least under his care, she would be considered precious, if only to sate his dark lusts.
He opened the wrought iron gates of the cemetery and entered, not bothering to close them behind him. Even if any of the townsfolk came along, chances were that they would avoid the cemetery, their own superstition making them imagine all sorts of illusory horrors awaiting them at night. The reality was that there was a monster about, but one they couldn't know, at least until his fangs were sinking into their flesh.
He entered the crypt, easily moving the heavy stone slab to the side and following the carved granite steps downward. His preternatural eyes easily pierced the gloom, though if Chooli were to wake, she would find herself in complete and total darkness. He crossed the stone floor of the crypt, moving to one corner where a pair of shackles were connected to two long, thick chains bolted to the floor. He sat her down gently, then tightened one shackle on her wrist, then the other about her opposite arm. He turned, moving to a small alcove carved into the rock, and lit a single candle, giving some scant illumination in the wide room.
"Awaken, Chooli..." he whispered, moving toward her once more. "There will be time to rest when the sun rises."
She heard a voice calling her back to wakefulness, a somewhat familiar voice, though not really. Her eyes flutter open and she blearily looks around. Her nose wrinkles slightly at the smell of damp earth and decay. She blinks in the weak light, her eyes having been used to starlight before. Her eyes finally adjusts and she sees her ‘ghost’ Jeremiah Whitaker. She starts to scrabble away only to be stopped by the chains and metal bracelets around her wrists. She blinks at them confused and then tries to take them off, only they won’t go over her hands. She looks up at him. Her heart pounding, fear in her eyes. “You?” She holds her hands up and shakes the bracelets that already shake and clink with her frightened tremors. The question is clear in her eyes even through the fear. Why?
Whitaker knelt down before her, one hand rising to caress her forearm even as she struggled to get away from him. He smiled, and slowly pulled his hand back, his pale flesh seeming entirely too artificial, too unliving, in the dim candlelight. He saw the question in her eyes, the fear and the anger that mixed within her and directed themselves at him. He wondered absently how long it would take her to break.
"Why not?" he asked, holding her gaze. "There is nothing out there for you anymore. Your tribe is fed up with your stubbornness. Your family is gone, lost to the White Man's disease. The white folks will see you as inferior, little more than a savage in their civilization. Where could you go, Chooli? Who will take you?"
His hands moved back out, cupping her cheeks in his cold grasp. He smiled, the tips of his fangs showing from just beneath his upper lip. He held her gaze for a long moment, then, with surprising boldness only further heightened by her helplessness, he kissed her, before pulling back and laughing.
"You are mine, now, Chooli..." he said. "And no one will ever hurt you again."
She growls with frustration. She can’t understand but a small amount of the words he speaks. It was clear though he was the reason for the metal bracelets. She flinches away from his touch on her cheeks. While still scared, she is now growing angry. But before she can try to demand her freedom he is kissing her. She tries to jerk her head from his. When he pulls back his laughter sends a chill down her spine. She understands ‘mine’ and her name. Her eyes widen and she struggles against her bonds yet again. She kicks out at him. She is quickly descending into a trapped and cornered beast. She tugs frantically at the bracelets bruising and tearing her skin trying to get free.
Whitaker can see the animalistic panic in her eyes, and he reacts before she can hurt herself by thrashing about, struggling to get free. His hands lash out, taking hold of her wrists, and he holds them tightly, putting just enough pressure to hurt her if she continued to struggle. She was only barely understanding him, the language barrier keeping her from understanding the entirety of what he was trying to say to her.
"Chooli!" he cried, his voice echoing throughout the chamber, pulling her from her panic.
He reached out with his mind this time, pressing his thoughts directly into her mind. The language barrier would be overcome then, her mind interpreting his words for him.
'Struggle all you wish, Chooli...' his mind-voice said. 'None can hear you scream. None will rescue you. But would you want them to? Would you want your elders to force you to marry once more to satisfy their own customs? Would you want the White Man to come find you, only to save you and place you on a reservation, to stay there on pain of death? I can offer you something else, Chooli. I am offering you something else. But you cannot leave.'
