Feature Writer: Fereniki_Alexandrou
Feature Title: THE INCUBUS
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: Two sisters summon an incubus and get something unexpected
Author’s Notes: WARNING: The following story is fundamentally erotic in nature, but it is first and foremost a horror story. Unlike some stories in the “erotic horror” category on this site, this story is meant to be genuinely frightening. If you have ever been a victim of sexual violence or someone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, you may find this story disturbing. Reader discretion is advised.
My mother had this weird hobby of collecting really old books. When I was growing up, she had an entire library of full of these massive, ancient tomes, some of them dating back hundreds of years, that she kept in the basement of the large Victorian mansion in which we lived. My sister Agnes and I were sometimes allowed to go down there under our mother’s supervision, but we were never allowed to touch any of the books.
Our mother always told us that the books were extremely delicate and expensive and, if we were to touch them, we might accidentally damage them. We trusted our mother and we didn’t want to damage her books, so, while she was alive, we always followed her rules and never touched any of them.
Then, when I was twenty-two and Agnes was twenty, our mother unexpectedly passed away in her sleep. This came as a total shock, because she was only forty-four years old and in very good health. We had all expected her to live well into her nineties.
Her death naturally came as a very traumatic experience for both of us, since our father had died before Agnes was even born. I had apparently known him when I was very little, but I couldn’t even remember his face. Our mother almost never spoke of him and she kept no pictures of him around the house. Thankfully, Agnes and I still had each other to lean on.
Our mother had no living relatives aside from us, her only offspring. She had no siblings, parents, or even cousins that were still alive. Consequently, she named Agnes and I in her will as the sole inheritors of all her property, including the house, all of her money, and all of her books. We were astonished to find that our mother had been far wealthier than either of us had ever realized. We’d always known she’d had money, but neither of us ever guessed how much she really had.
“How on earth does a relatively obscure freelance writer on medieval history who never wrote a single bestseller become a triple millionaire in just a couple of decades—all while raising two daughters as a single mother?” Agnes asked, gazing in awe at the reports of how much money we had just inherited as we sat at the old dinner table in the dining room.
“What I’m wondering is why she kept us in this crappy old mansion and never moved us into a nicer place, since she had so much money,” I scoffed, looking around the dark room, which was illuminated only by a dim ceiling light directly above the table. “This place always creeped me out. It’s so old and I’ve never been able to understand why it’s always so dark.”
“Maybe she was sentimental,” Agnes suggested.
“More likely she just had a massive fetish for old stuff,” I muttered under my breath. It was several weeks after our mother’s funeral and we had mostly recovered from the shock of her death, so I didn’t feel as guilty mocking her as I would have felt if I had done it sooner after her death.
Anyone looking at Agnes and I as we were sitting there would’ve had a hard time guessing we were full sisters. We both had our mother’s pale, milky white skin and her bewitching good looks, but the similarities between us ended there. My hair was long and flaming red, while Agnes’s hair was as black as raven. My eyes were emerald green, while hers were icy grey. While her face was completely without the slightest trace of markings, my face was covered in freckles. Though she was two years younger than me, Agnes was taller than me by several inches. We looked more like cousins than sisters.
Suddenly, I heard something.
“Agnes, do you hear that?” I asked.
She looked up from the papers and listened.
“I don’t hear anything,” she replied, a confused expression on her face.
“It sounds like music coming from the basement,” I told her. “Really old, creepy music.”
“Mom always loved that medieval choir stuff. Maybe she left some of it playing,” Agnes suggested.
“We should go down there and check it out,” I decided.
Agnes and I walked through the long, dark hallways of the house to the door to the basement. Sure enough, we heard eerie choral singing in medieval French coming from down there.
“It’s so strange,” I whispered. “It’s been well over a month since Mom died and I don’t remember hearing music coming from down there before.”
I slowly turned the handle and opened the door. There was no light in the stairwell and the light switch to the light in the basement was at the bottom of the stairs, so we could not see anything. Together, Agnes and I descended the spiral staircase that led into the basement in near complete darkness. When we reached the bottom, I felt around for the light switch and, when I felt it, I turned it on.
