Todestrieb
You open the office door cautiously. You knew there had to be more, yet you had found yourself hoping that Dr. Morton would cap it at your last meeting. Hadn't progress been made? Certainly there was progress, by anyone's modern standards. For the first time in your life, you fully confided in someone. You had never been able to trust your family, your friends, or even your priest, not with the whole story. The thing was partial and scattered, manifesting as nothing more than a vague shadow hanging over you, illusory enough to be attributed to mere imagination. But Dr. Morton knows everything now. Isn't that enough? Isn't that what people are expected to content themselves with? Isn't it greedy, or even dangerous, to ask for more?
Lavender curtains hung from four moveable frames form a loose rectangle around the hospital bed that now sits in the center of the room. It is made up as though it were a real bed, with striped sheets and a white summer blanket.
Under the thin white blanket...
Then he appears from behind the furthest curtain. He is wearing small metal spectacles and has shaved clean the face that he normally allows to be speckled with gray-brown stubble. His head is likewise bare, his unaccustomed baldness shining too brightly under the garish fluorescents. He is wearing a loose vest over a plain white tee-shirt that he has tucked into an old pair of khaki pants. He is barefoot.
"You must know that you look a lot like..."
"Anna, please get changed into these. Do not leave your underwear on."
From behind the curtain he pulls a set of pink cotton pajamas. After handing them to you, he turns to face the wall.
"Ok," you say when you are wearing your new outfit. You know better than to ask questions.
"Lie down on your back under the covers," he commands.
You do as you are told. He turns on the lamp on top of a little makeshift nightstand next to the bed, and also a torchiere looming out of sight behind one of the curtains. Then he shuts off the overhead lights, casting the room into a natural glow that immediately relaxes you as you rest under the covers. You could almost fall asleep.
"Anna, listen very carefully to me," he says. His voice sounds strange and distant. "My name is Frank O'Hagerty. I am forty-two years old and I am a writer. You are Anna O'Hagerty, my niece. You are seven years old and you are asleep in your bedroom. It is early in the morning on a summer day. You are dreaming. Think now of your dreams."
The sun that summer, soft like ladybugs and flowers, the door opens softly in the breathing morning
You hear the door opening, quiet footsteps to your bed.
The sun that summer, he sat down on the edge of the bed
A pair of rough masculine lips comes down clumsily on you. Opening wide, they take in your face hungrily, his mouth breathing into yours. Sourness injects into your nose, mouth and throat making you gasp. You open your eyes to stare directly into the eyes of Uncle Frank. He smiles at you, stroking your hair gently.
"You're my beautiful angel, so perfect in every way. All I want is to worship your perfection."
He stands back from the bed, never breaking his eyes from yours as he pulls off first his glasses, then his vest and his shirt. From within the loose folds of his pants pocket, he pulls out an immaculate black hunting knife, placing it carefully on the table before removing the last of his clothing. He stands still for a few seconds, becoming somehow larger in his nakedness. He strokes his penis gently.
"Did you know, Anna, that being touched here feels as good for me as it feels for you when I touch you? I'm touching myself because it feels good, and there's nothing wrong with feeling good, don't you think?"
"Uh huh." The voice escaping your throat presents itself in an unknown key. You look around the room as though to ascertain where it came from. You see nothing but the light shining through your lavender walls. Uncle Frank's shadow moves into the light, hunching low as he sits down very near you. Your shadows mix into a single strange form as he takes your hand and draws it slowly towards his erect penis.
"I want you to touch me, Anna." Your hand locked in his, you try to pull away, but he grips you tighter, swallowing hard as he says, "Be a good girl now. It would be very selfish of you not to make me feel good when I have made you feel so good. Don't you think that would be unfair? Yes, Anna, that's a good girl. Just like that, oh just like that, my little angel. You're so special, you can do it so much better than I can. Oh god, Anna! I want to make you so happy. I want to do something even better for you. Are you ready for the best thing in the world?"
His eyes turn glassy, his sour breath stinging your face as he leans closer to you. He gets up abruptly, ripping two towels out of his bag on the floor. He stuffs them roughly under your hips. He silences your quiet whimper with a hard hand over your mouth.
"Shut up or we won't be able to feel good. I thought you were a good girl."
