"Going out to 'smoke' your dinner?" voluptuous 'Tina Turn-on' purred, her brown eyes sparkling as she posed sexily.
"Yeah," Donald said. "You wanna join me?"
"What would Peggy say? Don't you always meet her out there?"
Donald sighed. "You know there's nothing going on between us."
"Yes, but don't you wish there was?" 'Tina' teased.
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"Please don't get me started," Donald sighed again. "You know how I feel about her."
"We ALL know how you feel about her," 'Tina' laughed, and tossed back her long, brown hair.
Finally, the buzzer sounded for the second shift's dinner break.
"Well, I'm off," Donald said. "See you on a higher plane of consciousness," and he turned toward the distant employee entrance/exit.
"Watch out for the security guard," 'Tina' warned. "You know he's looking to bust you."
"Ha! The only thing that fat clown could bust is his own gut. 'Bye, Cuddles," and he sauntered across the vast expanse of concrete floor and towering metal.
During his hour 'dinner' break, Donald liked to leave the building. Despite the attractiveness of many of his female co-employees, being trapped inside the cigarette-smoke filled break room, deluged by their inane gossip and chatter, tended to blunt their appeal, albeit only slightly. Besides, as 'Tina Turn-on' suggested, outside in the deepening twilight of the second shift break, he liked to indulge in a different king of 'smoke.'
Leaving the stark, ugly building, even for a short while, took on some of the significance of a jail break, as the huge, hideous structure had all the visible charm of a prison. Even the atmosphere inside tended to be charged with a kind of oppressive heaviness, which made the very act of walking out the door pleasurable, despite the uneasy fact that Donald had to pass under the baleful scrutiny of the armed security guard.
Outside the austere walls of the warehouse and distribution center, the heavy rainfall of summer had made much of the surrounding area wet and muddy. The trees and grass rejoiced in the increased seasonal rain, and the water in the carefully landscaped ponds was higher than usual, as well as the water level of the drainage ditch that separated the warehouse from the undeveloped, wooded lot next door. It was along the drainage ditch that Donald was casually wandering, musing to himself as he discreetly took occasional drags from the joint, that he first noticed something unusual partially uncovered by the recent run-off. Down inside the ditch, exposed by the rains, was a smooth, yellowish object that appeared, vaguely, to be shaped like a human skull.
Fascinated, Donald put the joint out, and into his shirt pocket, and clambered awkwardly down the muddy slope, where he gently unearthed the crusty, dome-shaped object. As he lifted it carefully from the embankment, Donald saw, to his amazement, that it was, indeed, a human skull, except for incredibly long, sharp canine teeth that had no place in a normal, human skull.
As he held the skull, Donald also saw something else--
--he saw bushes and tree branches in the night, flashing past his eyes as he seemed to hurtle at break-neck speed through the underbrush. Loud, menacing voices shouted in the distance, while the excited, raucous baying of dogs reverberated behind him. He also heard the pounding of his own heart, and the rush of his breath, except something was different . . . he was lower to the ground, as if running on four legs, as if he were a--
--"Hey, what 'ca got, Donnie?"
Donald immediately snapped back to reality, and, startled, looked up from inside the ditch at lovely Peggy, who peered down at him curiously. In his confusion and disorientation, he fumbled with the skull, which he had momentarily forgotten he was holding, and as he grappled with the bizarre object, one of the fangs sliced into his right palm, drawing blood.
"Damn!" Donald burst, and the skull fell to the steep embankment and tumbled rapidly into the deep, murky water.
Peggy was still looking down at him, leaning forward with her hands on her knees, her long, blonde hair swinging out on both sides of her beautiful face. Her expression of curiosity had now changed to one of alarm, however, as she saw Donald's bright, red blood trickle from his hand.
"Come here, Donnie. Let me see."
He climbed dazedly from the ditch and sheepishly offered Peggy his hand, with a handkerchief he succeeded in wresting from his back pocket. As she dabbed and cleaned the cut, Donald felt his desire for the gorgeous woman sweep over him once again, and, as his face began to flush, he had to force his eyes away from her.
"It doesn't look too bad," Peggy murmured, tactfully ignoring Donald's obvious attraction for her. "I don't think you'll need stitches."
"That's good," Donald sighed, "because I'm pretty sure I couldn't pass the drug screening test right now."
Peggy nodded. "What was that thing, anyway?"
"I don't know. Some kind of skull. Human, almost, but not quite. The teeth were all wrong, like animal fangs, you know? I think it bit me." Donald made a feeble attempt at laughter.
