A Tale of Sugar of Lost Peaks
by James O. Eternalis
read by Kate Sherrod
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A Tale Of Sugar Of Lost Peaks
The Farmer’s Daughters
The Farm had once been functional, but now all the fields lay long fallow. Farming took hard work and tenacity. Not many in that day and age had the guts to tough it out making a go of farm life. The large, sturdy house still stood, as well the big red barn, stables, silo, and attending outer structures. It was obvious to those with eyes to see that the place had once been very productive.
But now the house’s paint was peeling, the barn was in disrepair, and an old tractor was moldering to rust in the yard. Dying weeds and overgrown grass withered at the coming of the cooler weather, and shuddered and waved in the nippy breeze. A great old maple that shaded the front porch of the house had turned its leaves violent vermilion. It’s rustling branches were dropping its leaves lazily to the ground beneath the brightly hued arboreal. Power poles stood sentinel in a long line next to the dirt road cutting across the broad uncultivated fields, but if someone were to look closely they would find no phone line.
Surrounding the farm house was a vast tract of land, with not another farm within twenty miles. The lonely and isolated farm lay hidden in the rolling hillocks two hundred miles east of the behemoth City of Lost Peaks.
It was the perfect place. Ideal.
Sugar could see that right way.
It was getting rather chilly. Even for mid Autumn. Winter, it seemed, was coming early. The air had that crisp, dry scent that Sugar loved about the Fall.
Sugar’s only concession to the weather was to don her black Dark Peak Prep leather trench as she rode the Tomahawk out to the farm. Anyway, hot and cold temperatures did not effect Sugar like they did normal people. Long, hard training had taught her to deal with extremes, and block out physical discomfort. Besides, she wouldn’t get frostbitten just yet. And she always enjoyed a good cool down. It helped her focus. She had work to do.
Corners to clean. Loose threads to cut. A pink slip to deliver. Causing a late addition to the game. Yes. Another player on the roster.
No. Not really. All the faces were there, burned forever into her synapses. This visit was just part of the process. The sterilization of her soul.
It was funny how giving names to the faces fueled the fire. How her mental specters solidified, and became real when she had somewhere to focus her burning lust for retribution.
This one would be easy. Not even a Master. Just someone who, for a time, had passed through for a weekly visit.
But she remember this one well. A repeat costumer, and this one liked to play games. Well, they all loved their little games. Of one sort or another. But this particular individual loved to make you believe he was going to help you, save you, rescue you. But he was just after the same thing everybody else was. He had to make it look good, so he could get on the inside. And when it came down to the gist, he took his due harder and faster than most. Like he had to get it while the getting was good. Then he would go back to being friendly, and whispering promised lies of freedom, of safety, of love.
Sugar knew monsters. She should. She was made a monster by monsters. But this one, he was a special breed of monster. He was an Eater of Trust.
And Trust, like Hope, and Love, were now things most elusive to Sugar.
The crunch of gravel on the drive outside the farm, and the rumble of the Tomahawk’s V-10 announced Sugar’s arrival at the farmhouse. She swung off the bike, scanning the layout of the farm. Then she strutted toward the house languidly, but her eyes; one look at those icy blue eyes would scream what she was there for.
Then an unexpected thing occurred. The front door opened a crack, and a small face peered out. The face of a very small, little, girl, around the age of four.
Sugar stopped in her tracks.
She had not anticipated this. She estimated that there would be a girl, but that she would be sequestered in some hidey-hole, not left to roaming around. But then again, the farm was a long way from anywhere. Sugar should have cased the joint, but she didn’t. She could hear X in her head remonstrating her behavior and method. Do your research. Know your target. Never go in half cocked. No Witnesses. Ever.
Alternative scenarios flashed through Sugar’s mind.
Sugar did not want to back out. Loose the element of surprise. Besides, she had already been seen. What was done, was done. Improvise.
X would have ground his teeth at that thought. He hated improvisation. It fucked about with his obsession with cleanliness. For some reason that made Sugar smile impudently.