Even with the lights on, the basement had always kind of freaked me out. It was a single, very large room with hardwood flooring. The whole room was illuminated by two small lights in the ceiling and there were no windows, so it was always dark down there. It also always seemed ten degrees colder than the rest of the house, so I had obviously made sure to put on a sweatshirt before I went down there.
The walls were lined with old, wooden bookshelves that were completely filled with old books. All of the bookshelves were neatly organized. At the far end of the room stood an antique desk with a desk lamp on it and a bookshelf over it. Strangely, the desk lamp had been left on and there was a single book sitting on the desk, opened to a certain page.
I was very confused by this, so I walked over to the desk. Agnes followed after me. I looked down at the centuries-old handwritten manuscript that had been left lying open. Then I looked over at Agnes, who seemed equally surprised by the turned-on desk light and the open book as I was.
“Did you come down here at any point and put this book here or turn the desk light on?” I asked her.
“No. Never,” she replied, shaking her head. “Mom must have left it like this before she died.”
“That’s so strange,” I remarked. “She was always such a neat freak. I don’t think she ever left a book lying out or a light on the entire time we were living with her. She’d always yell at me to put all my things away as soon as I was done with them.”
I sat down in the desk chair and carefully examined the book. I could tell that it was extraordinarily old. The pages were enormous sheets of vellum parchment with the words handwritten on them using ink in beautiful calligraphic script.
“Maybe she left it here for us to find,” I suggested.
I partially closed the book, holding the page with my hand, so I could look at the cover to see what the titled was. To my surprise, there was no title. The book’s ancient, leather cover was impressed with intricate gold designs, but there was no title. I turned back to the page the book had been left open to.
“What does it say?” Agnes asked.
“It’s talking about these things called ‘incubi,'” I told her. “It says they are demons that appear in the forms of extraordinarily handsome men and they seduce women. It says they are extraordinarily talented love-makers, beyond all human comparison.”
I turned the page to see, on the other side, a detailed, full-color, hand-painted illustration of the most gorgeous man I had ever seen in my entire life sitting nude, sprawled across a bed. He was as pale as I was, with long, flaming red curls, emerald green eyes, freckles, thin pencil-shaped eyebrows, a pointed chin, and pointed ears—all of them just like mine. His body was well-toned and athletic and, between his spread legs, rose a massive cock, drawn in such detail that I could even see the veins. Written beside the illustration was a label which read “incubus.”
“Ooh la la,” Agnes giggled. “Looks like someone just met her dream boyfriend.”
“This can’t be right,” I muttered. “The man—I mean, incubus—in this illustration looks too much like me for this to be coincidence.”
“Maybe Mom made this book herself just to screw with us?” Agnes suggested.
“No,” I said. “This book is clearly ancient and so is the illustration. The paint is faded in places and it’s done in an old style.”
“Mom was an expert on old books. I bet she could’ve forged something like this easily.”
“Why would she do that, though?” I asked. “It just doesn’t make sense.” I continued reading, hoping the page would offer some answers to some of my many questions.
“What does it say?” asked Agnes after a few minutes.
“It’s still talking about incubi. It says that they sometimes sire offspring with human women. These offspring are known as cambions. It says that cambions take after their demonic sires, in appearance, in behavior, and in ability. They are usually short of stature, with red hair, green eyes, deathly pale skin, and freckles. They often have abnormally ravenous appetites. They are often unusually charismatic with an irresistible magnetic charm, even as children. They are often abnormally mischievous and love playing harmless pranks—a quality which they often retain even well into adulthood. As adults, they are extraordinarily sexually attractive and have extraordinary sexual appetites. Like their demonic sires, they are exceptionally skilled at lovemaking.”
“It sounds like you’re just describing yourself, Natalie. Is that really what it says?” Agnes asked.
“Yes. I just read all that straight off the page word-for-word,” I replied.
“Wow. It sounds like you might be a camp… camb… How do you say it?”
“Cambion,” I told her.
“Yes. A cambion,” she finished.
