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birth-fic-lover · 5 years

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Here we go again

Mel had been birthing babies for as long as she could remember, a very long time ago the dark mother had cursed her to become pregnant again and again. As soon as she had birthed one she became pregnant again, and approximately 9 months later she would go into labour again. She found that people would notice quickly the frequency of her pregnancies, so she adopted a life of always being on the move. Part of the curse was that she never aged, so she found it was better to use fake names and not keep in contact with people.

She had stopped raising the children she birthed, not liking to think of them as hers anymore. As she had arranged to drop them off with a agency that never asked any questions, and would always find good homes for them. It didn’t hurt that these children always grew up to be extremely talented in one way or another, Mel assumed it must be being born from a magical curse.

But her life seemed to consist of moving to a new town or country, getting a job, giving birth, dropping off the baby and then starting again. This time she was working on a tour boat, she would sell guidebooks and merchandise to tourists as the boat went up and down the river. The money wasn’t great but the boss never asked any questions, each tour was 2 hours long and she work by herself at the merchandise stall.

One evening after using the toilet, she noticed her mucous plug had come loose and was in the water. The birth was coming, she knew her body well enough after all the different births. She sighed, she felt neither happy or sad. She had learnt not to get attached to the children she carried, she wasn’t going to become mother to any of them. She emailed her boss telling him she was leaving the job, and asked for passage off the island her flat was on. The tour boat went from the island to the mainland each day anyway, so she might as well get a lift of them. He agreed that she could leave with a bonus for her hard work, if she cover a shift on her way to the mainland.

Mel didn’t know what to do, she knew that tomorrow she would be going into labour. But she didn’t know how else to get to the mainland without paying a lot of money, so she agreed to cover the shift.

But that night in bed she felt the familiar cramp around her womb that signalled the beginning of labour, not anywhere near birthing the child but it meant the child was getting ready to be born. She slept on and off during the night, by the morning the cramps became rougher. They had become contractions, though there was a decent amount of time between them she knew they would just keep coming back.

She have most her things packed and ready to be shipped to her next home, she found it easier to birth the child between destinations as she couldn’t use hospitals. They were too good at paperwork, she had learnt the art of birthing without making a sound. She was now able to give birth anywhere, petrol stations, toilets, pubs, in the back of coaches or vans or even backstage once. She push out a little human and wouldn't make noise, she was able to breath though the contractions and had been given the ability to not being able to tear during birth, she assumed the curse had sorted out the latter.

The moving men knocked on her door and they took all her boxes, once they had closed the van she was ready to go. They had a separate ferry to catch, whilst she would be on the tour boat. Her contractions were getting stronger, her belly became hard and protrude itself more straining against her uniform. Her uniform was a button up dress, she was glad it would be easy to get out of during delivery.

She had packed a bag with her emergency medical bag inside, a towel, a pocket knife that could cut the cord, a blanket and outfit for the baby and some belongings for her. She took the bag with her to the dock to meet with the boat, it’s only one shift she told herself.

Slowly she made her way up the ramp onto the boat and went straight to her stall, she hoped the next 2 hours would go by quickly so she could then find somewhere to birth the child in peace. She felt the contractions come and go, her hugely pregnant abdomen hardening with each one. She just kept breathing though it, she had to get though this without drawing attention to herself.

As her shift began she felt each contraction get closer and closer together, she sits on the stool hoping the baby won’t try and escape just yet. Customers come and go, but it’s a slow day overall. Which is fine with her because her contractions go up another level, her body tenses with the pressure inside her, she could feel her baby being forced downwards though her birth canal against her will. She keeps her jaw tightly shut so no sound comes out, she closes her eyes rubbing her heavy belly. She can feel her body straining under the effort to get this child out of her silently, as she has accepted she can’t keep this baby inside her any longer. The baby's head was now a battering ram against her cervix, though years for practise Mel manages to stay quiet.

This is all tested when a very intense contraction comes about, the pressure inside her makes her feel like a shaken fizzy drink with the cap on. This baby tests her as it’s so close to unbearable, she starts to breath deeply, but she keeps her eyes open as she has too look out for customers. She fears they will find out what she is doing, her belly is hard and full of pressure. She knows her body, she knows what she hopes is going to happen now. And luckily it does, with a pop a gush of liquid comes out of her vagina meaning her water has broken. It flushes out all the pressure instantly, but makes the pain very real.

The labour pains are very intense now, the baby's head is stretching her as it moves downwards. Her contractions are getting really close, barely giving her a time to recover. She then is faced with a young family wanting to buy things off her, she struggles to speak though the pain. She tries her best not to give away her current state, but the family take ages picking things.