As Sugar gave her sly grin, the little girl looked at Sugar with big, curious, slightly timorous eyes.
“Who’re you?” The tiny girl asked in a muted, yet wondering tone.
Before Sugar could answer another voice, hushed and urgent, sounded from behind the door. The voice of another girl, a little older.
Great, more complications, Sugar thought.
“Bug! What are you doing? You know what Daddy says about strangers!”
“But-” But the little girl was cut off, as she was yanked back, and the door shut with a thud. Sugar paused a moment to see if the door would reopen. When it didn’t she continued up the porch stairs to the door. She was just going to kick the door in, when it cracked open again just a little. This time the face of the other girl peered out. She looked maybe eight or nine. One look at Sugar, and her eyes filled with fear.
“My daddy isn’t home! Go away!” The girl’s voice was heavy with trepidation.
Sugar smiled at the girl, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Their icy blues irises cut the air like lasers.
“I can’t do that, missy. Your daddy and I have business to conclude. So you had best let me in, and we can sit down together, and wait for him.”
Sugar face was still pleasant, but there was titanium in her voice. And something else hid behind her visage. The young girl at the door could sense it, and it made her want to run away in terror, but she did nothing. She was frozen as if an artic blast had crystallized her veins. Beneath her frightened face, two other little faces appeared in the gap between jam and door. The four year old Sugar had seen before blinked up at her, and the other face that was that of a girl in between the ages of the other two gaping at Sugar. It was obvious from their resemblance that they were all sisters. Both of the younger girls peered up at Sugar from underneath their older sister in inquisitive apprehension.
Sugar looked back at them, analyzing and evaluating them all. They were just little girls, but Sugar could see in their eyes that they knew of things of which little girls should not know. Sugar knew one of her own kind when she saw one. She saw three such here.
Sugar pushed open the door. She did not bowl them over, but merely forced them slowly back. They could not have stopped her if they tried.
When Sugar was inside, and the girls had scrambled back, cluster together for safety, all eying her now, scared silent by her strangely ominous presence.
And a very strange presence it was. Sugar appeared not much older than they. Tiny, delicate, exquisite, seemingly in her early teens at most by her exterior, but the knowledge in her eyes weighed much older. Far too old for her frame or age. Her aura was irrepressibly sexual and imminently violent; without one come-on or threat of any kind.
“Where did your daddy go?” She queried casually as she scanned the interior of the house.
“He-he went to the City,” The oldest girl stammered.
“Lost Peaks? Long trip. You all been here alone?”
“Yeah, but he’ll be back soon. He’ll be really mad we let you in. You better go.”
“Oh, I think he’ll be surprised to see me. We’re old friends. Tight. We go way back.”
“You do?” said the middle child.
“Yep. So how old are the three of you?”
“Um, I’m eight. Cozy is six, and Bug is four.”
“I’m almost five,” Supplied the littlest girl, as if she wanted everyone to know she was a big girl.
“Bug?”
The oldest girl nodded.
“Her real name is Soft, but Daddy calls her his Little Bugger. You know, Bug?”
“I see. And your name is?”
“Warm.”
“Warm, Cozy, and Soft. Cute. Real cute.”
The way Sugar inflected her last sentence was brittle and cold, like crackling ice. Involuntarily the young girls held their breath. For the first time, Sugar noticed how much she was putting them ill at ease, and suddenly her demeanor change radically. She crouched down into a squat at their level, and looked them in their faces, smiling gently. Sugar still did not know what she was going to do with them, but she could at least be civil to the children in the interim. One thing she knew was she would have to park the Tomahawk in the barn, nicely concealed. This was surprise party after all.
Still, smiling easily, she inquired.
“Do you girls like cookies?”
* * *
When the father returned home, the farmhouse had the scent of fresh baked sugar cookies wafting through the structure. Other than the sweet smell in the house, there was not another sign of life. Not one sound in the place, but the creaking of the house as it settled from the sun’s radiance. He sniffed the air and gave a perturbed grimaced, then slowly grinned. There was something oddly disturbing about his pleased expression. It was not amusement at girls being girls. The grin was casually sinister.
