Old lady voyeur

After all, Stevens was a highly successful businessman and a familiar semi-resident of the town where Frost was but a first-time tourist. Welcoming Frost to the neighborhood, Stevens presented him with a bag of sapodillas, the sweet tropical fruits of which he’d grown fond in Cuba and Key West, and planned to share conch chowder, another local staple, with Frost that night. Poet Robert Frost, with works such as "The Road Not Taken," is a quintessential American poet. When following his path through New England, Tyler Malone sees the richness beneath those well-worn ... Robert Lee Frost, it reads, Mar. 26, 1874—Jan. 29, 1963. I had a lover's quarrel with the world. Though born in San Francisco in 1874 (of New England stock), Robert Frost moved to New England at the age of 10; and though he moved to England (1912) to pursue his literary ambitions, Robert Frost could only have been a New Englander. Robert Frost was born in San Francisco, California, to journalist William Prescott Frost, Jr., and Isabelle Moodie. His mother was a Scottish immigrant, and his father descended from Nicholas Frost of Tiverton, Devon, England, who had sailed to New Hampshire in 1634 on the Wolfrana.. Frost was a descendant of Samuel Appleton, one of the early settlers of Ipswich, Massachusetts, and Rev. George ... IN 1920, 44-year-old Robert Frost moved from New Hampshire to Vermont "to seek a better place to farm and especially grow apples." For the next four decades, Frost lived principally in Vermont,... BENNINGTON — Tourists are the type of people who learn to appreciate destination attractions. However, local residents may drive by a tourist attraction and never actually visit it. Something Bennington County residents can fathom is the past presence of Pulitzer Prize winning poet Robert Frost, who lived in Shaftsbury for 18 years. All along the field behind the House are podiums with some of Robert Frost's poems and explanations of his inspirations to write the poems. It is a very relaxing outdoor experience and many people visited this location during the pandemic in order to be outside and walk for exercise. Roberto Calasso; drawing by Tullio Pericoli. The title of this slim book, the ninth part of Robert Calasso’s vast, ongoing project, is taken from the first volume of the series, The Ruin of Kasch, published in Italian—as La Rovina di Kasch—in 1983.The relevant passage goes, in part: “For those of us living at this moment, the most exact and most acute sensation is one of not knowing ... April is National Poetry Month and here at Tourism for Locals, we're going to highlight monuments and locations that either shaped or pay tribute to those who have contributed to the San Francisco and national poetic canon. For this week, we're visiting the Robert Frost Monument near the Embarcadero. Robert Frost Emily Dickinson Elizabeth Barrett Browning E. E. Cummings Walt Whitman William Wordsworth Allen Ginsberg Sylvia Plath Jack Prelutsky William Butler Yeats Thomas Hardy Robert Hayden Amy Lowell Oscar Wilde Theodore Roethke All Poets

2020.09.29 16:03 Pinsandweedles Voyeur old lady

I want to write something new
The two ladies at the table next to me are going on and on
They tell me they're cousins (I didn't ask)
Reuniting between pictures of their food.
I sip my drink and read an old book of poetry.
It's my pocket Frost
A crumpled copy that I've read front to back multiple times
Even so, I couldn't tell you the name of any of the poems
Or really what they're about
But the book is small, and fits in my back pocket
So it comes with me most places.
They laud him as an Americ--
The more I listen the more I realize it's only one of the ladies talking
The other one just listens to her cousin.
For all I know she might be hanging on every word
But to me, it feels like tepid deference.
Fear of silence.
Though that's only my interpretation
of the chattering lady and her silent cousin.
I want to write something new
But the chattering lady lives up to her title.
I find myself focusing on her overabundance of words
Silence only comes between bites of her now molested food
No longer picture perfect.
--They tell me they're on vacation
The chatterer from Vancoiver,
The cousin from San Diego.
Tourists enjoying the beauty of New Mexico.
To be fair, I'm somewhat of a tourist myself.
More like a voyeur,
Listening to chattering ladies trying to make their lives interesting,
None of us belong here.
But if I knew where I belonged I wouldn't be sitting on the patio of a bar three hours from home listening to chattering ladies,
Would I?
Ode to a coat
Together
submitted by Pinsandweedles to OCPoetry [link] [comments]


