Caught

A Story by Tom Friel

“Jeremy wake-up! Damn-it, wake-up Jeremy!”

But Jeremy would not wake-up, could not wake-up.

Not until the icy hard body with darts for breasts removed herself. Not until she had had her way. Jeremy could only lay motionless as the small silver daggers repeatedly drew blood from his slender heaving chest.

“Why? Why were so many nights like this?”

Once again he'd been "caught". Jeremy’s own version of Hell resurrected. Violating every crevice within his own personal sanctum.

Insanity, as always, was his only escape.

Not once did the goon squad that him dragged there ever question her authority. Not once did they dare look into the eyes of pure evil.

Her piercing laugh was interrupted only by the steady flow of succubus goo slithering down the sides of her mouth. Madly, she pointed towards the naked boy, forcing the goons to watch as she slided her way towards her helpless prey.

As Jeremy lay naked the faint words, "Go to Hell!" breathed from his trembling lips. With that the goon squad (just following orders of course) cattle-prodded the young man senseless as sticky fingers pawed and scratched deep into his skin.

Behind a door a beady-eyed old witch intently watched the horrors. Jeremy had seen her before, apart from his horrors. Never once did she take her eyes off him and when opportunity knocked, she slipped Jeremy's photo into her filthy handbag and hobbled off behind the thick brush.

There, in the distance, a high dullish voice sickly sang, "And you know that their little lives can become such a mess - hell - hell is for children - and you shouldn’t have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh - hell - hell is for children." *

When morning finally arrived Jeremy was once again missing at breakfast. “He’s overslept again!” came the general response. His mother yelled without success and proceeded up the stairs to check his room but Jeremy was nowhere to be seen. Jeremy was gone. She noticed the tracks of black goo leading to the opened window. Jeremy’s radio was playing softly near his bed. Pat Benatar was singing madly but no one was noticing.

*Lyrics by Pat Benatar