The New Neighbor

Chapter 16

Succubus Interruptus

Karen woke slowly, thinking the sensation of teeth and lips on her nipple was only part of a dream. But as she rose closer to the surface of her sleep, she heard breathing… felt hot breath on her skin… the weight of a naked body on top of her own.

She reached down and felt soft, warm flesh, silk-smooth hair, and opened her eyes to see Lorelle, whose mouth curled into a slow smile filled with promise.

Karen jerked upright and turned to George who lay beside her, still as the onyx statue in Lorelle's house, his breathing so shallow it was almost invisible.

Sensing her panic, Lorelle reached up and touched her fingertips to Karen's cheek, brushing them over her lips, then crawled down her body and nestled her face between Karen's legs. Her tongue snaked through curls of hair, teased the lips of Karen's pussy, delicately separated the folds and traveled slowly up and down the crevice between them.

Karen turned once more to her husband. When he didn't move or make a sound, she allowed the tension to flow from her, feeling her body relax more and more with each sweep of Lorelle's tongue. She moaned softly, and before long, she was squirming, then writhing with pleasure that continued to build. Karen slapped a hand over her mouth to contain the cries she felt rising from her chest.

Karen reached up and closed a fist on a handful of Lorelle's thick hair as the first orgasm came, then another, and a third, each one battering her more than the last, until -

– Karen couldn't breathe and she was certain her heart had stopped beating and then -

– there was nothing. Not even dreams.

"I saw it on the news," Prosky said, as Robby got into the car with a brown paper bag and a towel. "I'm sorry. Very sorry. Are you all right?" But even as he asked the question, Prosky knew the answer. The dark patches of skin beneath the boy's eyes and his deeply sunken cheeks made him look malnourished. He moved with the sluggishness of someone deeply depressed and spoke in a low, hoarse voice that Prosky had to strain to hear.

"No," Robby said. "I'm not all right."

"Believe me, Robby, I know how you feel, and I'm sure you're not in the mood for this right now. But we have to do it."

He nodded indifferently, staring out of the window. Then he chuckled.

"What are you laughing at, Robby?"

"The news. That bitch on the news tonight. She said Dylan was listening to Ozzy Osborne when he did it. And… he was. But she interviewed some clown – some psychologist or something, I don't know – who said it was the music… the secret Satanic messages in the music… that made Dylan snap. Isn't that funny?"

“Yes," Prosky whispered, his gut wrenching for the boy, "unfortunately, it is.”

Neither said anything for a while, just stared down Deerfield.

"They all went to bed about half an hour ago." Robby sighed finally. "I almost did, too. I'm exhausted."

"No. You can't do that, and you know it. Let's go. We don't want to wait too long."

"Better be careful. There might still be some reporters hanging around. They've been circling like vultures all day."

"Right. And remember, Robby, the dogs… whatever they are, they aren't dogs. If they see or hear us, so does she."

Leaving the key in the ignition in case they needed to get away quickly, Prosky opened his door and got out. A moment later, Robby did the same.

Looking down Deerfield, Prosky felt a chill. It looked like a dark alley. Mist hovered around the two streetlights. The rain had stopped, but the air was still damp. A soft bone-chilling wind blew some soggy leaves onto the wet street and into the messy gutter. A cat shot through a clump of shrubbery and crossed the street, dragging its left hind leg limply as it disappeared into a darkened front yard. On the whole street, only one house was lighted; the porch light shined and a dull glow came from behind the closed curtains of one window, while a candle flickered in another.

Lorelle's house.

"She's awake," Prosky whispered, taking the bag from Robby and checking the contents: fist-sized chunks of fire-blackened wood. He handed the bag back to Robby and said, "We'll have to be careful. Stay away from the streetlights, okay?"