She tries to just keep breathing as they count out there change, her body tells her that the baby's head is getting into the birth canal. Her gravid womb even vibrates with the strength being applied on it as she starts to push the child out further. She couldn’t help it, she felt the feeling of needing to push and needed to go with it.

Each contraction made her belly protrudes more than ever, the dress can’t contain her for much longer. So she grabs the edge of the counter, and holds it to steady herself, a powerful contraction takes over her as she becomes tense. Mel can feel that the head is now fully in the birth canal, continuing to feel a desperate urge to push. If this baby want to come today fine, but it better be quick.

She lets each contraction move the baby further down in the birth canal, pushing only when she has to. She has learnt this is the best way to not tear, the contractions were not giving her much time to rest and she had a while till the boat had completed the journey.

But as she stands there gravity isn’t helping, she makes the mistake of giving a tiny push. The baby’s head pushes against her lower lips, she can feel herself slightly bulge. Mel’s womb kept squeezing the baby further down, she knew she had lost control. She used the stall to keep her modesty as she slid her underwear off, she could feel with her hand she was already crowning.

She keeps her hands there, she felt with her hand while she kept looking straight forward. The progress is slow but lips keep parting to a teardrop shape, then after another long push to a circle. The circle keeps getting bigger until a dome is emerging from her vagina, not at a single point does she make a noise. maybe just some louder breathing in between contractions. Her teeth are clenched, hoping that no customers approach.

But to her relief they all go to the top deck to watch the mainland come into view, when the last person leaves she gives it all she had. When the head pops out she lets out a sigh of relief, her legs are shaking so much she is unable to steady herself any longer.

She lowers herself onto her knees, already the shoulders being pushed against her vagina. She pushes with all of her might knowing no one can see her now, she uses the pressure and contractions to fuel her pushes. She gave one more push, and the baby simply falls out of her vagina along with some amniotic fluid.

Instantly the little baby starts to cry, she grabbed her bag and brings it closer. Mel raps the child in a towel, then cuts the cord and delivers the placenta in a black bag. She unbuttons her dress a little so she can give him a feed, she hopes that everyone will stay on the top deck now.

Then she decides not to chance it, she holds the baby with one arm and grabs the bag with the other. She leaves the room and with the baby still feeding waits by one of the exits to the boat, then as soon as the boat is docked she gets off. She throws the black bag in the bin and unlatches the child from her breast, Mel keeps going to the meeting place.

There she met with the agency worker who took the child off her, soon her milk would dry up and she would be round with child once again. In the distance the dark mother watched Mel as she walked away, it had been many years since she had cursed her. Each child Mel carried was as much hers as they were Mel’s, she hoped it served as a reminded of what she had done to deserve such a fate. Because no one made the Dark mother fall in love with them, no one.

