I turn my attention to Jackson, whose face is streaked with tears, and decide I've never felt so goddamn satisfied in my life.
"Get him on his stomach," I instruct Spade. "I'll be right back."
Spade nods and tackles Jackson to the ground as I skip to the kitchen, looking around past the peeling wallpaper and the flames dancing outside the kitchen window, pressing against the glass, pleading to be let inside.
A bottle of olive oil with a drizzling tip sits on the top of the oven, so I grab it and hurry back to the foyer, smirking when I see Krowe’s ghost standing over his own body, shock on his face.
He mumbles something unintelligible.
"Welcome to the afterlife." I greet him. "Don't speak with your mouth full."
"MMM!"
I ignore Krowe, not having time to deal with his existential crisis. Flames are crawling up the steps of the old house, and the whole thing is a tinderbox. It'll go up in smoke in minutes... maybe less.
Jackson tenses when glass bursts in the kitchen, and I trade places with Spade, holding him down as he screams, trying to break free, as if there's anywhere to go. I suppose burning alive may be a better fate for him than what I've got planned, but he doesn't get to escape this.
"Cut off Krowe's arm." I instruct Spade, nodding at the meat cleaver. "Just below the elbow should be enough."
I don't watch as he moves to do exactly what I ask. Instead, I focus on Jackson, gripping his jeans and stripping them down his pants, past his thighs, exposing his ass in his discolored tighty-whities as he tries to crawl away from me.
"Shh." I tell him. "You can take it."
He doesn't have to ask what. I don't give him a chance to. I coat the blade in olive oil, saturating it and letting it drip down onto his back, before I line it up with his ass hole.
It takes virtually no pressure to rip his filthy white underwear.
It takes just a slight bit more pressure to press it into him; the blade slices his ass open, and blood pours around him, saturating the fabric, pouring out onto the floor.
I guess I miscalculated how much blood he'd lose like this, because it comes so rapidly that I think he may pass out before I even finish.
He screams the whole time, a continuous, desperate, keening wail that grows in pitch and fades and grows again as I trade the blade for Krowe's severed arm.
"MMMMM!" Krowe yells but the words are muffled around the cock in his throat.
I ignore him as I line the severed stump up with his best friend's asshole. I drizzle more olive oil on him for good measure, using the slippery oil as lube to force his arm into him. It’s the bone protruding from around the rest of the flesh that pushes into him first, and I half expect to have to force it in.
Jackson slams his fist against the ground, sobbing as I slip it in deeper and deeper, impressed by how easy it is, by how much Jackson stretches as I give him no fucking choice but to take it.
Jackson screams so loudly that he goes silent like a baby whose cry gets so intense they get mute, even as their face makes it clear they’re still wailing.
And that's all I reduce him to… a wailing, screaming baby.
He fucking tormented me in the most grotesque way. Theyallwent too far, but his violation was by far the worst of it.
Not only did he go back for more, he took immense, sick pleasure in doing it. The fucking corn cob he left wedged inside of me is nothing compared to his best friend's hand sticking out his ass, but I want him to feel it there for eternity.
When Spade helped me devise this plan earlier, we had to find out why we were here, why Natalie and her family were here. The answer we came up with is that all of us died on the property.
Spade knew when he took me down from the stake that I was dying, but he didn't realize how close to it I was. He couldn't save me, but he cleaned me up before I died... and that made all the difference. He saved me from an eternity of being covered in blood and piss and vomit, from floating around with the corn husk aspartof me.
I didn't extend the same courtesy to Krowe, who will now never be able to speak again. And I won't extend the mercy to Jackson, who's shaking, sweating, and beginning to vomit as I grip Krowe's wrist and shove deep inside.
His screams are swallowed by the roar of the fire spilling in through the front door, from the kitchen, pouring out and filling the house with smoke.
I thrust one last time, enjoying the sob as Jackson slams his fist into the ground, and the muffled screaming as Krowe's ghost watches his body be defiled further in death.
I let go of a sigh, wiping my hands on the skirt of the dress that Natalie lent to me.
