Saturday, December 4, 2010

A Christmas Slaying Part 3 and another Slaying song


Judy looked out the window, watching the snow as it fell, covering the ground outside, her hair still wet from the shower. She looked down the road, watching for the lights from Frank’s car. He had said twenty minutes and it had been hours. She was beginning to worry, although, for Frank, this wasn’t unusual. She had known when he left to pick up her gift, that twenty minutes was unrealistic. It took that long to drive into town. And even though he’d promised that he’d forwarded his calls to Steve, she knew something would come up. It always had. That’s what had made it so easy for Harold to seduce her that first Christmas Eve.

She sighed, trying his number again. As with the last fifty or so calls, there was no answer. Where was he? He’d never been this late before without calling. She considered calling Harold, to see if he’d stopped off there, then dismissed the idea. She didn’t want to risk his coming over to ‘comfort’ her. She didn’t think she could handle that, so soon after.

Earlier that day, a few hours after her husband had left, the doorbell had rang. Judy, still making cookies and other Christmas goodies, had assumed it was Frank and that he’d lost his keys again. It had become a joke between the two of them. Judy had threatened to start tying the key to his wrist. Then she’d opened the door and saw Harold standing on the other side.

“Frank’s not here,” she said, pushing the door forward, trying to shut it and lock Harold out.

“I know,” Harold said, putting his hand out, blocking the door and pushing it back open.

“He’ll be home any minute,” Judy said, backing away from Harold as he pushed his way in.

“No he won’t.” Harold smiled as he closed the door behind him.

“I told you it’s over,” Judy said, her voice shaking.

“It’s not over until I say so.” Harold grabbed her left arm and twisted it behind her back. Judy cried out and Harold yanked her head back, pulling roughly on her hair, the sudden movement causing her to bite her tongue. She tasted blood.

Harold breathed heavily, his breath hot against her neck. She felt his tongue as he worked his mouth over her neck, sucking on the skin and leaving a large, purple bruise, her punishment for trying to refuse him. She knew she would have a hard time explaining that to Frank.

Judy whimpered and Harold tightened his hold on her arm, twisting it even further. Judy was afraid it was going to break and cried out before she managed to cut it off.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
“Please what?” Harold kept his grip tight on her arm, but released her hair. His hand, now free, groped at her blouse. Not bothering with the buttons, he ripped it open, allowing her breasts to fall free.

“Please,” Judy said again, a tear falling from her eye. “Don’t make me say it. Please, don’t.”

“I want you to say it,” Harold growled, grabbing one of her tits and twisting it, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. “Say it! I want to hear it. I want you to say it so you know what you are.”

Judy whimpered as Harold pinched her nipple, twisting it for added pain. She closed her eyes as her breasts ached with both pleasure and pain.

“Please Harold,” she cried, a warmth spreading between her legs, “fuck me. Please.” She added the extra please to make him happy. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt her so much if she made him happy.

But he did hurt herm he always hurt her; all but that first time. But it didn’t matter; Judy had come to enjoy the pain, hating herself for it as she gave into him, allowing him to degrade her in her husband’s house. It was humiliating, the way he took her there, right in front of the living room window, the curtains pulled back. Anyone driving by would be sure to see them. No one did drive by, but her heart raced, imagining Frank coming home, pulling into the driveway and seeing his wife, her breasts bare, pressed against the living room window as she leaned over the back of the couch, while his best friend fucked her from behind. She actually came, thinking about the look on his face.

When he was finished, Harold pulled his clothes back on, then tossed a twenty dollar bill on her stomach. “As I said, it’s not over until I say so.

“I’ll tell him,” Judy said. She lay on the couch, still naked and sore from her treatment. “If you come back for more, I’ll tell him.” It was an empty threat and she knew it. So did Harold.

“You won’t tell him,” Harold said. “We made a promise, remember? I don’t tell, you don’t tell. Everyone’s happy.”

“I love him!” Screaming, Judy picked up a lamp and threw it at Harold. “I love him and I won’t keep doing this to him!”

Harold laughed, easily dodging the lamp. “Yes you will,” he said. Then he walked out the door, leaving Judy crying and ashamed.

There was no sound in the basement, except for the steady drip of water, leaking from a pipe on the other side of the room.  In the distance, Frank could hear the cars passing on the freeway, many on their way out of town, or into town, for the holidays.  He knew he was too far from the road for anyone to hear his screams for help, but that didn’t keep him from trying.  He’d been screaming steadily, ever since he’d woken, naked and strapped to the table in his friend’s basement.

Former friend.  Frank had no idea what had set Harold off, but his best friend of more than fifteen years had most certainly stepped off the deep end.

Pulling at the straps that bound him to the table, Frank screamed again, his voice ricocheting off the walls and echoing aback to him, mocking his pathetic attempts to call for help.  He wondered where Sheila was.  Maybe if she came home, she’d hear him and set him free.

Or maybe the old bat was the one that drove Harold to this insanity.  She never had been a stable mother to his friend.

His voice had grown hoarse throughout the day and his throat was sore.  The dripping water reminded him of how much he wanted a drink.  It also made it difficult for him to hold his bladder.  He was not, however, going to give Harold the satisfaction of knowing he had pissed himself.

Throwing his head as far as he could against the table, he screamed again, pulling at the straps until his voice cracked and he had to top.  His wrists burned, deep lacerations marring the skin, where the leather had cut into the flesh.

Frank wondered when Harold would return.  Judy was probably worrying about him.  He didn’t know for sure how long he’d been down there, but the one window he could see, showed the night sky. It had been morning when he’d answered Harold’s call, ringing his private number that only a few knew.  He’d told Judy he’d only be twenty minutes, but his friend had said it was urgent, promising it wouldn’t take too long.  Frank had been reluctant; Judy had been unusually clingy lately, not wanting to be left alone in the house for long.  He hoped she’d called the police.  Maybe they were looking for him now.

Frank’s head throbbed and he winced at the pain.  He probably had a concussion; it was amazing he was even alive.  After Harold had called him with his ‘emergency,’ Frank had rushed straight over.  Judy was right about that, he just couldn’t say no to someone in need.   He was just getting ready to step onto the top landing that led to the basement, when he felt a sharp crack on the back of his head that pitched him forward and sent him tumbling down the wooden stairs.

Lying on his back, at the bottom, he stared at the lights, as his vision moved in and out of focus.  Then Harold’s face came into view, at first looking concerned for his friend.  Then a smile had broken across his face and Harold’s shoulders shook as he began to laugh.

“THAT was fun!”  Harold yelled, “You should have seen yourself, tumbling head over heel down the steps.  I know I heard your head crack hard a couple of times; looks like it’s bleeding pretty good too!  I’m gonna have a nice mess to clean up when I’m done with you.”  Then Harold picked up a shovel and brought it down on Frank’s head.  That was the last thing Frank knew, before waking up, naked and strapped to the table.


Here is another song, re-written by my husband.

Have a helter skelter Christmas,
It’s a great time to spread fear.
I’m not sure if there’ll be gore,
But keep a bucket near.

Have a helter skelter Christmas
And as you go stalking prey,
Wave goodbye to those that die,
Then make your getaway.

Oh no!! There’s postman Joe,
Hanging from a tree.
Somebody’s strung  him up,
Can’t prove it was me’s.

Have a helter skelter Christmas,
Find your victims somewhere near,
Oh by golly have a helter skelter Christmas,
This year!

by Jeff Hollar

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