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thespookydoor · 6 years

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Refried Dreams V

I had that dream again, that we’re all a bunch of talking ponies who go off on magical adventures… Oh wait, that was a fan comic I read last night. (Figured I might as well start off on a lighter note, since the dream itself is one of the most unsettling I’ve ever had.) When I first came to LA, as I mentioned before, I lived in a cramped, overheated room, hardly got any sleep, and was constantly fighting against dehydration. What I didn’t mention was “transferring” to a retail zoo, which I had to cope with 5 days a week, on the aforementioned lack of sleep, energy, and adequate water level, for nearly a year before we could afford our own place. Now, if it was just a question of language barrier, I would consider it challenging, but wouldn’t condescend to calling it “zoo” because of it. What made it a zoo was the lack of sanity, rational behavior, sanitation, the chronic inability to learn to press the same 2 or 3 buttons on the same machine they use every goddam day, the total failure to make use of flush toilets and running water, let alone public restrooms in general or shopping carts as baby changing stations in particular… Rude, vulgar, ignorant, illiterate, wasteful, wantonly destructive, and self-entitled to no end. I’ve never seen anything like it anywhere else in this country. Although the demographics have slowly been balancing themselves here in the Valley in the last few years, it is no exaggeration to say that I worked (and, to some degree, still do) in a Third World country. The chief difference being that, in many developing nations, people pounce on the chance to learn useful things, while the population here takes an unsettling degree of pride in their refusal to learn anything from experience. Anywhere else I’ve lived in my life, failing that hard at everyday life is not something to be proud of. You try to meet people half-way, but you just find yourself reaching and reaching until your shoulder’s coming out of its socket… Of course, I didn’t come here to make my Dream accounts a soap box on the utter failure of the Welfare State, but this last portion was meant to provide some important background about the state of affairs in my workplace, and their effect on my mental state, in relation to this terrible dream. I don’t find it any great surprise that 2007 was filled with a high volume of amp designs, writing, and extended vacations in Neverwinter, scenic Cyrodil, and especially the Shivering Isles, given that my typical day at work was like being an orderly strapped in a straight jacket, with the inmates running the asylum. It is truly a town of Darwin Award Hopefuls, thus, I’m hardly shocked the find that I eventually became frustrated enough to strangle someone… …or something. Not really sure about the m-o, but somehow, I killed one of my customers. Though it was probably for the best that this occurred in a dream, rather than the waking world, but it was still a harrowing experience, all the same. The next portion was like a morbid sitcom, where I kept trying to find ways to hide the body from coworkers and random strangers. Somehow, it had changed from a store to an office, and I was shoving some stiff in the closet, hiding it under a desk, behind furniture, while trying to find a way to get it out of the building unseen. All the while, more irrationally afraid of losing my job than, say, you know, going to jail or anything. Somewhere along the way, the scene switched to some house, and now I’m trying to bury the body in the basement, but there’s a direct view from the door to the stairs, and I’m trying to keep the other occupants of the house diverted, while some wannabe detective who seems to think he’s L is poking around asking questions. And some obnoxious little brat keeps opening the door to the basement every time I turn my back. Eventually, I’m the middle of trying to talk the others into going on some errand, and explain why I won’t need to tag along, when the detective walks by the open door. Busted. The last part I remember, before waking up in a cold sweat, was slipping back around the corner, and running away from the house before the detective could start looking for me… …Needless to say, I spent most of that day feeling numb, stricken with a degree of guilt I’d never felt in my life, even for the few things I’ve done in my life that I truly do feel guilty about. (Murder, thankfully, not being among those things, but still…) I mean, it’s hardly the first time I’d killed in my dreams, but any other case I could think of was clear self-defense, often against people or things that kinda tried to kill me first, so I think it was just very sobering to feel that inner finger pointing at me for killing an innocent. I think what bothered me the most though, was the fact that, for all the guilt and dread and horror I felt after I woke up, in the dream itself, all I seemed to worry about was getting caught. The victim was more like a broken tool, or a damaged item I was going to get fired for, than a human being, whose only “crime” was most likely being some species of idiot, and probably the lucky 108th I’d met that day. I would get a nasty jolt, later that winter, playing Oblivion, when I embarked on the Dark Brotherhood questline, and, after getting a few hit jobs under my belt, struck up a conversation with a random Imperial Legion soldier, who immediately harangued me with: “You. I’ve seen your kind before. You have blood on your hands. Stay your blade, or I’ll strike you down where you stand, murderer!” …or something like that. Of course, whoever did the voice of those Legion soldiers could also make you feel guilty for accidentally shoplifting while trying to figure out how buy stuff from the stores in that game. (And thus, my first attempt at shopping ended with a night in jail, since I hadn’t even gained enough coin to pay the fine. But, for a silver lining, it did net me a very profitable invitation to join the Thieves Guild…) Hell, even writing this, almost four years later, still gives me chills. -07/13/11

#murder #guilty #guilty conscience #stop criminal scum #thieves guild #Dark Brotherhood #halt criminal scum #oblivion #jail #detective #conscience #hide the body #hiding the body

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busterkeatonfanfic · 3 years

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Chapter 28

The train creaked to a stop on the Central Station tracks at half past midnight on the 27th of April. The change in speed woke Buster, who had fallen asleep in his clothes in his seat. In the car next to his, the Talmadge women would inevitably be emerging from slumber and would require an additional half-hour for their toilet, fearful of being caught unawares by a camera flashbulb even at this hour. He allowed a porter to fuss with his luggage while he smoked and waited for them. The faint sound of Peg ordering around her own porter came through the door and he added another ten minutes to his wait. He decided he ought to call Caruthers and Norma’s butler to bring the cars and searched out a telephone in the first-class lounge of the station. That accomplished, he stretched out on a cushioned bench and knit his hands behind his head. He was tired and probably more than a little scruffy-looking since it had been about thirty-six hours since his last shave. Still, his plan had always been to show up at Nelly’s apartment and surprise her when they arrived back in town. He just hadn’t expected it to be at this hour. He closed his eyes and smoked some more, debating on the wisdom of frightening her in the dead of night. It would be wiser to wait until morning when he’d slept, shaved, and eaten.