As they started down the street, the rubber tip of Prosky's cane kissing the wet sidewalk with soft smacks, he watched Robby shuffle slowly beside him, hands in his jacket pockets, and Prosky began to worry. The boy's mind was – quite understandably – on other things, and he didn't appear capable of being careful. Prosky stopped, faced him and whispered urgently, firmly, "Listen to me, Robby, I know what you're feeling right now, but what happened to your friend and his family only proves that things are getting worse fast. So we have to do this, and we can't afford to be caught or interrupted. We've got to be very careful and very quiet. You can't shuffle your feet like that and you've got to pay attention to what you're doing. Otherwise, more people will die."

Robby seemed to think that over as he turned his eyes toward Lorelle's house.

"You can grieve later," Prosky said. "Right now, you've got to forget about it, cold as that sounds, and concentrate only on what we’re doing here.”

Robby changed slowly. His sagging shoulders lifted and his back straightened. He took his hands from his pockets and turned to Prosky, taking a deep breath. Unfallen tears were pooled in his eyes.

"Yeah, you’re right," he whispered. “Let's go."

George woke from a sweaty dream about Lorelle to find her kneeling beside his bed, silently sucking his cock. Her right hand was tucked beneath his ass and her middle finger was pressed hard against his rectum.

Her eyes met his, glistening in the soft light bleeding through the curtains and she lifted her head and laughed.

"Hello," she said.

Until she spoke, George thought he might still be dreaming, but her voice broke through the bedroom's silence like a rock through a windowpane and he sat up suddenly, still heavy from sleep, hissing, "Ssshhh!"

She only laughed again.

"You've got to stop this," he breathed. "I don't know how you keep getting in here, but it's got to stop. Things are bad enough around here without my wife waking up to find -"

"She's not going to wake up. She's dead to the world."

George turned to Karen and watched her sleep. She was perfectly still; George could not even hear or see her breathing.

Lorelle wrapped her fingers around his cock again and led him off the bed with a gentle tug until he was on his knees. She hunkered down before him and continued sucking.

George's discomfort left him quickly and, as before, he forgot there was a third person in the room.

She licked his belly and whispered, "Fuck me like a dog, George. Hard." She turned around and squeezed him hard in her fist as she eased him into her,

slamming her ass backward against him. Grabbing his wrists, she wrapped his arms around her and pressed his hands over her breasts.

"Ahhh," George moaned, moving faster inside her as he smiled in the dark. But his smile faltered a moment later and he winced as images of pain began to flash on the backs of his eyelids -

– teeth being knocked from a bloodied mouth with a rock -

– changing with each thrust of his hips -

– erect nipples being snipped off with garden shears -

– and he began to move faster -

– sleeping eyes being pierced with fish hooks -

– and faster, until his smile slowly returned.

Standing on Robby's porch, Prosky took the towel Robby had brought and carefully wiped the dampness from the front door, whispering, "Let's hope it doesn't rain now."

"Dad's gonna be pissed when he sees this," Robby said. He reached into the bag for a piece of the wood, handed it to Prosky and asked, "What do I tell him when he sees it?”

“Tell him the truth.”

"Are you serious?"

Lifting the wood, Prosky began to write on the door. "Yes. Tell him. All of it. Tell him everything."

"He'll think I'm crazy. And with the mood he's been in lately -"

"Just tell him." He finished the first name, Sanvi. "He might not believe you at first, but when he sees her reaction to it, he'll think twice." The second name, Sansanvi. "If you can convince him, maybe he'll spread the word." The third name, Semangelaf. "It might be the best thing that could happen." Then Prosky drew a circle around the three names and -

– George was seconds away from an explosive orgasm, digging his fingers into Lorelle's round ass, when she craned her head back and released a scream that made his scrotum shrivel like a raisin and filled the room with the smell of rotting meat and shit and -

– the bare skin of her back split open, revealing glistening blackness, and something shot upward, hit George in the face and knocked him back and -

– he hit the side of the bed and lost consciousness before he slid to the floor.

Prosky dropped the piece of burnt wood leaving the circle unfinished as the scream tore the night in half. It did not seem to come from just a single person – it was a sound that might have come from the gas chambers in Nazi concentration camps, the combined screams of dying cultists in the jungles of Guyana; the cries of the unsuspecting outside Chernobyl as the air they breathed turned to fire and flesh and muscle began to peel away from bones.