“Girls, have you been playing in the kitchen again when I expressly told you not to?” he demanded in a drawling voice.
There was no answer.
“Girls, answer me, or your punishment will be more severe.”
Nothing.
“Girls?!” he almost barked.
Not a sound.
He walked into the kitchen and found cookies on a plate. It was obvious that they had been baking. They hadn’t clean up. That would require some discipline. With the cookies was a note next to them. He picked up the note and read it.
In a childish crayon scrawl, it read.
Daddy, come into the bedroom. Bring the cookies. Please, don’t be mad.
Upon reading the words he grinned again. It was not a pleasant grin.
He went up the dark stairs to the master bedroom, and flipped on the light. His girls were laying on the king sized bed, all lying still.
“Girls?” he inquired in a disapproving tone.
He stepped into the room. As soon as he was in the room, the door closed behind him. The sound of it clicking shut made him turn, and he was confronted with the young female form of Sugar.
She grinned at him brightly, her eyes alight with excitement.
“Hey, big daddy Those cookies for me?”
She grabbed the plate out of his surprised hand, and said exuberantly.
“Thanks, I was getting famished waiting here for you.”
“Who-?”
Munching on a cookie she interrupted.
“What? You don’t remember me? I’m crushed. And you said we would always be friends.”
He looked back and forth between the motionless girls on the bed, and the young female teenager behind him.
“I-“
“Look real hard. I’m sure you’ll remember me. We had such good times, you and I.”
He stopped and peered at her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“But I-“
She grabbed another cookie.
“You should have brought some milk. But okay, fine. I’ll remind you.”
He was getting more irritated by the second, and there was a building inkling of fear that something about this girl was definitely not right.
“I don’t know what you are doing in my house, or who you are, but if you don’t leave I’ll be forced to call the police.” He pulled out his cell phone.
She gave him a knowing little smirk, and informed him.
“Oh, I don’t think you will. The last thing you want is the police out here snooping around on your lil’ farm, now is it?”
The man gave the slightest of starts at her words, but snapped back.
“Listen, miss. I’ve asked you to leave nicely. If you don’t I’ll have to-“
She placed the plate of cookies on the bedroom’s chest of drawers, without looking away from the man.
“What? Get rough with me? Get out the belt, and take me over your knee?”
“I-“
She got right up under his face, looking up at him, less than an inch from his body. She was a rather small girl, ravishingly beautiful, dressed in ridiculously immodest schoolgirl clothes. She smelled intoxicating, and there was something about her big, ice blue eyes that was distinctly familiar.
“Think, daddy-o. Think real hard. I’m sure you’ll remember. I’m your sweet’ums, remember?”
Suddenly his eyes went wide in recognition, and he actually took a step back.
She grinned even wider.
“See, I told you that you’d remember.”
He gaped at her incredulously.
“It can’t be you! You were The Special. It can’t b-“
“Yeah, I’m special alright. Made to order. But it looks like you made your own playthings,” She crooned, flicking her eyes at the girls lying so still on the bed.
“I-I-“
She moved into him, rubbing her body against his. Involuntarily he started to get aroused, but he could not shake the feeling that she was distinctly dangerous. He couldn’t believe she was there in the room. Sometimes he had dreams about her. It had been a long time, but she was one of those girls that stuck with you. But then she was The Special. His big eyes were looking up at him with a wanton need in them, and she breathed huskily.
“I missed you so much. You promised you would be my daddy, but you became theirs instead.” She motioned negligently to the girls on the bed. “I’m so put out with you. Why did you leave me, and take them instead?”
She shoved off him, pouting, and pointed accusingly at the inert little girls laying on the bed.
His eyes had held confusion, flicking from the alluring female to his daughters and back. Then girl was grinning again. He was being played, set up, he could feel it. She was toying with him. Females did not toy with him. Ever. His expression rapidly turned ugly with anger.
“Get the fuck out of my house, you crazy bitch.”