By the time Peg and her daughters made their way toward him with several harangued-looking porters, longing had won out and his mind was made up. The ride home to the Villa with Natalie was quiet. She was dazed and travel-weary and he had nothing to say to her. He helped her into the house, but she wouldn’t let him carry her two most important bags past the threshold of her wing to the house. Just as well. It was now approaching two and he hadn’t given up his scheme. He took a few minutes to brush his teeth, comb his hair, and change into fresh clothes, then slipped down his balcony and off to the garage, making sure that a certain key was secure in his pocket. Caruthers was still busy trundling luggage into the house, but only acknowledged him with a hello and didn’t ask where he was going. Buster figured he knew anyway. He considered for a moment what Natalie might do if she called for him and found him missing. It didn’t scare him enough to stop.

The drive to Nelly’s felt delightfully brief after days on a train and he was almost the sole car on the streets. He parked the Packard a few houses down and walked briskly up to the apartment, hands in his pocket and cap pulled low as always. When he had gone inside and made his way to Nelly’s front door, he debated whether he should knock. It would be the polite thing—he didn’t want to frighten her—but he also didn’t want to wake her neighbors. In the end, he put the key in the door and let himself inside. The apartment was dark and for a couple moments he was panicked that she wasn’t home. He had a sudden image of her in the bed of another man, some faceless extra from United Artists, and his heart took a slight tumble. When he turned on the lamp next to the sofa, though, he was reassured. There was her script and a half-eaten apple on the side table, and the apartment looked like a midden, evidence of recent occupancy.

He turned her bedroom doorknob gingerly and pushed open the door with just as much care. Creeping across the floor so as not to wake her, he turned on her dressing table lamp. In the bed, she sighed and turned over, but didn’t wake.

He knelt next to her bed. “I’m back,” he said, laying a hand on her upper arm.

Nelly murmured again, but didn’t open her eyes.

“It’s me.”

Nelly opened her eyes at last. “Buster?”

“Buster,” he said, grinning in his gladness to see her.

“What time is it?”

“Quarter to three.”

She sat up with a shock of realization. “You said you’d be gone until at least July!”

He stooped to unlace his shoes. “Surprise.”

Nelly laughed, her voice still fogged with sleep. “Oh. This is the surprise.” She yawned and put a hand on his back. “Why are you back so early?”

“On account of me getting mobbed everywhere we went. Told Thalberg we’re doing the rest of the picture on Lot Two. There’s no other way to do it. Can’t say I’m all that fussed about it.” Having kicked off his shoes, he sat on the edge of the bed and cupped Nelly’s cheek. She was wearing her pink nightgown with the lace at the neckline. He leaned in and eagerly sought her mouth.

She cut the kiss short. “I’m sure my breath is terrible. Let me at least find a toothbrush before you have your way with me.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“Oh, is that all you think I think about?” he said, putting on an offended expression.

Nelly raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I know it for a fact.”

He harrumphed at her, but she was right. He already had an erection. He’d gone long stretches without sex before, but had been spoiled since he and Nelly started going together. Consequently, four weeks without now seemed like a lifetime. He unfastened his sock garters and rolled off his socks before flopping down on her bed. He was tired, but could take comfort in the fact that he would have a reprieve from filming tomorrow and that the weekend lay ahead.

Nelly returned to the room, braids over her shoulders, thighs bare and inviting. “How am I sure you aren’t a dream?” she said, getting into bed with him.

“Wouldn’t I have shaved? In your dream?”

She brushed a finger against his stubble. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I’m the kind of girl who likes dreams to be as real as possible.”

Buster leaned over and poked a finger into the front of her chemise, pulling the fabric forward and investigating her breasts. “These seem pretty real to me.”

In response, Nelly straddled him and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. He crossed his arms behind his head and surrendered. “You’ll have to tell me all about New York. I never guessed from your letter you’d be back so soon,” Nelly said. She tugged his left arm and then his right out of their sleeves, then rolled up his undershirt. He watched her look him over and knew she was pleased by what she saw. He’d always been secure about his appeal to the opposite sex and knew that they were crazy for him despite his disadvantage when it came to height. Still, this knowledge did nothing to soothe the fact that the one woman on the planet who didn’t think of him that way was his wife.

His thoughts were yanked away from his marriage as Nelly’s finger strayed over one of his nipples. “New York,” he said haltingly, his powers of concentration greatly disrupted.

“You don’t have to speak about it now. I know you’re tired,” said the little temptress, now licking that same nipple.