There was a sweeping shift in the air and -

– Robby dropped the bag, spilling woodchips down the porch steps and onto the walkway and -

– the dogs began barking inside Lorelle's house across the street and -

– glass shattered and wood splintered with a piercing crack as a window to their left burst outward and something black arced up into the air, its sickening scream growing even louder as it headed straight for the streetlight that stood between the Pritchard's house and Lorelle's and -

– the streetlight exploded and sparks rained onto the street, sizzling on the wet pavement as darkness swallowed that section of the block.

"What is it, what is it?" Robby cried, pressing himself back against his front door.

Looking up into the darkness, Prosky said, "She was in the house." A gust of cold wind stung his face as he stepped down from the porch, searching the black sky.

Dry flapping sounds moved over them, the sound of great wings slicing the air as the scream faded, then rapidly grew louder again as -

– a black shape swept downward led by two burning red eyes, heading straight for the porch, dropping so low that Prosky could feel a rush of air that swept his hat off his head. He dropped his cane and fell to his knees, covering his head with his arm and crying out like a child, actually afraid he was going to wet himself. The creature left behind a smell that conjured images of piles of rotting, vulture-eaten corpses stretching to the horizon of a hot barren desert.

Prosky got up and finished drawing the circle on the door. "Go in the house!" he shouted at Robby as the creature retreated. "She can't get to you in there!"

"No!"

"Go inside!"

"I'm not going back in there!"

"Robby, I'm the one she wants! Now go!" He stuffed the chunk of wood in his coat pocket and groped for his cane. Robby remained at his side. "Dammit, Robby, will you -"

“I'm coming with you."

They didn't have time to argue. The rush of putrid air was coming again as Robby moved ahead of Prosky, whose hobbling jog held him back until -

– two strong hands clutched Prosky's shoulders, digging steel-hard claws through his coat and shirt, piercing his skin like knife blades. He cried out as he was lifted from the sidewalk and swept above the street like a leaf on the wind.

Robby's cried out after him, shouting Prosky’s name, his voice fading.

Prosky kicked his legs helplessly as he rose higher, heading straight for Lorelle's house. The stench of decay filled his nostrils like mud and made him gag. Still clutching the charred wood in one gloved fist, he swung his other arm up until he felt the cane connect with something hard and crusty. The creature released a wet snarl that reminded Prosky of the sound of muscle being peeled away from bone and he struck again, harder. The snarl became a scream and the third time, when he stabbed the cane upward and felt its tip sink into soft tissue, the creature's grip loosened.

Prosky struggled and fought, swinging the cane again and again until, with a frustrated screech, the claws released him. The ground rushed up at him like a giant fist.

He slammed onto Lorelle's front lawn and rolled. His breath gushed from his lungs and he knew at least one rib had broken, but the sweep of powerful wings overhead made the pain easy to ignore.

He opened his eyes and saw Robby's sneakers an inch in front of his face.

"C'mon!" he rasped, clutching Prosky's arm. "Let's get outta here!"

Movement hurt, but he did his best to ignore the pain. Still gripping his cane, Prosky crawled on his knees and elbows first, then stumbled to his feet and started down the street toward his car with Robby.

The sound of wings was gone. So was the awful smell.

Even the dogs had stopped barking.

All they could hear was the sibilant whisper of the wind, their rushing footsteps and gasping breaths.

Then glass shattered.

A frenzy of vicious barking echoed through the night.

They could hear the dogs behind them, their claws clicking against the pavement and splashing through puddles, their slobbering pants for breath between each fit of barking.

Prosky tried to run faster and ignore the piercing pain in his ribs, but he fell behind Robby.

Then she came again with a scream like a rake dragging over a chalkboard.

Robby moved further ahead, glancing back over his shoulder, eyes more white than brown.

The car parked at the end of Deerfield grew closer as the pain in Prosky's chest grew more debilitating, preventing him from drawing enough breath as he ran.

The stench fell over him again, making breathing even more difficult.