The female gave him a sultry gaze, and licked her lips.
“But I wanted to get the fuck in your house. That’s why I’m here, daddy-o. Don’t you want to play with me anymore?”
“I’m warning you-“
She walked sinuously around him, stroking her hands across her breasts and down into her crotch seductively, oozing sex.
“Come on, daddy-o, Throw me a bone here. I’ll be your bitch. You don’t need those other lil’ chickadees. I’m all you’re ever gonna’ need.”
Suddenly, he snapped his attention to his girls, and looked piercingly at them. His eyes went wide again. The girls did not seem to be breathing.
“What did you do to them!” He demanded taking a step toward her.
“Ooow yeah, daddy-o! Come and get me!”
“What did you do?!” He roared, almost on her.
“I gave them my special recipe sugar cookies. Helped them say bye-bye without any fuss. Poor lil’ muffins.”
He rushed passed her to his girls.
“No!”
He shook them desperately.
“Wake up, babies! Wake up!”
He looked distraught at his daughters; his playthings. She stood behind him, smiling whimsically. They weren’t breathing. The girls were still warm, but they were gone. She had killed them. The psycho bitch had killed his precious babies. He glared malevolently back at Sugar, his eyes filled with fury and rage.
If he had looked close, he would have seen a far greater fury and rage lurking behind her smirking countenance. But he did not.
She was right next to him. He lashed out at her with a backhanded fist. Incredibly, he missed. Of what happened next, he was not sure, but he ended up face down on the floor in great deal of pain with Sugar perched on top of his back, and before he knew it, he was securely hogtied with a length of twine she had ready. The air had been knocked from his lungs, and he was struggling for breath like fish on a dock. To his woe, he found belatedly, that in her tiny package was filled with an unbelievable speed and strength. Attributes for which he was nowhere near a match.
“I knew you would want to play. Everyone wants to play with me. One way or another.”
He just gave a wheezing groan to that statement.
“Okay, daddy-o, you farmer fucker, no more fuckin’ about. See, I’m not as crazy as you think. I’m just having a little fun at your expense. We both know, that you know how enjoyable that can be with the right person.”
She stood up and rolled him on his side with her foot, so she could look him in the face.
“Before I put them down to rest, I had a chance to talk to your girls. Pretty sweet lil’ gig you had for yourself her, daddy-o.”
She crouched above him, patting him on the cheek.
“They told me your wife left a couple of years ago. Just up and went. Vanished. Real sudden-like. Leaving you all alone to console them, and bring them up right.”
He was starting to get his breath back.
“You- I- Let me-
She yanked off one of his shoes, then his sock, and deftly jammed it in his mouth.
“Hush, big daddy. I’m talking. Let’s see if I’m as good at clairvoyance as I think am. The wifey ferrets out your lil’ secret, n’ threatens to bring in the Long Arm, an’ you just can’t have that. No, sir. So you think fast. A quick murder. A shallow grave up in the mountains. And a sudden move out into the country where no one knows you. You tell your girls mommy didn’t love them anymore. You tell them you all need to start a new life away from big, bad, ol’ Lost Peaks. So here you are out in the rural with your homemade harem. And you think you got away with it all”
Sugar laid down on the floor, and propped her head up on his belly, looking at him introspectively. He struggle a bit, so she elbowed him the face sharply. He groaned, but was none the worse for wear.
“Settle down. We’re just talkin’…for now.”
She looked up at the cracks in faded pea green paint on the ceiling, and rolled her eyes, then favored his gagged face with her effervescent grin.
“See, I don’t give two hoots in the woods for curdled, spilled milk, daddy-o. No, I’m here for information. A lil’ 411. I want to know what you know. Who you know. Like say, your friend and mine, the fellow who introduced us. You and he both had friends. Friends he never knew the names of because they were actually your friends, and yours alone. You remember them don’t you? Our mutual friend introduced each one of these friends of yours to me…for a price. I want their names. All of them. If I get them, this will go much easier. If not, well, the end of our friendship could be a very bad breakup, and I know that you don’t want that, do you?”