“Look, Anges, this is just some crazy old book,” I tried to assure her. “People believed in all kinds of nonsense back in the old days. Doctors used to think a woman’s womb had a mind of its own and would wander up and around through the body and cause all kinds of health problems, including even suffocation. That idea was known as the ‘wandering womb.’ Mom always had a thing for crazy old stuff. There’s more no reason to think the stuff in this book is true than the wandering womb. I mean, this is probably just a boatload of medieval superstitious pig-shit, right?”
“You don’t even sound sure of that yourself,” she commented. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out if it’s real.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We could try to summon one of these creatures,” she suggested.
“Are you out of your mind?” I gasped. “We can’t be summoning demons! Have you never seen any movie where they try summoning demons? It never goes well.”
“Well, it’s probably the only way we’ll ever find out the truth about what you are and where you come from. Besides, if these things are real, you’re probably at least half one, so they probably won’t do anything bad to us.”
“That’s just wishful thinking,” I dismissed, even though I really was curious.
“C’mon, though,” she persisted, “even if it is little dangerous, we could use a little danger in our lives. Life’s no fun if you don’t take any risks.”
Finally, my curiosity got the better of me.
“Alright. Fine. We’ll do the summoning ritual. I’ll bet you it either won’t work or we’ll get cursed by a demon for life or something.”
“Getting cursed by a demon for life is better than getting killed by a demon,” said Agnes.
Agnes and I gathered all the materials and we performed the ritual exactly as it was described in the book. We followed all the right steps and said all the right incantations.
I would include the information about how we performed the ritual here, but I don’t want anyone following in my footsteps for reasons that will soon become obvious, so I won’t include the steps here. Suffice it to say that it involved burning various kinds of magic herbs, drawing a bunch of different magic symbols, and reciting a ton of weird, cryptic verses in Latin and Ancient Greek.
After we finished reciting the final verse of the spell in Ancient Greek, there was a moment of awkward silence. No one stirred. We just sat there, waiting for some sign that the spell had worked.
“Did we miss a step or something?” I asked, looking at the book.
I checked three times to make sure we hadn’t missed anything. I couldn’t find anything that we’d done wrong.
“Well, I guess the spell is just bogus,” I decided. “I told you it wouldn’t do anything.”
At that moment, however, a strange feeling came over me. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I felt like I was being intently watched. I had this weird sense that there was a pair of eyeballs somewhere staring at me.
At first, I figured I was just being paranoid. After all, I supposed it was only natural for me to feel uneasy, considering I’d just performed an incantation that was supposed to summon a demon. I don’t know who wouldn’t feel paranoid after doing something like that. It was on account of this supposition that I decided not to say anything to Agnes about my own feelings of unease.
By this point, it was already evening, so Agnes and I settled into our usual evening routine of watching television in the living room. As we were sitting there on the couch with only the dim, flickering light of the television to see by, my feelings of being watched seemed to grow stronger. I felt almost sure there was an intruder in the house staring at us from the darkness.
“Agnes,” I said, interrupting the show we were watching.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Stop the show. I need to say something important.”
“Sure.” She took up the remote and paused the show.
“I think there’s someone in the house,” I said.
“Oh,” she responded, biting her lip nervously. “You think so?”
“Yeah. I can’t explain it but—”
At that moment, we heard a loud thud come from the kitchen. We both sprang to our feet. I looked around and then looked at Agnes and saw the terrified expression on her face. I was afraid too; my heart was pounding and my mind was racing. I tried to act as though I still had my wits about me, though, because I didn’t want the intruder, if there was one and he was watching us, to know that I was afraid.
“Do we go look?” Agnes asked, her voice barely a whisper.
I didn’t know what to say. If there really was someone in the house, they certainly already knew we were there, but, on the other hand, I imagined it would probably turn out bad for us if we just walked into the room with the intruder. We could get raped—or worse.
The terrifying thought arose in my head that maybe it wasn’t a person in the house; maybe it was a demon that we’d summoned. Or maybe we hadn’t really “summoned” the demon at all and it had been there the whole time. Maybe it had killed Mom. That would explain why she died so suddenly and at such an unnaturally young age.