He pulls your body up towards him, lifting you off the bed as he yanks at your pajama bottoms. His monstrous hands glowing hot and sweat-streaked, he tears your shirt off in a single sharp motion. He pushes you roughly back down, pinning your shoulders to the bed with all his strength. You try to shake yourself free, but his arms are like two great columns pressing you further and further down into the rigid earth. The next moment he is on top of you. His bruising penis bumps clumsily against your legs, traveling up, up
The pattern of your ceiling was irregular like a sandy beach, a shell here a shell there, scattered all around it swirled in circles whenever he
But wait, it's not like that here. The ceiling here is flat and white. Just as the windswept beach opens its alluring vista to you, it shuts suddenly, abandoning you to the reality of that enveloping rancid breath and all around the emptiness. Nowhere, no one to save you, in all corners nothing, no one who will
You turn your head away, instantly seeing the knife lying on your nightstand. You immediately reach out for it.
His face is buried deep in your chest. He doesn't see what you're doing. You reach again. He grips you tighter, crushing your ribs in his claws.
And then you have it in your hand.
You bring the knife down in a wide blind arc, not seeing where or how but just knowing that you are. A shrill scream rips through the early morning. Feeling the free air rush up to greet your bruised skin, you scramble quickly to your feet. Looking down, you see Uncle Frank writhing on the bed, the blood running copiously from his shoulder, marring the soft white summer sheets. He cries out in pain and confusion, looking for something
But it is in your hand again. Hoisting the knife high in the air, you scan his body. You notice that his penis is still hard.
"You fucking pervert. I'm about to fucking kill you and all you can think about is your sorry little prick. I will take that off first so you're forced to think of something else when you finally die, you fucking animal!"
"You're right, Anna. I deserve it." His eyes are filled with tears that turn bloody as they run down the length of his slumped chest. He makes no effort to resist you.
You hesitate for a moment, bringing the knife very close to the tip of his penis. You look up expectantly at him.
"Aren't you going to beg or something, you pathetic piece of shit?" His silence angers you and your knuckles whiten as you easily split open a little line of flesh on the edge of your blade. His cry is sharp and sudden, but he covers his mouth with his hand, letting the tears fall silently all around him.
"I'm sorry. Oh God, Anna, I'm so sorry!"
The knife trembles in your hand as you stare at the transformed creature before you. Never in your life have you heard an apology as genuine as the one that has just been spoken.
Lavender curtains hung from four moveable frames form a loose rectangle around the hospital bed that now sits in the center of the room. It is made up as though it were a real bed, with striped sheets and a white summer blanket.
Under the thin white blanket...
Then he appears from behind the furthest curtain. He is wearing small metal spectacles and has shaved clean the face that he normally allows to be speckled with gray-brown stubble. His head is likewise bare, his unaccustomed baldness shining too brightly under the garish fluorescents. He is wearing a loose vest over a plain white tee-shirt that he has tucked into an old pair of khaki pants. He is barefoot.
"You must know that you look a lot like..."
"Anna, please get changed into these. Do not leave your underwear on."
From behind the curtain he pulls a set of pink cotton pajamas. After handing them to you, he turns to face the wall.
"Ok," you say when you are wearing your new outfit. You know better than to ask questions.
"Lie down on your back under the covers," he commands.
You do as you are told. He turns on the lamp on top of a little makeshift nightstand next to the bed, and also a torchiere looming out of sight behind one of the curtains. Then he shuts off the overhead lights, casting the room into a natural glow that immediately relaxes you as you rest under the covers. You could almost fall asleep.
"Anna, listen very carefully to me," he says. His voice sounds strange and distant. "My name is Frank O'Hagerty. I am forty-two years old and I am a writer. You are Anna O'Hagerty, my niece. You are seven years old and you are asleep in your bedroom. It is early in the morning on a summer day. You are dreaming. Think now of your dreams."
The sun that summer, soft like ladybugs and flowers, the door opens softly in the breathing morning
You hear the door opening, quiet footsteps to your bed.
The sun that summer, he sat down on the edge of the bed
A pair of rough masculine lips comes down clumsily on you. Opening wide, they take in your face hungrily, his mouth breathing into yours. Sourness injects into your nose, mouth and throat making you gasp. You open your eyes to stare directly into the eyes of Uncle Frank. He smiles at you, stroking your hair gently.