He desperately willed someone to hear, to come outside, knowing she would not want to be seen by others, not here where she lived and preyed on those around her. But Prosky knew that no one would come. They were all sleeping… very deeply.

Robby reached the car, opened the driver's side door and got in, sliding over to the passenger's side. He looked out at Prosky and began screaming, "Hurry hurry my god hurry!”

Prosky dove into the car and started to pull the door closed as he tossed his cane into the back seat, but -

– one of the dogs was on him. It closed its jaws on his left leg, trying to drag him back out of the car.

The second dog was fast approaching and Prosky knew that if it got there, he wouldn't stand a chance. He snapped his left fist back, releasing the blade, and slashed.

The dog reared its head back with a pathetic wail when the blade caught its snout, digging a deep gash over its nose and lips. But it dove forward again immediately and -

– its eyes flashed a deep glowing red as the gash peeled back, opening like a blooming flower on black raisin-like flesh that sagged grotesquely over a flat simian face and a mouthful of jagged yellow fangs glistening with clear fluids. As its right front leg lifted, bony clawed fingers sprouted from the paw, swiping at Prosky's abdomen.

The creature no longer bore any resemblance to a Malamute, or any other kind of dog. As it lunged forward, Prosky drove the blade into its throat and pushed with all his strength. The creature tumbled backward out of the car and Prosky jerked his arm back, pulled the door closed and locked it. He started the ignition as the creature threw itself against the car, rocking it like a boat on choppy waters, and clattered onto the hood.

Prosky babbled obscenities as he jerked the car into gear, then cried out in shock because -

– the other one was on top of the car now, pounding on the roof so hard that it was crumpling inward like cardboard.

Robby was slouched way down in the seat making small, horrified sounds in his throat.

Prosky's foot jammed the gas pedal to the floor. The tires spun on the wet pavement for a moment, then the car roared away from the curb and sped down Mistletoe.

The creature on top of the car rumbled over the roof, down the back window, and Prosky glanced into his rearview mirror in time to see it fall off the trunk, gracefully landing in a sinister crouch in the road as the thing that had been Lorelle rounded the corner, flying no more than six feet from the ground.

"Son of a bitch, it's her!" Robby cried, looking over his shoulder. "Drive, hurry, go, go, drive!"

The creature hunkering below her hunched its shoulders and sprouted two frail-looking wings, broke into a run and lifted itself into the air.

Robby babbled, "Oh Jesus shit fuck goddamn!”

The creature clinging to the hood of the car like a stone gargoyle perched on the corner of an ancient skyscraper opened its mouth in a wet grin as its wings broke free and spread wide, blocking Prosky's view of the road. It lifted its hands – three fingers and one stubby thumb each – and scraped it black claws over the windshield, leaving deep trenches in the glass, then flattened its palms against the glass and pushed.

The windshield sparkled with silver webs a second before it fell in pieces onto the dashboard, sprinkling their laps.

Black arms rippling with stringy muscles reached into the car as if to embrace Prosky and -

– he crushed the brake pedal with his left foot.

The red eyes widened as the creature snapped backward and fell to the pavement.

Robby slammed into the dashboard, then crumpled in a heap on the floor.

Prosky hit the accelerator again and all four tires rumbled over the body on the road. The creature's scream was so loud, Prosky could feel it vibrate through the body of the car.

It sickened him.

He glanced in the mirror. She was only a few yards behind him, and the smaller creature only a few feet behind her, while the other twitched in a heap on the road.

Prosky sped up, nearing the intersection of Mistletoe and Churn Creek Road, icy air slapping his face through the broken windshield. The light was red. He ignored it.

A pickup truck coming from the right of the intersection screamed to a stop, missing Prosky's car by mere inches as Prosky swerved and continued toward Hilltop.

"Where's a fucking cop when you need one?" he shouted at the steering wheel.

He barely slowed as he turned right on Hilltop, relieved to see the Motel 6 sign less than a block away. Prosky looked in the rearview mirror and saw -

– nothing.

They weren't there.

But he knew they were not gone.

"I think we're safe for a little while," he said.