All these terrifying thoughts rushed through my head at once. Finally, after a moment or two of panicked hesitation, I ran towards the kitchen. Agnes followed along after me.
We arrived in the kitchen to find the light on. There was nobody to be seen. If anyone had been there, they had obviously fled.
“Oh God!” Agnes gasped. “Oh God, oh God, oh God! This is terrifying! Someone’s in the house! We’ve go to call the police!”
“Calm down,” I told her. “We don’t have enough evidence to call the police. I don’t remember if we left the lights on in here when we left the room last. It’s possible the lights are on because we left them on.”
“What about the noise?” Agnes asked.
“That thud could’ve been made by anything.”
“What do we do?”
“We’ll stick together and search the whole house. If there’s anyone in here, hopefully we’ll find them.”
We did exactly as I said. We searched every single room of that creepy old house. It took us over an hour to do because the place had so many rooms. We found no trace of anyone.
“Well, that leaves us with a hunch, a thud, and a light we don’t remember leaving on as our only evidence for an intruder,” I declared. “I still don’t feel right, but I don’t see enough evidence to say there’s been an intruder. We’re probably just on edge because of the whole demon-summoning ritual. I mean, we’re probably just imagining things.”
Even as I spoke, I still felt like I was being watched, but, rationally, I could find no justification for how I felt.
After watching shows for about another hour or so, Agnes and I decided to go off to bed. By this point, it was almost midnight. Even though we’d searched the entire house and not found anything, we were both still feeling scared. Nonetheless, we went off to our separate bedrooms.
When I went in my bedroom, I found the light was still on. I wasn’t sure if it was on from when we’d searched the room or if someone else had turned it on, but I was too tired by this point to worry about it.
I took off my shirt and unfastened my bra. Next I removed my pants and my panties and put them all in my dirty clothes hamper. As I was opening my pajama drawer to get out my pajamas to change into, I was surprised to hear my cell phone ring.
“Who the fuck would be calling me this late at night?” I muttered.
Walking across the room totally naked, I picked up my phone and took the call.
“Hello?” I asked. All I got from the other end was dead silence.
“Hello?” Again, I got absolutely no response.
“Hello?” Still nothing.
I was tired, annoyed, and honestly still really freaked out, so I just hung up and plugged my phone in to charge.
I put on my pajamas, turned out the lights, and climbed into bed. As soon as I was under the covers, though, I noticed there was something strange in the bed with me. I jumped up, turned on the light, and found two pairs of my mother’s panties lying under my sheets.
This seemed very strange. The only rational explanation I could think of was that they must have somehow gotten mixed in with my sheets in the wash and I must have put them on my bed along with the sheets without noticing them. I couldn’t figure out, though, why I hadn’t noticed them being in my bed until now.
I was tired and eager for sleep, so I just tossed the panties in with my dirty clothes. I turned off the light again and climbed back under the covers.
I lay there in bed in the dark, tossing and turning with fear, for a good long while. I don’t know how long it was, but I just could not get to sleep. I eventually threw off most of my covers because I kept getting unbearably hot.
Eventually, despite the pernicious fears eating away at me, I finally managed to drift off to sleep.
I woke up, lying on my back, feeling terrified. I was burning up with heat and my body was utterly drenched in sweat. My heart was pounding as fervently as it would’ve been if I had just run three miles straight without stopping. I felt like there was pressure on my chest and I was having troubles breathing. I tried to move, but I found I couldn’t. I was completely paralyzed. All I could move were my eyes.
I could hear an obnoxious buzzing sound, like the sound of ten thousand flies buzzing all around my head at once. The sound made me feel itchy and uncomfortable. I wanted desperately to swat the flies away, but I couldn’t move and I couldn’t see any flies. The buzzing grew louder and more persistent. It seemed to be moving too. The buzzing came from just next to one ear one moment and next to the other ear the next. It felt like I was surrounded by a swarm.
Then I heard light footsteps in the hallway, floorboards softly creaking under the sound of stealthy feet. The sound of footsteps grew closer. Soon, I heard someone right outside my bedroom door. By the faint light of the security lights coming in from outside through my bedroom window, I could see the knob on my door handle slowly turning. It squeaked as it turned.
