Page 19 of Whiteout

I pull the gag from her mouth when I see the life begin to fade from her eyes, and it only makes me harder. I can feel my release building, tightening my balls. Her body starts going limp and I tighten my grip on her throat, reveling in the power I have over her. With one final thrust, I come, grunting my release as she takes her last breath. I hold her there, still inside her, our bodiesfrozen in that moment.

Her eyes are open, staring blankly at the ceiling. The fear has faded, replaced by nothingness. I lean back, pulling out of her, and wipe myself off with the dish towel before stuffing it back into her mouth.

I put my mask back into my coat pocket and begin to straighten my clothes. Her body will be found by morning, letting everyone know the punishments have started early this Christmas season.

Chapter 10

Ivy

I wake to the sound of knocking on my door. I throw the covers back and drag myself out of bed. When I open the door Kris is there. "I made breakfast if you'd like some."

"Thank you, I'll be right out." I need to pull myself together. A few minutes of splashing cold water on my face and running a brush through my hair, and I feel slightly more human.

As I step into the kitchen, the rich scent of freshly cooked pancakes greets me. Kris stands by the stove, flipping one with ease. He's shirtless, his jeans hanging low on his hips. His dark hair falls slightly over his eyes, and he glances up at me when I walk into the room.

He has already poured me a cup of coffee, and there's a stack of pancakes with butter and syrup waiting for me on the table.

My gaze drifts to the counter where he had tied me yesterday. My core clenches at the memory of him inside of me and I feel my face flush.

Kris catches me looking at the counter and raises an eyebrow, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“You look hungry this morning."

"I am. I'm so glad you made pancakes. I can't think of anything I'd want more right now." I try to match his smartass comment with my own. I sit down at the table across from him and pour syrup on my stack of pancakes. I take a bite, the warm, fluffy pancake melting in my mouth.

"Oh my God, these are amazing," I managed to get out between mouthfuls.

Kris takes a seat, watching me eat. I feel like he's seeing right through me. "I'm glad you like them. It's been a while since I cooked for someone."

"Well, I'm glad to be that someone. You know, I think this is the best breakfast I've had in a long time."

As we finish our pancakes, Kris starts clearing the dishes. "I'm planning to head into townafter I get the kitchen cleaned up. I need to get the materials to fix that door to the rental cabin. Would you like to come with me?"

The mention of going into town certainly caught my attention. I've been mostly cooped up here in Kris's cabin, and the idea of exploring Hemlock Hollow and maybe even gathering some information for my podcast is exciting.

"I'd really like that. I'd love the chance to just walk around and talk to the locals. Maybe I'll discover some interesting gossip for my podcast."

"I can guarantee you'll find Hemlock Hollow interesting. It's not your typical small town."

"I can't wait to see it."

Forty minutes later, Kris pulls his truck into a parking spot in front of an old hardware store.

"Do you mind if I skip the hardware store and walk around town a bit?"

Krisopens his door, pausing to turn around and look at me.

"Not at all. Take your time. It might take me a while to get what I need. I'll find you when I'm finished."

I get out of the truck and wander down the street, taking in the small-town charm of Hemlock Hollow. The main street is lined with quaint shops all decked out in Christmas decor. There's a cozy-looking bookstore, a bakery with mouthwatering aromas wafting out, and a vintage clothing store that piques my interest.

As I walk further, I notice a small crowd gathering a few blocks down. My curiosity draws me toward them. As I make my way closer, I notice a sheriff's car blocking the street in front of the crowd.

A woman in the crowd turns to her friend and whispers, "It's happening again- it's the Huntsman. He's back."

The Huntsman? Here? No. It's all a work of fiction. A tale passed down from generation to generation, weaved of fear to keep the people on the straight and narrow. He isn't real.

I push my way through the growing crowd, trying to get a better view. Inudged a bystander standing beside me. "What's going on?"

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