He groaned helplessly and shifted his hips, which were pinned by Nelly’s weight. She moved her attention to his other nipple and he reached down into her chemise with both hands to grope her breasts. He was as hard as a rock now and shifted his hips again, seeking friction. She lifted her head and pressed her mouth to his, and he frantically unbuttoned his trousers. Breaking the kiss, she stretched forward and opened an unseen drawer beside her bed while he did his best to divest himself of trousers and undershorts. He pulled his knees up to wrestle them off his legs.

“Don’t move,” said Nelly, with a wink. “I know you’re tired.” She settled back down and stroked both hands over his prick, and it took him a good long moment to realize she was putting a prophylactic on him.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” he said, feeling breathless.

“Oh, I pick things up,” she said. She lifted her bottom and eased the head of his prick into her, and he took over from there.

The feel of her was sheer heaven. He held onto her hips and looked up at her as he fucked her. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted. Beneath the chemise, her breasts jounced with every thrust.

“Is it good?” he said, trying to pace himself.

Nelly nodded.

“Good,” he said. He pressed the pad of his thumb into her clitoris and made clockwise circles. She moaned and he flushed with satisfaction. His girl, he thought. To prevent from getting too hot too quick, he spent the next several minutes concentrating on her pleasure, moving his thumb just so and watching her face for signs that she was at the breaking point and soothing himself with a few good thrusts every once and awhile. Eventually, her hips began rocking and her breath became jerky. “Is it good?” he said. “You gonna come for me, baby?”

Again, she nodded. There was a glaze of sweat on her collarbones and across her throat.

The dirty talk seemed to be getting him somewhere, so he pushed it further. “Want you to come. Come for me. Come for me, baby.”

“Buster. Oh God, Buster.” The rocking of her hips hit a frantic pace and she cried out loud enough to wake the neighborhood as she came, stomach clenching and thighs trembling. He kept his thumb moving. “Buster, oh my God, Buster,” she uttered.

When she was done, he seized her hips, gave a few sloppy thrusts, and came with such a violent force that he forgot Nelly’s rule about not making too much noise during sex, shouting so loudly that for the first time there was a startling thump on the other side of the wall.

“Will you kids shut the hell up?” yelled an older man. “It’s three in the god damn morning for crying out loud!”

“Sorry!” Buster called back in the midst of trying to catch his breath, and Nelly’s worried expression melted into mirth.

“Shit,” she said, falling on top of him in a hot, sweaty heap. “I’m never going to be able to look him in the eyes again.”

“Which one is he?” said Buster. He slipped out of her and laid his hand between her shoulders.

“Mr. Hernandez. The one who used to work for the railroad.”

“Just tell him I was taking you for a train ride.”

Nelly giggled. “Will you hush, you wonderful man?”

He drew lazy circles between her shoulders. “No.”

They clung to each other as their breathing went back to normal. He didn’t need to ask if he’d satisfied her or if she was happy he was back. He already knew the answer.

“Are you hungry?” she said after a while.

It had been hours since his last meal. “Starved.”

“I’ll make you some food, but you’ll have to drive me to work tomorrow.”

It was his favorite routine, ravishing her and getting fed afterwards. They put on their underwear and he followed into the kitchen to watch her put together some chicken and cucumber sandwiches for him, and afterwards he fell fast asleep in her bed, the first time he’d ever dared spend the night at her apartment. Her alarm went off a couple hours later and he resisted opening his eyes. He could have slept the weekend away without any problem, as tired as he was from New York and the train. Only the cup of coffee Nelly waved under his nose tempted him to sit up. They crept out of the apartment by seven o’clock and he dropped her off as usual a couple blocks from the UA lot, briefly pecking her on the lips after checking to see that the coast was clear. He drove back to the Villa aware that he looked exactly like a man who’d been sneaking around on his wife, with his wrinkled clothes, mussed hair, and the faint whiff of Nelly’s rosewater on his skin. A part of him dreaded Natalie seeing him that way. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to be confronted by her. Would she be calm and cold? Hysterical and despondent? He couldn’t stand the idea of a woman fooling around on him, certainly not Nate and not Nelly, either. He’d be out of his mind with jealousy. Yet his wife knew perfectly well he had other women, tolerated it even. The only cardinal sin with her was flaunting it or getting attached. Another part of him wanted her to notice it, to be jealous and to wonder who the woman was who was giving him such satisfaction.

In the end, he needn’t have worried. Natalie was sleeping late. Connie had the children indoors and was trying to give them their Friday-morning lessons, but when they saw him they shouted and tore toward him. He was glad to see the rascals and bent to hug them. He played with them for a half hour before retiring to his room for a shower and a shave. Afterwards, he swam laps in the pool for over an hour. By the time Natalie descended the front stairs, he had long since finished brunch and was as neat, pliant, and faithful a husband as she could ever desire.