I can’t describe how terrified I was. I was certain I was about to die. I was certain that the demon was coming to kill me. I was certain that it would kill me slowly, that I would die a horrific, painful death. I was imagining what Agnes’s horror would be like the next morning when she found my body butchered and mutilated in a pool of blood on the floor, my guts strewn everywhere. I knew there would be nothing I could do to stop it; I was completely immobilized.
Slowly, the door began to open. As it opened, my room was suddenly filled with the stench of burning sulfur. It reeked like Hell. My nostrils felt as though they were burning. As I struggled to ignore the searing pain in my nostrils, I watched the now-open door. I could make out a small, vaguely humanoid figure standing in the doorway. I could only make out its shape at first.
It had a human-shaped head with long, thin, pointed ears that were twisted in ways human ears can’t twist. It had enormous, round, bulging yellow eyes with tiny, black pupils that glinted even in the darkness. They were not human eyes at all; instead, they vaguely resembled the eyes of a tarsier.
The creature had an unnaturally long neck that twisted in ways a human neck can’t twist, like a neck of a flamingo. Though its shoulders were broad, its chest area was extremely small, but it led down into a massive, potbellied midsection. The creature had extremely long, human-like arms, but each of the fingers on each hand were frighteningly elongated.
Each finger was the normal width of a human finger and they still seemed to have the normal human joints, but each finger was nearly a foot long. At the end of each finger was something that appeared to be a long, sharp fingernail, or possibly a claw. The creature’s two legs were extremely short and fat and ended in long, fat feet, each one bearing what appeared to be three large toes. Between its legs hung a massive appendage, which I took to be its cock.
The creature entered the room, waddling in on its two short legs. Its long, left arm reached up and it fingers pressed the door closed behind it. Getting down on its hands, the creature crawled over to my bed, its yellow eyes fixated on my body. As it drew nearer, I was able to make out more of its face. Its skin was ashen grey and the top of its head was completely bald, but it had thick, black eyebrows over its glowing yellow eyes.
Its nose was rather long and pointy, but it looked mostly human. It had a black mustache underneath it and, underneath the mustache, an enormous, unnaturally wide, grinning mouth filled with crooked, rotten teeth. It had a pointed chin, covered in black hair. I could see now that its entire body from the chest down was covered in thick, black body hair as well. It wasn’t fur, mind you, but thick body hair like a human man might have.
The buzzing of the flies and the stench of burning sulfur continued as the creature crept closer to my bed. It climbed onto the bed and then on top of me. I wanted to get the hideous, disgusting thing off me, but I couldn’t because I couldn’t move. I could only lie there and watch, my eyes wide and my heart pounding, as the creature’s neck twisted and drew closer, so that its hideous, ashen grey face with its enormous, lamp-like yellow eyes was just inches away from mine.
My mind was racing. I was trying to think what I had done to deserve this awful visitation. I thought of the book and the description of the incubus in it. The book described incubi as extraordinarily attractive creatures skilled in the art of seduction. There was nothing in there about this ghastly creature! Nothing at all!
“The book is a lie,” a dark voice whispered, somehow reading my thoughts. The creature’s mouth never moved, but I could tell it was the creature speaking. “The book is a lie we use to ensnare our victims. Now you are ours. Ours to play with.”
The creature opened its mouth even wider, somehow still retaining that horrifying grin, even though its orifice was gaping so wide I thought for sure the demon would swallow my head whole like a snake. I could feel its hot, foul breath on my face. Though my nostrils were still burning with the stench of sulfur, I could somehow make out the creature’s rancid breath.
The smell that was carried on the creature’s breath was a cacophony of all the worst odors I could imagine all mixed together in a terrible blend: body odor, onions, skunk, sour milk, and even a hint of car exhaust. I involuntarily spluttered, gasping for fresh air, but there was none to be found. The stench was suffocating it.