"Well, it's gone now. Do you want to fish it out?"
"Not now. Not if it's going to draw attention to my hand. But," Donald added brightly, "let's not let this little incident blemish your delightful arrival!"
With a flourish, he passed the remainder of the joint and a lighter to Peggy, and, as the twilight darkened, they walked into the night together, toward the full moon just rising above the tree-spiked horizon.
* * *
Inside the warehouse, near the now unlocked employee entrance/exit of the building, Herb Bartram, the security guard, had watched Donald's departure with narrow, suspicious eyes. Bartram had also seen when Peggy had left the building. He thought he knew what they were up to, and would almost have given his pension to prove it. Bartram couldn't stand that smart-ass punk, Donald, with his long hair and glib, irreverent attitude. He didn't understand why Donald was even tolerated by the company, especially since Bartram would have bet a dollar to a doughnut that the punk was out there smoking dope with that beautiful fox, Peggy.
What Peggy saw in Donald, Bartram couldn't imagine. He knew that Donald had the hots for her, but who wouldn't? Bartram also knew that he, himself, was overlooked by everyone as being old and fat but, by God, he could still show that blonde, long-haired knock-out a thing or two.
Now the two of them out there, alone together for an hour, probably smoking pot and God only knows what else. He'd urged the management to install security cameras outside the warehouse, but the damn panty-waist liberals thought it would create too much of a 'concentration camp' atmosphere.
They'll learn, one of these days, Bartram vowed. Meanwhile, if he ever got his hands on that gorgeous, long-legged goddess, and plugged her a time or two, by God, she wouldn't look twice at any punk like Donald ever again. . . .
* * *
Working in a woman's undergarment warehouse and distribution center had numerous advantages beyond the financial. Donald reveled in being one of the few men in a company dominated in numbers by female employees, most of whom, regardless of attainability, were also very attractive. One of whom, the flirtatious, dark-haired minx, 'Tina Turn-on,' worked in Donald's department.
'Tina Turn-on' wasn't her real name, of course, but that was the desired effect that she had on most men, and on Donald in particular. She exulted in any sexual response she aroused, and would then laughingly slink away, leaving her hapless victim feverishly excited and frustrated.
She was already back from break when Donald returned, and he encountered her at the inventory desk, which was deep in the netherworld of their department.
"Oooo, Donnie," 'Tina' purred, posing and preening, "what happened to your hand?"
"I cut it outside. No big deal."
"Let me see."
She clutched at his handkerchief-bound hand and pulled it toward her ample breasts. Unwinding the bloodstained cloth, she gazed at his palm.
"There's nothing here!" 'Tina' exclaimed.
Donald pulled his eyes from her chest to his hand and gasped in surprise. She was right; except for the blood on the handkerchief, there was no sign of a wound. The cut had already healed!
'Tina' continued to hold his hand, and began stroking it. . . .
* * *
--darkness; bushes, trees hurtling past, as he leaped lithely over fallen logs. Baying of dogs closer, voices of men closer: "Over here!" "This way!" Lanterns flashing and swaying in the distance, also closer.
Blood pounding in his ears, his heart racing--
--"Donnie?"
He came to his senses, and 'Tina' was still holding his right hand. His eyes focused on hers, and Donald saw her concern. Then, with a low growl, he pulled her to him, and kissed her, hard.
'Tina' didn't object at first, letting Donald crush her nubile, pliant body against him, but he wouldn't let her go, his tongue probing deeper into her mouth; his hands, his fingers clutching harder at her back, her buttocks; his fingernails beginning to dig into her flesh, pierce through her clothing; his teeth beginning to tear into her lips, causing her to taste her own blood as she began to struggle, his arms now incredibly strong and hairy--
Swept away by his pent up lust for ravishing 'Tina,' Donald was not even aware of her attempts to break away from him as he easily pressed her back against the inventory table. With his claw-like fingernails, he effortlessly ripped through her frail, tight clothing, exposing the thick, dark fur of her Venus mound as her black shorts and panties fell from her in tatters, leaving bloody weals and scratches on her beautiful, quivering body.
'Tina' tried to scream, but Donald's left hand, entangled in her long, dark hair, clutched the back of her skull, and still kept her mouth crushed against his, his lips kissing hers' hungrily, his tongue thrusting and twisting inside her mouth. She hit at him, and tried to kick, but Donald took no notice, but only moved his exploring right hand to her luscious breasts, and quickly succeeded in ripping away her flimsy blouse and bra.