She rolled over and looked him in the eyes. Then she pulled the sock from his mouth.
“So, do you have some names and whereabouts you want divulge?”
“I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about, you fucking cunt!”
She grinned indulgently, and patted his cheek.
“Ah, I was hoping you’d say something like that. It’s so much more fun for me when it goes the hard way. You know how I like it hard. You always told me I did.”
Very shortly, if there had been anyone within ten miles they could have heard the shrieking screams emanating from the lonely farmhouse for several hours.
* * *
The father awoke from unconsciousness. At first he thought he was blind, but he realized it was only a blindfold over his eyes. The rest of his body felt as if it were on fire. He was sure that the insane female had cut off his limbs and genitals, then eviscerated him, tearing out his innards, and afterward doused him with accelerant and set him ablaze. He wondered abstractly in his haze of agony how he was possibly still alive. But alive he was.
It seemed centuries since she had started her work on him. He thought he could hold out until he could find some way of escape, but he had talked, and quickly too. However, time wore on interminably into the moonless night, and she had, it seemed, endless questions. She took special relish, you could call it even joy, in inflicting his agony. Yes, he talked. She knew his whole life story. She knew all his dirty little secrets. She knew it all in detail, and still she probed until he was but an empty husk. In the end, she let him pass into unconsciousness. Why she did not kill him, he did not know, but it did not bode well for him that he yet lived.
He had always heard it said that someone could be tortured until they prayed for death. He always thought that was bullshit. No more. If it had been his choice, he would have killed himself on the spot, such was his misery.
He had taken so much pleasure from the use of this particular female. He had been lucky to be able to use her at all. She was The Special. At the time, in the circles in which he ran, there had been a rumor of a female of utter perfection. The Perfect Doll. He and all his peers on the circuit knew of this singular female as The Special. And Special she was. No one seemed to know her owner, but for a great fee you could possess her for a specified time, and a fellow of long acquaintance gained just such a possession of her, as she was passed around the circuit.
Only those with real serious money could attain possession of The Special. This certain fellow had the money, but he knew there was a market for her use. A substantial market. He intended to recoup all he paid for her and then some, all the while using her for himself. That is where this father of three daughters came in. At the time, he had been the procurer for his acquaintance. It was a business arrangement, but all he got in return was one hour of use with The Special per week, and did he ever make the most of it. He loved fucking a female’s mind as well as her body. It gave him that certain tickle.
The months she spent with her possessor were fairly rough for her. She got very little rest, as they kept her steadily busy with client after client. However, she never withered; she was always exquisite and still full of a certain fire. That was why they called her The Special. Though compliant, even enthusiastic, she was never quite broken in spirit. It was something in her icy hot eyes. She was unusual for a plaything.
He had to admit; she still was, even if she was a bit old for his tastes. She was still very arousing, even through all his pain, but instead of being his lovely, little rapture angel, she was now his own personal succulent succubus, slowly stripping the flesh from his bones and eating it as he watched.
He had desperately told her all his secrets and more, but he received the distinct impression that she already knew most of everything he imparted to her.
He felt himself being pulled into an upright position. He sensed her by his side and he cringed from her touch. The fingers of her right hand were caressing the right side of his neck, her thumbnail stroking the soft spot at the base of his skull, but to him it was as if they were the talons of a raptor on his skin. Her lips brushed next to his ear. An ear that felt like it had been gnawed on by rats.
“I’ve got something else I want you to do, daddy-o.”
He just moaned in his agony.
Then he heard another voice a short distance from him.
“Daddy.”
It couldn’t be. It was Cozy. He was hearing things. The succubus had snuffed his precious babies.
“Daddy? Daddy, what’s wrong?”
There was his Warm.
“Daddy, daddy, did you get your cookies?”
And that was Soft, his lil’ Bug. He must be dying, and they were coming to collect him to heaven. He knew God was one of his kind. He knew there was a reason that ecstasy came in little packages. In death, he had won after all.
