Page 29 of Madness Behind the Mask
My body chills, but it doesn’t snuff out the white-hot rage boiling inside me. It just changes it. Makes it colder. Makes my plan to choke him on his last testicle dissipate under a need to hurt him further.
For at least two years, my wife has been sold like some piece of meat at the butcher’s, and this lowlifefuckerknew about it.
“Where did you hear it?” I ask, my voice cold and flat, not revealing one ounce of my rage.
Bert would have come to me with this news if he was the only one to know of it. He is a sniveling weasel who licks the boots of whoever he thinks can lavish him with rewards. For him to have not come to me two years ago means the business of raping my comatose wife is well and truly entrenched within the Shadow Domain,kept secret by the johns who visited her while I was otherwise preoccupied, further hidden by a strong witch – the secret mastermind pulling all the strings.
He shakes his head, tears falling down his cheeks as he rolls his lips in. His body trembles, but there is a strength in hiseyes, a moronic bite of courage so he doesn’t die as the coward everyone knows him to be.
My smile curls as I hold his gaze. “I respect that you’ve finally grown some balls,” I say as I pushhistesticle deep into his mouth, rolling it across his tongue. “So I’ll honor my promise of not making another hole in you.”
Fear trembles at his lips as his ball lodges in his throat, stealing his air once more. But before he can go red with the lack of oxygen, I release my hold on it, and the idiot swallows quickly with relief. As if he doesn’t realize I canpull it back up if I wantto. I can pull up his entire fucking stomach.
But instead, I step back.
Then I hold out my hand as the large cabinet behind him opens, and a funnel and a glass jar fly through the air towards me.
His eyes widen as he screams and jerks on the hooks, desperate to get away from me – or rather, from the littlecreaturein the jarnow hovering in front of his face.No bigger than two of my fingerstouching end to endand not much widerthan the width of oneeither, it doesn’t look like it should warrant Bert’s level of fear.
Although brought over fromBlódyrióby the Shadows’ ancestorswhen they entered the portal to St. Augustine, theainskacaneasily be mistaken for a centipedefoundsomewhere in the uncharted jungles of South America with its electric blue body and black splotches running down its back. Its hundred legs click-clatter across the glass as it rears up in anticipation of being fed. It’s lived its whole life in the dark cupboard depths, only seeing light when itis to eat, and it has been conditioned well.If it were a dog, it would be salivatingas it looked at Bert.
“I overheard Chris–” he starts to scream, but I cut him off by forcing his mouth closed. The mufflednoises of his throat sing alongside the rattling of the hooks’ chains.
“Don’t revert back to your cowardice, Bert,” I say as I pluck the funnel out of the air and grab his floppy dick with my other hand. Lining up the tip of the funnel with his urethral, I push it slowly inside him,wiggling it into the tight fit.
He screams and cries behind lips that won’t part for him. He thrashes like a land-stranded fish, but I know it is not over the pain of his stretching hole. It is over fear and understanding of what is to come.
With the tip of the funnel inserted fully inside him, Ibring the jar over to it with my telekinesis. I don’t want to be within jumping distance of the ainska when the lid comes off. As beautiful as it is, it’s fucking vicious and willgo afterwhatever it can catch.
Pointing the jar to face down the funnel, I quickly uncork it, then slam it against the open hole, sealing its rim and giving the ainska only one way to escape.
It raises its head and hisses, its black antennas moving back and forth as it picks up the scent of its meal. Lunging forward, it scuttles out of the glass and down the funnel, and within a second, it’s gone.
Within one more, Bert is convulsing on the hooks, ripping his skinwithoutcare. His feet kick as he bucks wildly and his damaged hand swipesat his naked belly. He whines, loud and painful, like a dog that’s just lost its master. Heartfelt and full of grief.
This will not be a quick death for him.
The ainska will eat its way to hischest, where it will burrow inside and lay its eggs. It won’t kill him though; it needs him alive so all six thousand ofits offspringhave something to eatas they grow.
Eventually,all but sixteenwill burrow out of him,therest plugging up their holes with special secreted saliva. He’ll be kept alive and aware, full of pain both physically and mentally as he’s trapped in his own body,controlled by thesixteenainska as they move around his brain.It’sexactlywhatcertainwaspson Earth do with caterpillarsand cockroaches. They will use him as a bodyguarduntil they are finally ready to consume the entirety of him.
“I appreciate you talking to me, Bert,” I say as I pat his cheek. “I really do.” Stepping past him, I make my way to the stairs as he convulses in agony, increased by thepainofhisknowledge.
At the bottom step, I call out over my shoulder, “Figure out which Christian he was talking about,son,and see if heknows whothe bossis. I want his head on my desk in the morning.”
“Can I see Mother first?”
I turn around, my eyes softening as they land onhim.“I’ve not told her she is a mother yet,” I say softly. “She needs time to adjust.”
He isn’t pleased, but he nods, understanding that her health comes first.
Eleven
HER
22July 1947
I can’t escape.