In a flat, numb voice, Robby repeated, "For a… luh-little while." There was blood on his face and a lump had swollen on his forehead where he'd slammed into the dashboard.

Prosky's tires squealed as he drove into the motel parking lot, not bothering to slow down for the speed bump as he drove around to his room at the back of the building and slammed to a stop in front of his door. He killed the engine, pulled the keys from the ignition and staggered around the car without his cane, leaving the door wide open. The deadly blade still protruded from his left hand.

Robby got out and followed him, moving haltingly as he glanced cautiously in every direction. Fishing the key from his coat pocket, Prosky unlocked the door and kicked it open. He pressed the tip of the blade against the doorjamb until it slid back into his hand with a click. He stepped inside, leaning against the door as he took the charred wood from his coat pocket and wrote quickly as Robby watched.

First, the circle.

Outside, the sound of traffic from Interstate 5, which ran behind the motel, was interrupted by the flapping of great wings as -

– Prosky hurriedly wrote the first name, Senvi, then -

– the first sound was joined by a second as two pairs of wings grew nearer, and -

– Robby whispered, "They're coming," as -

– Prosky wrote the second name, Sansanvi, and -

– a third sound joined in and all three drew closer as -

– Prosky wrote the third name, Semangelaf, and threw the door shut, turned both locks and dropped the wood to the floor.

It hit the carpet with a quiet thump.

He moved away from the door slowly, leaning against the wall for support, groaning painfully with each stabbing breath.

Robby stared at the door and backed away from it, until his legs hit the bed and he flopped down onto the edge, staring with his mouth open. "D-do you, uh…you think -"

Scraping outside.

Claws scraping over pavement.

Low slobbering growls.

Prosky stiffened against the wall.

Thick oppressive silence, until -

– the scream.

It was the same scream they'd heard coming from the Pritchard house when Prosky wrote the three angels' names on the front door.

It stopped and, for about three seconds, there was silence, until -

– chips of wood exploded like shrapnel from the door as two black, three-fingered hands burst through effortlessly, curled their fingers, dug their curved claws into the wood like hooks and pulled.

The door was torn outward, ripping through the doorjamb and away from its hinges as if it were made of paper.

Prosky started to move away from the wall but the slicing pain in his ribs and his weak leg cut him down and he hit the floor hard, grunting, "The headboard -"

The hands threw the broken door backward. It crashed into the side of the car, shattering the window on the passenger's side.

" – Robby, on the headboard -"

Robby crawled over the bed and pressed his back to the wall, curling into a ball.

" – the piece of wood on the headboard, Robby." Prosky crawled toward the bed, shallow breaths wheezing in and out of his lungs.

The empty doorway was filled with silent darkness that seemed to move like spilled black paint.

"Put up the…the puh-piece of wood on…th-the headboard, Rob-Robby!" Prosky hissed.

The darkness swirled into a shape.

Robby looked at the headboard, saw a square piece of wood lying flat, leaned forward and tipped it up. Written in black on the piece of wood:

ADAM AND EVE BARRING LILITH

The shape solidified and moved slowly forward, like darkness peeling away from darkness.

"Lean it… against the wuh-wall, Rob -"

She burst into the room, her black scaled body glistening in the light, and stood over Prosky with her wings spread. The wings darkened the room, filled it with shadows. When she spoke, her voice was like a gorge being vomited from deep inside her:

"They're not like me, Prosky,” she said through a slobbering grin. “They're only demons. They don't give a fuck about three angels.” She bent down, swept him up and turned him to face her, holding him in the air for a moment by his shoulders. Then she hefted him effortlessly until he was lying across both of her large hands and -

– she snapped him like a twig.

The crack of bone was like a gunshot in the small room.

Robby felt sick and had stopped trying to control the convulsive shakes that were raging through his body. He tipped the piece of wood up and leaned it against the wall and curled up on the bed like a frightened child. He felt like a frightened child.

The Lorelle creature stepped over Prosky's body and came toward the bed, burning eyes locked on Robby.

He felt his insides shriveling. Why didn't she stop? Why wasn't it working?

