Page 43 of Little Stranger

My girl never needs to worry about anyone hurting her, because her wonderful, ex-con, apparently psychotic brother is free and keeping her out of harm’s way.

It’s a pity I can’t protect her from myself. Her betrayal isn’t something I can shrug off like everything else. Her fucking people while I was locked away, having relationships, being happy, was unacceptable, but I let it all slide after squashing each element. But earning my forgiveness won’t be easy—I’ll have the whore begging on her knees for me to forgive her for all her fucking sins against me.

Her laptop dings, and I drop my feet and walk over to her small desk. The screen brightens, and I watch the messages fly back and forth between her and her friends in a group chat. They’re discussing Halloween this weekend, a festival they want to go to. One of her friends, Anna, the one who caused this entire colossal fuck-up, says she’s not going to a party while pregnant with twins, and another asked if they’re too old to party.

Not gonna lie, Anna is lucky I care about her friend and her opinion of me, because I fully intended to strangle her when I got out. I even went to her address in the middle of the night and made a plan for where I’d stash her body—but, of course, she had to go and get pregnant, didn’t she? Olivia would never forgive me if I killed her. I’m mad at my sister, but I don’t want to give her any more reasons to hate me.

It’s not a fair game yet.

Olivia gives her the middle-finger emoji, and I chuckle while sipping my coffee in her This Princess Loves Hugs mug.

Abigail: We’re 26, you asshole! Just because you settled down doesn’t mean we need to. Stop being a party pooper and get a costume picked.

Olivia: I already have my costume. Did you get the Poison Ivy outfit?

Abigail: Yes! I can’t wait to see yours. Are you still going as a goth bride as a fuck you to your parents?

Olivia: *Wink emoji* I’m very mature.

I straighten, glancing over at her bedroom. It’s tidy. The entire fucking house is tidy, the little clean freak that she is. I kind of love watching her putting music on and dancing around in her panties while she vacuums. One of my favorite pastimes with my cock in my hand.

I pull open her wardrobe and spot the costume that wasn’t there yesterday, and my dick hardens at the thought, the fucking image in my head of her dressed up as a bride in black—the black tutu and corset, black netted tights and garter… I rub the material of the veil, gulping at the possibility of losing her to some other asshole when she marries.

I slam the wardrobe door harder than necessary, fist my hands, and screw my eyes shut.Breathe, Malachi. Fucking breathe and don’t wreck the place.

Focus. Repress.

I open my eyes and shake it off.

If my girl is going out for Halloween, it looks like I am too. I can’t wait to reacquaint my cock with her cunt—that one time with her over Dad’s prone body replays in my mind, but it’s not enough.

After reading in her journal that she would love to be taken while unconscious, I’ve been tempted to fuck her in her drugged-up state, to ram my cock in her ass too, but I want her eyes on me—I want her lucid, watching me fucking take what she took away from me.

I want to hear her screaming in both fear and pleasure while she reacquaints her throat with my cock and cries for mercy.

I won’t show her any. That little shit took eight years from me. And this weekend, while she dresses up as a slutty bride, I’m going to make her pay.

Once I eat one of her apples and toss aside the core, I intentionally kick over her laundry basket and leave the toilet seat up, then place the chocolates on her table. I look around her place once more before I leave, then pull on my motorbike helmet and fix my gloves onto my hands as I make my way across the street to my bike.

The closest costume store isn’t too far away, and I can’t help but feel excitement—she likes to be scared while turned on, and she’s going to be fucking terrified while I chase her down and choke the life out of her.

11

Malachi

Thecostumestoresmellsfunky.

Skulls everywhere. Hockey masks. Some blank faces. I contemplate the black one with the spider effect, but I want something more. The Jason mask looks like it’s covered in years-old dust, and I squint at the corner of the store, where there’s a row of three other masks.

Heavy boots take me there, the light above me flickering like I’m some sort of bad entity haunting the place.

My gaze falls on a black gas mask—two chambers on each side, rusty looking, the eyes covered in mesh. My lip curls at the corner, and I reach for it, feeling the weight of it in my hands, the rough texture of the design, imagining wearing it, my darling Olivia having no idea it’s me behind the mask while she sucks my cock.

Nothing else here calls to me, so I pay for it and head back to my apartment. After I shower and cook some dinner, I sit at my desk. Screens litter the wall in front of me, showing everywhere Olivia goes, and I search each one to find her.

She’s standing in her friend’s kitchen, sipping from a mug and laughing at something Anna’s husband is saying. Her friend rubs her pregnant belly, and Olivia presses her hand to it, her eyes widening. I see no reason to be happy here. Why is she smiling like that?

Babies are just reincarnations of the devil in my opinion, so I have no desire to ever become a father. I’d be terrible anyway. I wouldn’t ever want a miniature version of me stealing my attention from my sister. I’m an asshole—why would I want another one of me?

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