Then the blindfold came off his eyes, and there sat his cherubs on the edge of the king sized bed, looking at him with a sort of vacant curiously.
Then he heard the voice his tormentrix next to his ear yet again.
“Your daddy’s very sick. I’m sorry girls, but he is dying, but he wants to tell you something that you must know. His heart is broken, and he is dying because of it.”
The girls went rigid at the news, but did not move. They seemed rather listless.
The man knew he was not in heaven. His daughters were alive.
“How-“ he managed with effort to say.
The infernal female whispered in his ear.
“There are ways to slow a heart rate to a crawl. Induce a death-like coma state. I didn’t want to traumatized the lil’ dears with your inquisition, so I put them down and out for a few hours. Plus, I just loved fucking with your head before I fucked up your body.”
“Daddy?” queried Warm timidly.
The female spoke to his daughters.
“Give your daddy a moment to clear his thoughts. This is very hard for him.”
She turned her whispering attention to him once more.
“They, like you, are bit incapacitated, but unlike you they are in a very focused, hypnotic dream-like place. They just have very little motor control. I’m sure you can relate. I’ve allowed you to retain control of your speech, but little else.”
“H-how?”
“How? Oh, I’ve learned many things since we last met. The body is an instrument to be played in so many ways, but don’t you already know that? There are pathways of energy that can be ebbed and flowed, sped up or slowed down, or even halted. Points of pressure that trigger certain systemic reactions. Sensations of unimaginable pleasure and/or equally intense agony, just to name two. Can you guess which one I graced you with. I know it feels like you’re being torn apart by scarabs, but I assure you, there’s not a mark on you body. I want you clean and untouched.”
She paused and stroked the back of his neck, and he felt his throat loosen up a hair. She continued.
“Now, I want you to tell them what you did to their mother. Then I want you to tell them that what you have been doing to them is very wrong. I want you to tell them what you did before you had them. I want you to tell them everything, except anything that has to do with me. If you mention me, I will not kill you. I will paralyze you completely, with the exception of you ability to breath, but leave you with full brain function, with all the nerve receptors in your brain on fire permanently, and that is how you will stay until they take you off your I-V.”
“Th-that’s n-not possi-“
“Possible and inevitable if you fuck this up in anyway, daddy-o. Now, talk.”
He didn’t want to talk. Something deep in him made telling his daughters the extent of his sins like a new soul rending torture, but he was weak, and as the female’s caresses inflamed his agony even higher, he vomited up all his darkest, deepest transgressions to his daughters. They listened their faces strangely bemused, as if the news was not unexpected, their eyes comprehending, but emotionally blank.
When he was finished, he burned with some feeling deep inside him. He would have called it shame or guilt, but he had never felt shame or guilt in his actions. What he felt if he admitted it was helpless rage. This female, this object of sexual gratification had used him like he had used so many others, and he was impotently furious at everything and anything, and nothing at all. It wasn’t fair. This was not how it supposed to have ended for him. He had such great plans for his daughters, and their daughters, and their daughters, and their daughters and even their daughters if he lived that long. He believed he could father at least five generations before he passed onward. Now he knew that would never happen. He looked into the eyes of his personal demoness, and she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, and she grinned.
She let him slump against the wall, and went over to the three little girls.
“Girls, you heard what your daddy said. I want you to tell him what you think and feel about him. Tell him everything.”
Warm spoke, and her voice was slow and steady, but there was a deep sincerity in her sad, young eyes. The eyes of his other daughters seemed to be a perfect match for their older sibling. They bored into him with the horror that was their life.
“Daddy, we love you, but we hate you even more. We are scared of you. You make us feel good, then you hurt us so much, and tell us that is what little girls are for. We never understand you, because we can never please you unless you hurt us. You are a bad man. Mommy was nice and good, but you are not. We…will not miss you, Daddy.”
Cozy and Soft only nodded in agreement, their small faces sad and serious.
The terrible female patted their heads, and kissed each one on the forehead.
“Thank you, sweethearts. You all look very sleepy. When you wake up your daddy will be gone. He is going away with me. I am only an angel sent to take him to his just reward. Now go night-night, sleepyheads.”