Notes: Did not realize this chapter would be so, uh, porny, but I suspect you won’t be complaining.

I know Anita Page doesn’t look anything like Nelly, but I felt the general mood of the photograph fits the scene. Can you even imagine? What kind of lover do you think Buster was?

#buster keaton #fan fiction #rpf #actor rpf #silent film #golden age hollywood

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xoleahbeanxo · 5 years

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Halloween Short #11

Guard Duty

Shania walked into the office and clocked in. Office may be a strong word for it. It was mostly a reinforced glass box on a metal platform, a perfect design for a night watchman station. Someone could see almost the entire factory and the parts that couldn’t be seen had motion lights and cameras.

There was a row of lockers, two small desks, a TV for entertainment, and a coffeemaker to keep the watchmen vigilant. It was cozy enough to call it a work place without making it too comfortable.

She heard the toilet flush from the tiny personal bathroom and Willard came out from the small door, next to the row of lockers.

“I was just about to call you.”

“Sorry I’m late-”

“You’re not late, I just wanted to remind you its Halloween, so, there may be some strange happenings going on tonight. If anything happens, don’t hesitate to hit the panic button. Boss would rather deal with the cops than anything happening to you.”

“Aw, that’s sweet of him.” Shania said.

“Don’t jump to conclusion. We have a paragraph in our contracts that states the company pays for all our bills if we’re injured at work.” Willard chuckled.

“That figures.” Shania smirked. “What kind of things can I look forward too?”

“Prank calls, firecrackers going off outside, strange shapes appearing on the cameras. You know the normal adolescent shit.” Willard explained, clocking out.

“Some things never change.”

“Sure as hell don’t mean it doesn’t get old. Have a good night, Shania; call me if anything comes up.”

“I will, have a good night, old man.”

She could hear him laughing as the door closed.

Shania started her night by cleaning the office, luckily it wasn’t as bad as it usually was and either way it was a good way to pass the time.

A few chapters into her book and two cups of coffee in her belly was a perfect time to start her first patrol. The coffee was a big help, the book was not.

It was a historical book about the rise of factories throughout the east. Boring for a lot of folks but not Shania, it was full of some dark and weird stories. Factory workers forced to work until they collapsed. Some died while working, their replacements were known to kick them into the vats and just kept on working. Many of the workers were locked underground and only brought out for their shift. What kind of monsters-

Shania’s headset buzzed, it was connected to the office phone line. She pushed on the side of the earpiece.

“Hey girl, how are you, is there anything to report?” Willard’s voice soothed her.

“Nah, quiet as a-”

Something out of the corner of her eyes shifted. Shania jolted, her hand rested on the flashlight.

“What is it?”

“I thought I saw something.”

“What kind of something?”

“I dunno, I-”

Another something moved from the opposite way down the machinery avenue.

“Oh god.” Shania cried.

“I’m on my way.”

There were sounds all around her, some of it sounded like small bare feet slapping the concrete. Shania quietly backed into a small alcove between two large machines. One ear cocked to hear where they were coming from.

How many were there? She couldn’t quite tell, at least half a dozen. Something darted passed and she almost screamed.

If Willard was telling the truth, he’d get there in ten minutes. The cops would be there in six. All she had to do was hold out that long. She had to get back to the guard station and lock herself in.

Slowly, she edged out, giving each side a listen. One of the things was standing at the end of the machine row. It jittered, almost like a convulsing. It turned its head with a soft creak, a pair of glowing white eyes stared towards her.

It was impossible to tell if the thing could see in the dark, or saw her at all, but she wasn’t about to wait around. Shania ducked out and started down the other way.

A pair of glowing eyes rounded the corner in front of her. It happened so fast she collided. It was so small; she managed to send it tumbling away.

It let out a choked scream. A coppery smell, like dried blood, filled her nose. She ignored it as she broke into a full run. The creature’s desperate screams covered up her footsteps but it also worked to cover up the other’s movement as well.

Shania rounded the corner; the narrow alleyway ahead was flooded with glowing green eyes.

There was only a split second to figure out what to do. Instinctively, she flicked the switch on her flashlight, lighting up the darkness for a second. It was enough to fill the air around her with desperate screams. The eyes in front of her shifted around, confused.

They were blinded, it was her chance. Running up the stairs was so much harder on shaky legs. It was a relief to reach the catwalk. Shania already had her keys out and the door unlocked before the creatures reached the top of the stairs. She slammed the door and locked it.

The lights inside the room blocked out everything on the other side of the door. Even with the cameras, she could only make out the shadowy figures jolting and jittering beneath the lights of the exit signs.

