Feature Writer: Redsliver
Feature Title: LIKE RABBITS / Prologue
Published: 05.08.2014
Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Mind Control, Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Ma/ft, Fa/Fa, ft/ft, Fa/ft, Mult, Teenagers, Mind Control, Magic, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Science Fiction, Paranormal, Incest, Brother, Sister, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Rough, Humiliation, Group Sex, Orgy, Black Female, White Male, White Female, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Double Penetration, Slow, Violent
Synopsis: Carter was an island with a history of violence, romance, piracy and witchcraft. Today it feels like a hole. One Emily wishes to run away and crawl into. The only problem is what is waiting for her there.
Like Rabbits – Prologue: Abby End
The wooden platform creaked, adjusting to the weight of the corpulent headsman, the obese priest, and the bulky mayor. The wood was old and little used. The hinges of the trapdoor were rusted so stiff that the black masked executioner was leaning on a prybar, like it was an old man’s cane. A single noose hung from the gallows. The rope was fresh, but the bright color didn’t offset the ugly knots nor the burrs and threads. Abby knew her face was drained stark white.
She had been detained for eleven months. Pirate, murderer, thief, whore, none of those charges, condemnations and truths could compel her city to hang her. Mayor Winters had been harboring this vendetta for nearly a decade now. He was a hard man, a smart man, and a patient man. He had stolen her infamy, twisted her legend and perverted her triumphs. Two years ago, the town of Carter had greeted Abby with a hero’s welcome. It was all Winters could do to stop a parade from forming. Her teeth ground, the sharpness and the pressure the only thing keeping her from crying. They had stripped her of everything; she couldn’t even come to the gallows as Captain AuNord. Her braided longcoat and sword belts were no doubt hanging in Mayor Winters’ closet. Her breeches and shirt had been traded for petticoats and bodice. She had been scrubbed down, her hair had been brushed out til it shined; she had managed to keep them from powdering and painting her face. The wool dress was light and flirty, though it was fastened all the way to her neck. Her shoes were soft cotton, unfit for the cold and wet stone walkways from the convent down to the square. She was already starting to shiver.
Carter had come out to watch her die. Five hundred men and women pressed together in a courtyard that had difficulty accommodating four. They were already getting rowdy and, behind the morning pall of fog that was only starting to burn off, the gathered shouted vitriol in practical anonymity. Abby cussed. Her two constables didn’t bat an eye at her language, but the old nun escorting Abby slashed her stick across Abby’s shoulders. Abby managed to kick out at the woman’s feet. The wet stones and lucky angle sent the old bat tail over teakettle. The nearby crowd laughed from behind their rope. Even one of the constables cracked a momentary smile. If Abby hadn’t pressed her luck by spitting on the nun, she might have got away with her act of aggression.
It was hard to breathe after a truncheon was hammered just below her ribs. She managed to keep from staggering down to her knees, but her wind had escaped and she grew red in the face, scrambling for breath. The nun, only because Abby was in her own considerable pain, made great show of forgiving the kick and turning the other cheek.
“In step now,” said the constable that had slugged her, as he grabbed Abby about the right arm. The procession kept marching towards the gallows.
Her wheezing slowed as she was forced to climb the steps at a measured pace. She narrowed her eyes as Mayor Winters’ smug face met her eyes. If she had to go to hell, Abby would be certain to clear a place for him at the devil’s table. The constables handed Abby to the executioner. He gripped her by both wrists behind her back; she was turned to face the crowd. The wisps of fog dissipated in the few moments before Mayor Winters stepped in front of her.
“Abigail AuNord stands before you accused, convicted, and condemned for the crimes of witchcraft and laying with demons.” His voice was deep and carried. Every word itched Abby’s skin. She wasn’t Abigail AuNord. She was Abby the Bastard. Abigail was the name on her baptismal certificate because the priest had told her mother that she was wrong. A girl was named Abigail, not Abby, no matter the mind of the mother.
Abby kept her objections to herself. She let Winters’ words reach out to the sheep who had come to watch her die. The words held no matter for her. There was no salvation in the mayor. There was no salvation for Abby. The dream of escape had long since been dashed. She had tried and tried, and time was up. Thanks to her stay and her enthusiasm to run, her convent quarters had steel bars on its window and a wooden beam holding closed the door. Her best bet had been to get herself pregnant, but every attempt had left her soiled and empty. After a few weeks at the prison, they had learned to switch her jailors and fellow inmates for the nuns and novices. The woman were no better and no worse than the men she had been confined with. Abby attempted to befriend, to cajole, to bully, and to seduce favors from under habits and from behind crucifixes. She fared nearly as well as she had with men. Still there was always someone who blocked her escape. There was always someone who could eventually tell her no.