The girls rolled over and snuggled into the pillows and blankets on the bed, and in a moment they were deep in slumber. The female turned back to the father, as she reclined luxuriating on the bed at the feet of the sleeping children. Even though he knew he was nearing the end of his mortality, he could feel the waves of sexuality pulsing out of her. Even in this dire moment, she was enthralling him; even as she illustrated the manner of his death. And she was still smiling that cursed grin of hers.
“You know, you’re getting off easy. Normally, I would paint murals of gore on the walls of this house with your blood. It’s much more entertaining for me to be messy. I just love the feel of heart-warmed blood on my hands, and breathing in the tangy smell of it. It kind of has a metallic flavor. Rather unique. Granted it’s an acquired taste, but I’ve had lots of practice.”
She rolled to her side languorously, her icy, burning eyes never leaving his.
“Your friend, the one we both knew, he, I flayed alive. Literally. I wanted to see if it was possible, and I’ll be damned, it was. Then I got creative on his ass. Took my time. When I was done he didn’t have any limbs, eyes, ears, nose, or tongue. Made him eat his cock and balls before I took off his jaw. You know if you cauterize the cuts, you can keep the blood loss to an acceptable level. I finished him off with a spike up his rectum. If you’re careful not to hit any major organs, putting a man on a spit won’t kill him right away. Useful info, that. I left him roasting in his fireplace. If I had been the sort, I’d have had lunch, but cannibalism does nothing for me whatsoever. However, I’m sure his dogs enjoyed the meal when the fire died down.”
She rolled to a sitting position.
“But I’ll give that ol’ ogre one thing, he definitely was a barrel full of laughs in the end. Anywho, so I’d say that you’re getting a pretty, good deal here, daddy-o. You can thank your daughters for that blessing. If it hadn’t been for them I’d be treating you to a similar exit as your good friend, but I don’t want to leave that kind of mess for your girls to clean up. An experience like that could give the lil’ moppets nightmares, and I think we both don’t want that for them. They’ve been through enough already.”
She got up and came forward.
“I thought ‘bout takin’ you out to a secluded spot an’ finishin’ you off a bit more extravagantly, but no, I’m gonna’ do you with the Dim Sum. You know, the Death Touch? If you do it right you can kill without leaving any marks, either inside or out. It’s pretty hard to do while in action, but I’m getting pretty good at it anyway, but seeing as you’re at my mercy, it’ll be no sweat. The cool thing about it is, if anybody finds your body – and trust me, they won’t – they won’t be able to ascertain the cause of death. It’ll be like you just keeled over for no reason. Pretty nifty, huh? Nice and Clean. My Daddy would be so proud. Okay, daddy-o, hold still and don’t move.”
She gave a little giggle.
“Sorry, death humor.”
Something she had said to the girls triggered an odd thought in his pain racked brain. He managed to croak.
“A-are you really an angel?”
“Maybe, but more like a fallen angel. If I am, you won’t like the place I’m sending you, daddy-o”
“W-wait! Th-then wh-who are you?”
She thought she could at least answer a dying man’s last question.
“I’m called Sugar. I don’t really know who I really am, but I’m going to kill my way through all of you and your ilk until I find out. Now, big daddy, you better hope God, or Whoever is out there in the Great Beyond is more merciful than I am. Bye-bye, boy.”
With that send-off, she gave him a series of rapid taps to different parts of his torso. Suddenly he went rigid, and shuddered in spasm. All the pain he had felt before was magnified a thousand fold, then a million fold. She was standing hazily over him as he thrashed his last moments of life away. She was still grinning rather infectiously. In the final seconds of his existence in that particular sphere, the incestuous pedophile vaguely heard her say.
“I said it would be nice and clean. I didn’t say anything about you going easily into that long night.”
Sugar turned away with her hands on her hips as he expired.
“Now where do you suppose they stowed the trash bags?”
M7CBN7DUQUU2
The ShadowCast Audio Anthology 
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