What were they? They’re so fast and my god, those eyes.

A loud thump hit the glass door. It caused her to fall from her chair screaming. No matter how hard she tried; she couldn’t see anything beyond the glass.

Pulling her flashlight from her belt, she moved towards to the door. One by one, she saw pairs of eyes peer at her from the darkness.

An almost human hand touched the glass. It startled her enough to make her flail back and hit her head on the floor. Her vision was swimming as she managed to flick on the flashlight.

What she saw was almost like a fever dream. Dozens of pale, almost human faces glared at her. Their gaunt misshapen face, sneered with their jagged teeth. They reared away, closing their bulging frog-like eyes away from the light on their long spindly arms and legs.

Factory workers? Was her last coherent thought before passing out.

***

“Boss wants you to sign this.”

Willard placed a paper and pen on the desk in front of her.

“What’s-”

“It’s a non-disclosure agreement, we all sign them here.” Willard said.

“But-”

“Shania, he’s offering you a fuck-ton of money and all the day-shift you want. I suggest you take them.”

Shania chewed her bottom lip. “What about those things, what are they?”

“About one more figure above yours and my pay grade, now sign it.” Willard insisted.

“This is wrong.”

“Nah, this is America, baby.” Willard sighed.

Shania nodded, picked up a pen and signed the paper. Willard was right, no matter how much she hated it.