A long, thin tongue slid out of the creature’s mouth and snaked its way towards me. The tongue licked my lips, moistening them. Then it slid downwards, under my pajama shirt, to slobber all over my breasts. A second tongue came out of the creature’s mouth and ran its way through my hair, covering it with slobber.
I felt helpless as the creature’s tongues slid all over my body, coating me in spit. Its slobber felt strangely almost acidic; it didn’t exactly burn my flesh, but it seemed to sizzle and it felt uncomfortably warm.
Suddenly, the creature’s tongues retreated into its mouth. I felt its long, spindly fingers with their sharp nails pull down my pajama pants and panties. The creature stared, transfixed at my vulva, which was as dry as the Sahara Desert, since I was not at all aroused. Its eyes seemed to almost grow wider as they stared in the most perverted fashion.
“What have we here?” the creature whispered. “A delicious pussy ripe for plunder!”
A tongue slid out of the creature’s mouth and licked my pussy. Its saliva burned against my opening. Then it licked me again. This time, the tongue did not leave, but rather stayed to trace circles around my clit. The creature did this for several minutes.
Involuntarily, I found myself closing my eyes, trying to ignore the smell, and actually enjoying the feeling of the creature’s tongue as it pleasured me. The saliva still burned a little bit, but, in the midst of the pain, there was some pleasure. If I had been able to move my lips, I would have moaned.
The creature’s tongue zeroed in on my clit and began vibrating against it in a way no human tongue ever could. Somehow, it was like the demon was reading my thoughts, knowing what I wanted. It kept going like a machine and, somehow, I found myself climaxing, in spite of the horrific situation. My orgasm felt morally wrong. I was being literally raped by a monster straight out of my worst nightmares and yet somehow I found pleasure in it. I felt guilty.
The creature withdrew its tongue from my pussy. I watched as its ungodly massive tongue slid back into its mouth. I still couldn’t figure out how even one tongue of that size could fit in that mouth, let alone two.
“You’ve had your pleasure. Now it’s my turn,” the horrible, chilling voice in my head murmured. The voice seemed to resonate with sadistic glee as the creature clambered upright. Its cock, which was about the same length and width as my forearm, stood erect and eager for my opening. The creature pressed it against my opening and shoved it in, going deeper and deeper inside me.
I’d had plenty of human men in me before, but having this creature inside me felt so different. The creature was much bigger than any man I’d ever had in me and I could feel its cock stretching my vagina. It hurt, but it also felt kind of good. I didn’t fully know what this creature was, why it was raping me, where it had come from, whether there were more creatures like it, or whether it would come back, but I found myself enjoying what it was doing to me.
Honestly, I was starting to find the creature’s inhuman hideousness and the otherworldly terror it inspired in me arousing. I suppose maybe I was attracted to this monster for the same reasons why some women are attracted to “bad boys.” It’s hard to explain, but I felt like the creature had some dark power that it was, in some sense, sharing with me.
The creature was not gentle towards me. It fucked me roughly and brutally. I was in tears from the pain. I felt like my vagina was being torn with every thrust. Amidst the pain, though, I found pleasure; it was partly a normal sexual pleasure, but partly also a sort of strange, masochistic joy that I had never known in myself until then.
Soon I was experiencing another orgasm. It was a much deeper orgasm than I had experienced in a long time, but it was different from any other orgasm I’d ever experienced. This one felt twisted and primal, like something was awakening inside me—something sinful that I’d always known was there, but had never acknowledged. It was an orgasm born of both pain and pleasure.
Then the creature itself came, spurting its steaming hot fluids in me. As the incubus was coming inside me, I had a vision of it fucking my mother just as it had been fucking me, its cock buried inside her just as it was now buried inside me. The only difference was that, in the vision, she looked about two decades younger than she had before she died. In the vision, she was about twenty-two years old—the same age I was.
“You know what you are,” the creature’s voice hissed. “We always come back for our own.”
At first, I wanted to deny it. I kept telling myself that it couldn’t be true. Then, somehow, the revelation that this hideous monster that was raping me was actually my own father started to make me even more aroused. My pussy was actually wet now—and not just from the incubus’s cum. I loved the thought that the incubus wasn’t just sharing its darkness with me; I was born of its darkness. The darkness was inside me in more ways than one.