She cried out in pain from his hold on her wrists, and his shouting caused her to jump and jerk against his grip. Pain flared from her wrists and she cried out in turn. Tears sprang to her eyes at the pain but didn’t spill over. She stilled as it pulsed from her wrists up her arms to fade just before the elbows.
She eyes widen so huge as she hears his voice speaking her language suddenly. If he could speak her language why the silly White-- Impossibly, her eyes widen further as she realizes he’s not speaking, but actually in her head. Her sheer terror overshadows his words. Vaguely she hears them, but they do not yet register. She is finally screaming at the top of her lungs. What manner of monster is he? How can he enter her mind like this?
She tries to struggle once more, at first she doesn’t feel the pain that flares from his grip, not until a small snap happens in her left wrist. Then her scream takes a new pitch, one of pain as she suddenly stops struggling and tries to curl up on herself. Her screaming tapers off to a whimper, the pain is great from her left wrist. She fights passing out from the pain alone. She is so very afraid of what this monster would do to her if unconscious.
'You continue struggling, and it will only be worse... ' he replied, finally releasing her wrists and moving across the room. He had expected her reaction, had known it would happen, but he hadn't expected the sheer volume of her scream. He settled onto an olden wooden chair that sat next to a small wooden table, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a rolled cigarette. He lit it with a small wooden match, and took a deep drag off of it, before shaking the match's flame out.
'Your time here need not be harsh...' he said, speaking directly to her mind. 'All you must do is submit. If I wanted you dead, you would be. Or have you, in your terror, forgotten that fact?'
Finally let go she finished curling up, holding her wrist as close to herself as the metal bracelets allowed. The pain from her wrist calmed her terror enough to finally actually hear his words and process them. Of course she knew he could kill her. If she couldn’t get free, he was probably going to anyway. She finally stopped whimpering, the pain becoming bearable at last. She frowned at her lap, the only thing in her view at the moment. She wondered what he meant by submitting. Submitting to what? Or who? Why should she anyway? She was Kiowa, and she was free. Well, maybe not free in the true sense of the word being held captive by him, but her people were free, not on some White Man’s reservation. She would submit to nothing this Pale Face wanted.
Whitaker watched her sulk for a long moment, taking long, quiet draws from his cigarette. He could still sense the defiance in her mind, when coupled with the pain in her wrist, was making her will stronger than he had expected. After a moment, he stood, and moved over to her. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small handkerchief, and began to slowly wrap her injured wrist. His touch was surprisingly gentle, yet firm, and his face was impassive, showing no sign of emotion.
'You can fight it all you wish, Chooli...' he said. 'But if you think about it, your situation is helpless. Recall the ancient stories of your people. Recall the tales of the Death Walkers...'
Whitaker feels her body begin to grow slack, and he smiles at her helplessness. Still, what to do now? He was a monster, but he wasn't cruel enough to leave her out here to die, especially when he wasn't yet done with her. She was alone; even her tribe was growing frustrated with her, he could tell that much from the brief thoughts he'd read from her mind as he'd fed. An idea came to him then, and he smiled at the thought. The more he considered it, the more he began to like the idea.
He turned her around, and bent, lowering her swooning form over his shoulder. He straightened, hefting her weight easily onto his shoulder, and began making his way back to town. Whitaker had his own private lair that was carefully hidden in an underground crypt in the town's cemetery. He hadn't made much use of the place other than to store some personal items and to keep his slumbering form safe during his day time sleep. It was dark and cold, but its walls were thick and it was far enough underground that nobody would hear her screams.
He patted her backside almost affectionately at the thought of having her tied up and subdued in his crypt, and he quickened his pace.