#Halloween #Drabble #Horror #Leendenwrites

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boredsingaporean · 5 years

Text

Chapter 25: Small Shops with Great People

When we talk about shopping in Singapore, we would naturally think of Orchard Road. With a slew of major shopping centers flanking both sides of the road, from Wheelock Place to Wisma Atrium, to Ngee Ann City, to Paragon, to Centerpoint, to Orchard Point, to Plaza Singapore, the temptation of buying is hard to resist. All the labels like Louis Vuitton are there; all the luxurious restaurants like Lawry's are there; all the supermarkets like Carrefour are there. It is easy to spend the whole day there just eating and buying. With the development of public housing estates, smaller shopping centers like Jurong Point are also built in the area to serve the residents in the estates. These estate shopping centers are usually situated just next to the MRT station and/or bus terminals. They would have the usual fashion shops like Giodano, healthcare shops like Body Shop, fast food restaurants like McDonald’s and even major electronics and electrical appliances stores like Harvey Norman. To the residents, these estate shopping centers are more convenient than Orchard Road and usually less crowded. But of course, the range of products and services would not be as comprehensive. Going deeper into the housing estates, you will find two-storey flats, usually situated near dry or wet markets, with small shops on the ground floor. These small shops, usually owned by families, provides convenient shopping for the residents who live a distance away from the estate shopping centers. Due to their cheaper rents, the products and services found in these shops are priced even lower than those found in the estate shopping centers. However, reasonable pricing is not the only factor that attracted the residents to these shops. These shop owners are good at handling customer relationships. My mom had sent me to the video rental shop to return her rented VCDs which were one-day late. The video rental shop is run by an old man and several young ladies, probably his daughters. It is a small shop with shelves of movies and TV serials, in VCDs and video tapes formats, from the Western countries, Hong Kong, Taiwan and China. My mom would usually rent Hong Kong TV serials from this shop. Though the local television station screens TV serials from Hong Kong regularly, those serials are normally at least one year old, whereas the serials that she rented from the shop could be as new as one month old. Furthermore, she preferred to watch her TV serials in Cantonese because she felt that after some sentences were translated from Cantonese to Chinese, some native language humor could be lost. I handed the box of VCDs to the old man at the counter. “What’s your card number?” “Err… I don’t know… let me check with my family.” Gosh, my mom forgot to tell me her membership number. “No, it’s okay. Just tell me your phone number.” I gave the old man my house number which he keyed into the computer beside the cashier. Seconds later, he retrieved my mom’s membership number and took out her rental card from a box of other rental cards. He opened the box of VCDs, checked it and signed on the rental card. “Okay, that’s all,” the old man told me as he kept the box of VCDs. “Erm… I think we’re a day later than the return date,” I reminded him. “How much is the late fine?” “Yeh, I know. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” How forgiving. Perhaps our credit card companies and that major telecommunications service provider should learn from this old man and stop sending out warning letters when my cheques were late by a day or two. There are two hairdressing saloons and a Malay barber shop below these two-storey flats. These hairdressing saloons are not as elegantly renovated as the REDS, Vive or Peter & Guys, and their hair stylists are not as highly paid. They do not provide you Cosmopolitan or Men’s Health for your reading pleasure while waiting, and they do not serve you Evian mineral water, tea or coffee. However, their hair stylists are friendly and committed to help their customers. Oh, and they charge a much cheaper rate. One afternoon, I was going to one of those hairdressing saloons for a much needed hair cut. Before I reached the saloon, I could hear screams coming out from it. “Boy, I won’t hurt you… come on, let aunty cut here…” “Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” “Baby, don’t be so scared… let the good aunty cut your hair, then you’ll look nice nice…” “Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” “Okay… don’t move, okay? Just a while more…. “ “Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” “Baby, you let aunty cut your hair and I’ll buy you ice-cream okay?” “Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” A lady was sitting on the saloon chair and hugging her little boy close to her, while two hair stylists tried to cut his hair. The freaked out little boy was crying and screaming till his face was all red and full of perspire. The mother tried to coax him with colorful hair clips, sweets and small toys, while the hair stylists stood on both sides of the little boy and tried to steal a cut or two when his head was still for the few split seconds. The commotion lasted for about an hour and the hair stylists finally managed to finish the little boy’s hair cut. When the lady was leaving the saloon, she felt so embarrassed for the commotion caused that she kept apologizing to the two perspiring hair stylists. “No worries, Mdm,” the hair stylists assured her with their understanding smiles. After the lady and her little boy left, the hair stylists went back to work. One of them smiled at me and apologized for the wait, then took me to a seat. I had a quick and simple hair cut that was finished in about fifteen minutes and it cost me ten dollars. In recent years, a slew of ten dollars cut saloon have opened in Singapore. These small saloons with three to four hair stylists are originated from Japan, based on the concept of “ten dollars for a ten minutes cut”. Instead of washing your hair after the cut, they will ‘vacuum’ the loose hairs from your head using a tube that sucks in air. The hair stylists do not talk to their customers except for the mechanical “good morning” or “good afternoon” greetings in Japanese that are shouted at the customers as they entered the saloon. I wondered are the uncles looking for cheap hair cuts puzzled by the string of unknown language shouted at them. Usually we could find a bakery shop among these neighboring stores. The bakery shop at my neighborhood does not sell costly fusion breads like those pork floss breads, sweet potatoes breads and tuna breads sold in new age bakeries like BreadTalk. In stead, they have the traditional breads like cheap char siew, a.k.a. BBQ pork, breads, red bean breads and curry chicken breads. All of these traditional breads look like a plain round bun regardless of their fillings and it is not easy to differentiate which is which without looking at the name tags. They do not look as artistic as those fusion breads and they are not as finely baked. However, when I bite into them, it made me reminisce about my childhood, about those days when a char siew bread for the recess break could satisfy me so much. Besides traditional breads, there are also traditional cakes sold in the bakery shop. These are simple sponge cakes with butter cream toppings. Butter cream, unlike fresh cream that is light and puffy, tastes thick and buttery. One small rectangular piece of these traditional cakes and you will feel full immediately. These traditional cakes were used to make huge and colorful birthday cakes in the past, with shapes like Mickey Mouse, amour tank or simply numbers. When I was still a kid, I remembered that you could tell the age of the birthday boy or girl just by looking at the birthday cake, because the cakes will be in the shapes of their age. Two shops after the bakery shop is a hardware shop. These typical hardware shops sell cheap baking tools, kitchen utensils, working tools, plumbing tools and parts, and lots of plastic containers and pails. Before festive seasons like Deepavali, Hari Raya Puasa and Chinese New Year, the hardware shop will sell lots of baking pans in different shapes and sizes for the housewives to bake their festive goodies. But the hardware shop acts primarily as a life saver for the residents during emergency situations… “Beng! The flushing button on the toilet bowl’s flush box is spoilt! After I pressed it, it just stays down and the water just flush non-stop!” “Mom, I think the enclosed spring for the flushing button is spoilt.” “Then hurry up and get a new spring from the hardware shop downstairs!” “Beng, the kitchen light is spoilt. I suspected that the starter is spoilt.” “Okay Dad, I’ll get a starter from the hardware shop.” After my dad changed the starter, the kitchen light still refused to light up. “Maybe it is the light tube that’s spoilt. Beng, could you go downstairs to get a new light tube?” I could not imagine my life without that hardware shop in the neighborhood. To me, these shops definitely meant to me more than the big departmental stores at Orchard Road. I knew I could trust those shop owners and I could definitely use their advices. Their ranges of products might not be as rich as those offered in big departmental stores, but at least the essentials are there. And though they might not know my name, I know these uncles and aunties know me.

#nanowrimo

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