The priests and pastors who came for her confessions all fell easily to her charms and offers. The nuns who attempted to offer the same service found themselves unable to resist, once the quarters closed tightly enough. They hid their shame behind accusations of devilry or sorcery. For a while they kept coming, fear in their eyes as they entered her chamber. Pleasure in their eyes as they were marched out. Abby was always amazed they didn’t give up on her. It must have been some sort of outside pressure, because Winters was adamant that she be allowed confession. As if it was horrendous that her soul could not be saved. They soon became wise and they knew she had her letters. For the last nine weeks she had been confessing by diary. Food was delivered through a slot in the door. The only human contact was the hurried footsteps as the novices hurried past her barred door. The loneliness and lack of touch began needling at her sanity.
She was nearly mad when at last Winters arrived. He stood over her thumbing through the latest leatherbound diary. She had filled three in the weeks she had been given. Her body was shuddering, demanding, and impossible to ignore. She almost forced herself upon him. Only her hatred of the man let her mind cut through the fog that settled on her mind. He was gloating. He was so infernally proud of himself that he had finally found the nails for her coffin. Six days later, she was standing over the city that had adored her, listening to the vindictive barbs and the licentious catcalls. Twice Winters shouted for quiet, as he read off his list of evidences and of prayers for her soul. No amount of prayer could disguise his glee. He showed his history as a preacher of hellfire and brimstone.
“Does the condemned have any final words?” Mayor Winters turned aside and the Executioner marched Abby two paces forward. He was wrenching her arms and his breath smelled like half rotted tobacco.
The fog had finally lifted. Abby’s eyes marked every face she could find in the crowd. Friends and strangers looking like she was about to feast on their firstborns. A few faces managed to stand out beyond the wall of scorn. Her quartermaster managed a look of contrition. Jolly beamed a great big smile. Marsh was still managing to leer at her. It was the black face at the back that made Abby angry. Silent tears cascaded down Trish’s cheeks. Winters, passive and pensive, watched Abby.
The Mayor had read her diary confessions and her captain’s logbooks. She was well aware about what she had written, about the hunger and about the power. Before her mad final confessional scrawl, she had believed that she was just a woman of appetites. She loved fighting and drinking. Blood and battle heated her blood and she celebrated every victory with unbridled passion. She missed Thomas. He alone had known how to temper her. Now, after weeks of recollections, she almost believed that she had been given a gift of persuasion. If she had, then it was indeed a gift, never a curse. Her appetites had always been infectious, but she now believed she may have forcefully shared them.
The power had always been with her. Or it had settled in her bones quite before she could remember otherwise. She had used it like a scalpel and like a sword. She was certain she had not been the only one to tap into whatever she had found. She had known dozens of people who had tasted it. However, the cowards only admitted their complicity only through fear or after they had shared it with her. After such events, she discovered that most feared it or refused to understand it. She had grown curious. She may never have suspected it was the work of something more than what any woman could do, until she had been impelled to recall every moment of it.
Had it been witchcraft? Was this what the work of Satan? She had never been a religious woman. Pulpits and sermons just rang with delusions and self-gratifications. Part of her feared she had just constructed this power in the insanity of confinement. Something deeper knew it had to be real. She cleared her throat. She mustered every feeling of fear and hammered them into hatred. She felt the blood rising and her skin tingling red as she gathered herself for her last act.
Her eyes met with Trish’s once again; Abby hoped her friend would recognize the unspoken apology. If she only had one last moment before she was remembered as no more than one of Satan’s whores, then, Goddammit the town of Carter was going to remember it.
“Carter is my home!” Abby’s voice boomed clearer than Mayor Winters’, “And you can’t make me leave with just a rope and your see-through lies. I swear on everything you fear and everything the devil promised me. I’ll never leave my home. I will find each and everyone of you and lead you straight into hell with me! You can hang my body but I promise my soul will keep coming for each and every one of you!”
The last words were broken and shrieky as the headsman dragged her back. The hush throughout the crowd was palpable. Trish dried her eyes with the back of her hand. Abby didn’t struggle as the rope was slung around her neck. The headsman took the time to lift her black hair and let it hang out and around the noose. They had offered her a bag for her head but Abby declined, staring hard at an unflappable Mayor Winters. The headsman kicked out the pin. The prybar wasn’t called for. The trap dropped and Abby fell with it. Not another word, the rope cut off even her last gasp, before her neck snapped and her eyes bulged out.
Trish’s sadness seemed to flee. The light in her eyes dulling as the rest of Abby’s crew turned to face her. Each heartbeat felt like a hammer in her chest. The tears running down her cheeks stopped leaving slick runnels that dried almost instantly. Tears appeared in Three Bean’s eyes. Witt shivered from his shoulders and hugged around his torso. Mayor Winters found he couldn’t bring himself to smile.
THE END OF PROLOGUE