Blinded and confused by passion, Donald now freed himself from his restricting pants, and pushed 'Tina' down on her back on the table. As he drove himself into her, 'Tina' was now able to scream, but only once, because when she looked up at Donald, what she saw looming over her caused her to pass out before she could scream again.
* * *
Since the second shift crew was still on their dinner break, no one heard 'Tina's' scream, but later, as people were beginning to straggle from the break room, some thought they heard something else . . . a sound that echoed from the far reaches of the vast warehouse, but that sounded like a dog, or some other animal, because Donald, as he exploded inside of 'Tina's' beautiful, bleeding, unconscious body, threw back his head and howled.
* * *
--running, bushes, trees flashing, whirling past, but now the leaves and branches were metallic gray and cardboard brown. Voices calling and yelling: "He went this way!" "Over here!"
Gradually, the blur around him faded, and Donald saw that he was not running in a forest, but that he was deep within the bowels of the huge undergarment storage area. On both sides of him, towering high overhead, were shelves of boxes, the storage area comprising dozens of long aisles of an almost labyrinthine complexity.
Slowing to a stop, Donald reeled dazedly against a wall of shelves, and as he leaned over to catch his breath, he was aghast with horror when he saw his hands--his fingernails were smeared and caked with blood, blood which was obviously not his own. Donald stared at his hands, struggling to understand, to remember what had happened, his sense of dread increasing even more when he realized that he could still hear the voices . . . voices loud and angry, distant but growing nearer, voices like those in his recent visions, but this time the voices were real, and now, even recognizable.
"He went this way!"
"Block the other end!"
"The police are on the way! Don't let him out!"
His heart pounding with fear, Donald forced himself to move, hoping desperately that he could postpone his capture, then surely he'd fully awaken from whatever horrible nightmare he was presently trapped in. Stumbling blindly and instinctively, he weaved down other aisles until he found one where the length of shelves was interrupted by the gap of a ceiling support pole. Stepping over a low metal partition, into the space shared by the pole, he was able to hide from the sight of anyone passing either end of the aisle.
"Down here! Block off this aisle now!"
The voices, those of the manager's, supervisor's, and of the warehouse's security guard, were still coming closer. Donald trembled and cowered next to the pole, willing himself to finally awaken.
"Check this aisle! He must be down this one!"
"Over here!"
Suddenly the voices, accompanied by running footsteps, grew silent, as if they were now whispering. Then:
"Okay, I'm going to flush him out," said Bartram, the security guard, from somewhere close by.
"No, wait!" Donald heard a female voice, Peggy's, implore. "Let me talk to him. He's my friend."
"Are you crazy? Do you know what he did to that poor girl?" Bartram rasped. "Your 'friend' not only raped her, but he ripped her up like he's some kind of wild animal!"
"Yeah, Peggy," the supervisor said. "She was his friend, too."
"I know that," Peggy said, "but Donnie's kind of sweet on me, if you know what I mean, and he trusts me. Let me talk to him, and if I can get him to come out, he won't have to get hurt."
Donald then heard the soft pad of Peggy's sneakers as she approached, until she was standing before him, glowing in all her warm beauty and sexuality. Peggy smiled at him, and as their eyes met, Donald felt his fear seep away as his desire for her rose to replace it. Even as he felt his will and his soul being sucked into her by her gaze, Donald's attraction to Peggy swelled and mounted until he felt that his heart was about to burst. All he could see and know, all he could think about was the beautiful woman standing before him, the woman he had loved, craved, longed after for so many years, her long, golden hair shimmering down to her full, ripe breasts, her blue jeans tight against her long, shapely thighs--
"Come out, Donnie," Peggy cooed. "Come to me," and she held out her arms to him.
Donald's pulse pounded, his heart hammered. Flushed with his heat for Peggy, he felt himself begin to tense, as if in preparation to pounce on her, standing so lusciously near him, so temptingly close . . . then he allowed his gaze to return to her luminous brown eyes, again pulling at him, absorbing his heart and soul into her . . . and with a sigh of love so overpowering that he felt himself almost burst into tears, Donald opened his arms to her, and stepped out--and immediately the deafening thunder of gunfire echoed tremendously through the metal aisles as several bullets of the security guard's pistol slammed and staggered Donald's now exposed body. As he crumpled into bloody, bewildered lifelessness, he saw, for the last time, beautiful Peggy, her hands, splattered with his blood, clasped over her lovely, screaming, mouth.
THE END
This post first appeared on Horror Stories By Douglas W. Cracraft, please read the originial post: here