She felt herself turned and lifted, her gut resting on something hard and rather boney. She feels swaying, like she is being carried by someone, and it was making her rather sick. Her stomach heaved a few times, but since she had not yet eaten for the night, thankfully nothing came up. She felt a pat on her rump and distantly was indignant. But the quickening pace sent her to heaving again and the stress and strain of that finally sent her spiraling down into oblivion.
In the darkness her family appeared. She smiled with joy and ran to them, only to come to a halt still out of arms reach. They looked so sad. She didn’t understand. “My love?”
“You are gone to us now Chooli. We will always love you.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Her family fades and the blackness is complete, a wail echoes in her mind, she never realizes it is her own voice voicing the loss she doesn’t even yet know she will once more experience.
Chooli struggled with consciousness as he carried her aloft, mumbling quietly as if reliving her memories. A part of Whitaker felt sorry for her, but it was a small part, a bit of him that still remained that was human. No, he was set on his course, and no part of sympathy for her would stop that. Besides, there was nothing left for her in Sunshine Hill. Her tribe was weary of her stubbornness, and the townsfolk of Sunshine Hill would only view her as inferior, as a savage to be exploited. At least under his care, she would be considered precious, if only to sate his dark lusts.
He opened the wrought iron gates of the cemetery and entered, not bothering to close them behind him. Even if any of the townsfolk came along, chances were that they would avoid the cemetery, their own superstition making them imagine all sorts of illusory horrors awaiting them at night. The reality was that there was a monster about, but one they couldn't know, at least until his fangs were sinking into their flesh.
He entered the crypt, easily moving the heavy stone slab to the side and following the carved granite steps downward. His preternatural eyes easily pierced the gloom, though if Chooli were to wake, she would find herself in complete and total darkness. He crossed the stone floor of the crypt, moving to one corner where a pair of shackles were connected to two long, thick chains bolted to the floor. He sat her down gently, then tightened one shackle on her wrist, then the other about her opposite arm. He turned, moving to a small alcove carved into the rock, and lit a single candle, giving some scant illumination in the wide room.
"Awaken, Chooli..." he whispered, moving toward her once more. "There will be time to rest when the sun rises."
She heard a voice calling her back to wakefulness, a somewhat familiar voice, though not really. Her eyes flutter open and she blearily looks around. Her nose wrinkles slightly at the smell of damp earth and decay. She blinks in the weak light, her eyes having been used to starlight before. Her eyes finally adjusts and she sees her ‘ghost’ Jeremiah Whitaker. She starts to scrabble away only to be stopped by the chains and metal bracelets around her wrists. She blinks at them confused and then tries to take them off, only they won’t go over her hands. She looks up at him. Her heart pounding, fear in her eyes. “You?” She holds her hands up and shakes the bracelets that already shake and clink with her frightened tremors. The question is clear in her eyes even through the fear. Why?
Whitaker knelt down before her, one hand rising to caress her forearm even as she struggled to get away from him. He smiled, and slowly pulled his hand back, his pale flesh seeming entirely too artificial, too unliving, in the dim candlelight. He saw the question in her eyes, the fear and the anger that mixed within her and directed themselves at him. He wondered absently how long it would take her to break.
"Why not?" he asked, holding her gaze. "There is nothing out there for you anymore. Your tribe is fed up with your stubbornness. Your family is gone, lost to the White Man's disease. The white folks will see you as inferior, little more than a savage in their civilization. Where could you go, Chooli? Who will take you?"
His hands moved back out, cupping her cheeks in his cold grasp. He smiled, the tips of his fangs showing from just beneath his upper lip. He held her gaze for a long moment, then, with surprising boldness only further heightened by her helplessness, he kissed her, before pulling back and laughing.
"You are mine, now, Chooli..." he said. "And no one will ever hurt you again."