The incubus pulled its cock out of my vagina and flipped me over like I was just a plaything. I knew what it was going to do before it did it and I was in pain at the very thought. Please, not there, I thought, fearing how much it would hurt. The creature didn’t care how I felt, though. Sure enough, I heard it spit and felt its sizzling saliva on my anus. I felt its cock there. Then I felt it forcing its way in. I would have screamed in pain if I could have, but I was still unable to move my lips.
I can’t say how painful it felt having that depraved creature in my ass. Imagine having something the size of a water bottle forcibly shoved up your ass; that’s basically what it felt like. Yet, somehow, I also liked it. I loved the perverseness and depravity of it all: my father, a monstrous demon from Hell, was fucking me in the ass.
The incubus could only get the tip in and it came almost as soon as it did, squirting more hot fluids into my butt-hole. As the incubus came, I had another vision of the creature ravishing my mother, its eyes gleaming with savage lust, her face red and her disheveled hair dripping with sweat. It was both hot and horrifying at the same time.
The incubus ripped its cock out of my aching hole and collapsed on top of me like a dead thing. It lay there for a while, with me lying on my front side underneath it. Eventually, it rolled off my back. As it did so, it inadvertently rolled me over onto my side so that I was facing the door.
At last, the creature clambered down from my bed, hobbled across the floor, and waddled out the door. Once the creature left the room, the buzzing sound and the stench of sulfur gradually dissipated. Nonetheless, I heard the incubus walking around in the hallway outside for hours afterwards, doing God alone knows what.
A few times, it peaked back in and just stared at me from the doorway for a minute or two with its gleaming yellow eyes before leaving again. There were multiple times when I thought for sure it had gone, only to hear it again in the hallway or see it poke back in.
I’m still not sure when exactly the creature left. I think it was trying to terrorize me by keeping me constantly on edge, constantly terrified that it would come back and take me again. If that’s what it was trying to do, that’s exactly what it accomplished. My heart was continually pounding in my chest. I couldn’t close my eyes. I couldn’t relax.
For hours on end, I was too scared to breathe. Yet, in this fear, there was also a perplexing, inexplicable hunger, a hunger deep down for the creature’s cock, a hunger for the things it had done to me, a hunger for the darkness that was enveloping my soul.
It was well after dawn when I finally realized that I could move. At first, I was too scared to get out of bed because was still afraid that the incubus might be lurking somewhere, waiting for me to think it was safe.
When I finally worked up the courage to get up, I quickly ran out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the dining room. I found Agnes there, sipping a morning cup of coffee at the table as though nothing at all out of the ordinary had happened. Evidently, very much unlike me, she had not received a nocturnal visitation from the incubus.
Agnes saw me coming running down the stairs, practically quivering with fear, without any pajama pants or panties, and with my pajama shirt torn and drenched in sweat.
“Are you alright, Natalie?” she asked. “You look like you’ve survived an ordeal.”
“I… I… It came for me. It… Oh God,” I stammered, rushing towards her. I collapsed into her arms, tears streaming from my face, and fainted dead away.
After that night when the incubus took me in my bedroom, I felt different. I was no longer the same person I’d been before. I felt something dark, something primal, something evil inside me. I knew it wasn’t something alien that that creature had put inside me. No, of course not. I knew, deep down, that it was a part of me that had always been there, that I had always known was there, that the creature that night had merely awakened.
A few weeks after that night, I missed my period. I took a pregnancy test. It came back positive. I instantly knew my child would be a girl. Those horrible words the creature had said to me flashed back into my mind: “You know what you are. We always come back for our own.”
The next morning after I found out I was pregnant, I went downstairs and found a huge stack of hundred dollar bills sitting on the kitchen table. A note had been scrawled in messy handwriting on a notepad we’d left sitting out using a pen from the cup of pens we had on the table. It read: “These are to support the baby. I will bring more every month. You have 22 years before I return to collect my dues.”
At long last, I knew how my mother had become so wealthy—and also why she died so young.