Then she saw the piece of wood and stopped. Her black lips pulled back over her fangs and she exhaled a long, wet hiss as her wings folded over her back. She turned to him again and stared for a long time as she began to walk backward. Her lips curled into a hideous mutation of a grin. When she reached the doorway, she spoke.

"Come over later, Robby," she said in her thick, distorted voice. Then, with a chuckle: "I'll suck your cock."

She was gone.

Robby stayed on the bed for a while, his whole body shaking so violently that the headboard rattled noisily against the wall.

People would be coming soon. They would want answers to their questions and they would expect Robby to provide them. He couldn't do that. Not yet. He needed help. He needed someone.

Robby got off the bed and went to Prosky's twisted body. There was no need to check for signs of life. He was bent backward at an impossible angle, mouth and eyes frozen open.

Robby's chest ached. It wasn't a physical pain – it was his fear and sudden feeling of isolation, of abandonment. Prosky had been his only ally, the only one who could help him save his family from her. Prosky's death felt to Robby like… his own.

What could he possibly do now? Surely anyone he talked to about a woman who was really a succubus and who had flying Malamutes would laugh at him at best, or try to have him put away at worst. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he had to do something. He needed transportation.

Kneeling beside Prosky, he shuddered as he reached down with an unsteady hand and pulled back a flap of the man’s coat until he found a pocket. He hesitated, then winced as he slipped his hand into the pocket.

He removed the car keys and got away from the body as quickly as possible.

Standing just inside the doorway, he peered out to see if either Lorelle or her pets were waiting for him, but saw nothing. With one glance back at Prosky, Robby headed for the car.

Claws clicked against pavement.

Robby swallowed his scream and broke into a run.

The door on the driver's side was wide open and Robby dove in, pulled it closed behind him and locked it.

Hell of a lotta good that'll do, he thought, looking at the glassless windshield and passenger-side window.

The keys jangled as he fumbled to find the right one, and his breaths were coming hard and fast as -

– claws screeched on the door and -

– Robby chose a key and slipped it into the ignition successfully as a small whimpering sound grew in his throat, and -

– a head popped up in the window beside him and -

– Robby screamed and threw himself down on the seat, arms over his head protectively.

Nothing happened.

He heard rapid-fire panting and lowered his arms cautiously. He looked up to see the dirty face of a scraggly-haired mutt grinning in at him, its pink tongue bobbing as it panted happily.

Robby heard himself giggle coldly as he started the car. The curious dog dropped away from the window and Robby drove away.

Steering was difficult because his hands and arms were shaking so much. The car jerked forward and slowed a few times at first as his foot jittered on the accelerator.

What if he got pulled over? With all the broken glass, the chances were good.

License and registration, please.

Urn, here's my license, officer, but… I don't know where the registration is. This isn 't my car.

Whose car is it?

Belongs to a friend of mine.

And where is your friend now?

He's lying dead on the floor of his room at the Motel 6. He was killed by a succubus, officer.

"Wouldn't sound good," Robby muttered with a chuckle. "Wouldn't sound good at all." His chuckling became laughter as he stammered, "Nuh-no, uh-uh, nosiree!" And as he drove across town his laughter dissolved into deep, quaking sobs and his vision was blurred by tears. He began to feel dizzy, light headed, as if he were slipping down in the seat, further and further, until -

– he reached his destination. The right front tire of his car bumped over the curb and stopped on a strip of grass that ran along the sidewalk. He turned off the ignition, got out and staggered across the lawn in front of a small modest house. There were no lights on inside or out.

Robby fell heavily against the wall beside the door and pressed a thumb to the doorbell. He pressed it again and again, knocked several times, then pressed down on the button so the bell rang over and over.

"Yes!" a voice called inside. "Coming! I'm coming!"

Footsteps thumped over the wood floor inside.

The porch light came on. Locks clicked and the door opened.

Robby pushed himself away from the wall and swayed before the open door.

"Robby? Robby Pritchard?"

"Pastor… Quiller… man… "

Robby fell into the pastor's arms and lost consciousness.