She growls with frustration. She can’t understand but a small amount of the words he speaks. It was clear though he was the reason for the metal bracelets. She flinches away from his touch on her cheeks. While still scared, she is now growing angry. But before she can try to demand her freedom he is kissing her. She tries to jerk her head from his. When he pulls back his laughter sends a chill down her spine. She understands ‘mine’ and her name. Her eyes widen and she struggles against her bonds yet again. She kicks out at him. She is quickly descending into a trapped and cornered beast. She tugs frantically at the bracelets bruising and tearing her skin trying to get free.
Whitaker can see the animalistic panic in her eyes, and he reacts before she can hurt herself by thrashing about, struggling to get free. His hands lash out, taking hold of her wrists, and he holds them tightly, putting just enough pressure to hurt her if she continued to struggle. She was only barely understanding him, the language barrier keeping her from understanding the entirety of what he was trying to say to her.
"Chooli!" he cried, his voice echoing throughout the chamber, pulling her from her panic.
He reached out with his mind this time, pressing his thoughts directly into her mind. The language barrier would be overcome then, her mind interpreting his words for him.
'Struggle all you wish, Chooli...' his mind-voice said. 'None can hear you scream. None will rescue you. But would you want them to? Would you want your elders to force you to marry once more to satisfy their own customs? Would you want the White Man to come find you, only to save you and place you on a reservation, to stay there on pain of death? I can offer you something else, Chooli. I am offering you something else. But you cannot leave.'
She cried out in pain from his hold on her wrists, and his shouting caused her to jump and jerk against his grip. Pain flared from her wrists and she cried out in turn. Tears sprang to her eyes at the pain but didn’t spill over. She stilled as it pulsed from her wrists up her arms to fade just before the elbows.
She eyes widen so huge as she hears his voice speaking her language suddenly. If he could speak her language why the silly White-- Impossibly, her eyes widen further as she realizes he’s not speaking, but actually in her head. Her sheer terror overshadows his words. Vaguely she hears them, but they do not yet register. She is finally screaming at the top of her lungs. What manner of monster is he? How can he enter her mind like this?
She tries to struggle once more, at first she doesn’t feel the pain that flares from his grip, not until a small snap happens in her left wrist. Then her scream takes a new pitch, one of pain as she suddenly stops struggling and tries to curl up on herself. Her screaming tapers off to a whimper, the pain is great from her left wrist. She fights passing out from the pain alone. She is so very afraid of what this monster would do to her if unconscious.
'You continue struggling, and it will only be worse... ' he replied, finally releasing her wrists and moving across the room. He had expected her reaction, had known it would happen, but he hadn't expected the sheer volume of her scream. He settled onto an olden wooden chair that sat next to a small wooden table, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a rolled cigarette. He lit it with a small wooden match, and took a deep drag off of it, before shaking the match's flame out.
'Your time here need not be harsh...' he said, speaking directly to her mind. 'All you must do is submit. If I wanted you dead, you would be. Or have you, in your terror, forgotten that fact?'
Finally let go she finished curling up, holding her wrist as close to herself as the metal bracelets allowed. The pain from her wrist calmed her terror enough to finally actually hear his words and process them. Of course she knew he could kill her. If she couldn’t get free, he was probably going to anyway. She finally stopped whimpering, the pain becoming bearable at last. She frowned at her lap, the only thing in her view at the moment. She wondered what he meant by submitting. Submitting to what? Or who? Why should she anyway? She was Kiowa, and she was free. Well, maybe not free in the true sense of the word being held captive by him, but her people were free, not on some White Man’s reservation. She would submit to nothing this Pale Face wanted.
Whitaker watched her sulk for a long moment, taking long, quiet draws from his cigarette. He could still sense the defiance in her mind, when coupled with the pain in her wrist, was making her will stronger than he had expected. After a moment, he stood, and moved over to her. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small handkerchief, and began to slowly wrap her injured wrist. His touch was surprisingly gentle, yet firm, and his face was impassive, showing no sign of emotion.
'You can fight it all you wish, Chooli...' he said. 'But if you think about it, your situation is helpless. Recall the ancient stories of your people. Recall the tales of the Death Walkers...'