"You're my beautiful angel, so perfect in every way. All I want is to worship your perfection."
He stands back from the bed, never breaking his eyes from yours as he pulls off first his glasses, then his vest and his shirt. From within the loose folds of his pants pocket, he pulls out an immaculate black hunting knife, placing it carefully on the table before removing the last of his clothing. He stands still for a few seconds, becoming somehow larger in his nakedness. He strokes his penis gently.
"Did you know, Anna, that being touched here feels as good for me as it feels for you when I touch you? I'm touching myself because it feels good, and there's nothing wrong with feeling good, don't you think?"
"Uh huh." The voice escaping your throat presents itself in an unknown key. You look around the room as though to ascertain where it came from. You see nothing but the light shining through your lavender walls. Uncle Frank's shadow moves into the light, hunching low as he sits down very near you. Your shadows mix into a single strange form as he takes your hand and draws it slowly towards his erect penis.
"I want you to touch me, Anna." Your hand locked in his, you try to pull away, but he grips you tighter, swallowing hard as he says, "Be a good girl now. It would be very selfish of you not to make me feel good when I have made you feel so good. Don't you think that would be unfair? Yes, Anna, that's a good girl. Just like that, oh just like that, my little angel. You're so special, you can do it so much better than I can. Oh god, Anna! I want to make you so happy. I want to do something even better for you. Are you ready for the best thing in the world?"
His eyes turn glassy, his sour breath stinging your face as he leans closer to you. He gets up abruptly, ripping two towels out of his bag on the floor. He stuffs them roughly under your hips. He silences your quiet whimper with a hard hand over your mouth.
"Shut up or we won't be able to feel good. I thought you were a good girl."
He pulls your body up towards him, lifting you off the bed as he yanks at your pajama bottoms. His monstrous hands glowing hot and sweat-streaked, he tears your shirt off in a single sharp motion. He pushes you roughly back down, pinning your shoulders to the bed with all his strength. You try to shake yourself free, but his arms are like two great columns pressing you further and further down into the rigid earth. The next moment he is on top of you. His bruising penis bumps clumsily against your legs, traveling up, up
The pattern of your ceiling was irregular like a sandy beach, a shell here a shell there, scattered all around it swirled in circles whenever he
But wait, it's not like that here. The ceiling here is flat and white. Just as the windswept beach opens its alluring vista to you, it shuts suddenly, abandoning you to the reality of that enveloping rancid breath and all around the emptiness. Nowhere, no one to save you, in all corners nothing, no one who will
You turn your head away, instantly seeing the knife lying on your nightstand. You immediately reach out for it.
His face is buried deep in your chest. He doesn't see what you're doing. You reach again. He grips you tighter, crushing your ribs in his claws.
And then you have it in your hand.
You bring the knife down in a wide blind arc, not seeing where or how but just knowing that you are. A shrill scream rips through the early morning. Feeling the free air rush up to greet your bruised skin, you scramble quickly to your feet. Looking down, you see Uncle Frank writhing on the bed, the blood running copiously from his shoulder, marring the soft white summer sheets. He cries out in pain and confusion, looking for something
But it is in your hand again. Hoisting the knife high in the air, you scan his body. You notice that his penis is still hard.
"You fucking pervert. I'm about to fucking kill you and all you can think about is your sorry little prick. I will take that off first so you're forced to think of something else when you finally die, you fucking animal!"
"You're right, Anna. I deserve it." His eyes are filled with tears that turn bloody as they run down the length of his slumped chest. He makes no effort to resist you.
You hesitate for a moment, bringing the knife very close to the tip of his penis. You look up expectantly at him.
"Aren't you going to beg or something, you pathetic piece of shit?" His silence angers you and your knuckles whiten as you easily split open a little line of flesh on the edge of your blade. His cry is sharp and sudden, but he covers his mouth with his hand, letting the tears fall silently all around him.
"I'm sorry. Oh God, Anna, I'm so sorry!"
The knife trembles in your hand as you stare at the transformed creature before you. Never in your life have you heard an apology as genuine as the one that has just been spoken.