2020.09.25 14:39 GoodApollo506 Old lady voyeur

Interesting day last Tuesday.....
So after work, I decided to grab breakfast at a local Brugers Bagels (I work grave shift)
This particular Brugers is about 1/2 a mile from the local Community College and is usually packed with college students despite Covid because my town is FULL of Karens, Anti-maskers and other assorted ignorant rednecks who refuse to practice social distancing...
-So I go up to order and the 35-40 year old, 2/10, 300lb trashcan of a Becky at the register has (I shit you not) a 12 year old bitch fit...
“Oh fuck no...I can’t...I FUCKING CAN’T RIGHT NOW WIT DIS SHIT!!”
-She literally slams the register shut and storms out of the building to smoke a cigarette before some 55-60 year old dude comes out, apologizes to me and takes my order..
(According to the guy, she claimed to have been “sexually assaulted” over the weekend and “has been acting strange ever since”)
-So I order and we laugh about how I “probably remind her of the guy” and how neither one of us would “touch her with a 10ft pole”
-He also informs me that only one of their five toasters is working right now and invites me to take a seat until my order is ready.
-I then sit down in the most isolated corner of the restaurant to wait for my food and answer a txt from my boss just as 3 stereotypical Stacies walk into the restaurant...
(Off the record, I wasn’t really attracted to any of them for various reasons)
-One was probably decent looking under her mask and had a decent(ish) body, but WAAAAY too tall for me. (I’m a very weak 5’6” and she looked to be somewhere between 5’9”-5’11”)
-One was decent looking, but definitely not my type. (Loud, bossy basic bitch stereotype)
-The Third was clearly the ugly friend (more of a high tier Becky) as she was definitely on the chubbier side.
-Before I can even finish replying to said txt, Becky waddles over, slaps my phone out of my hand and starts screaming in my face...
“YOU FUCKING CREEP!”
Me: “Uh...Can I help you and what the fuck was that for?!”
“For being a creep!...I saw you taking pics of my friends ass!”
Me: “Nope...I was texting my boss if you must know”
“BULL FUCKING SHIT!!...You we’re taking pics of my friends ass!”
(At this point, the entire restaurant is staring at us and she seems slightly embarrassed)
“Right so...One, I was texting my boss...Two, Congratulations on making a scene and Three, go get my fucking phone you porky bitch!”
-Before she can, another patron grabs my phone and hands it to me as she storms off and starts loudly complaining to the manager about “creepy guys” and how “none of them feel safe right now”
-I laugh with said patron (a 25-30 year old guy) about how “bitches be crazy” and even showed him the txt and how I had 0 “voyeur ass pics” in my photo library (including the recently deleted file)
-Then the manager comes over (a 55+ year old Karen)
“Sir...I’m afraid I’m gonna need you to leave”
Me: “I’d be glad to as soon as my food is ready”
“Well we have a right to refuse service to anyone making a public disturbance by bothering the customers...So your order was canceled”
Me: “Are you kidding me?!...I didn’t do anything at all other than txt my boss!..Would you like to see the txt?!”
“I don’t care about what’s on your phone sir, but you have managed to make three young women very uncomfortable as well as one of my employees...Now please kindly leave!”
Me: “Ok...As soon as I get my money back”
“Again...We have a right to refuse service to anyone.....
Me: “YEAH YEAH YEAH HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME LADY!...and I’m not going anywhere until I get either the food that I paid for or my money back!...It’s up to you!”
(She then tries repeating the same line until the patron who grabbed my phone shouts out: “C’MON!!....HE DIDN’T DO SHIT!” to which she replies by threatening to kick him out as well)
Me: “Food or money?...which will it be mam?”
“Sir...As I have tried to explain to you....
Me: “And as I keep explaining to you...IM NOT GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL I GET EITHER MY ORDER OR MONEY BACK!”
“Ok...I’m calling the police!”
(She then storms back into her office (?) and I do decide to leave because I’d probably end up in jail as some kind of registered sex offender based on how the PD operates in this area)
So I basically paid $12 to be accused of voyeurism and thrown out of a restaurant...
This is why I hate women...
submitted by GoodApollo506 to IncelsWithoutHate [link] [comments]


2020.09.12 13:19 AWickedMind Old voyeur lady

(Long wall of text ahead. If you're interested in finding out my prompts, skip to the last section.)
“One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious. The latter procedure, however, is disagreeable and therefore not popular.” (Carl Jung)
The human mind is a curious thing. It wants what it doesn't need. It craves what it doesn't have. It creates instincts which, if acted upon, result in nothing but total destruction of the self, and all that it holds dear.
And yet, these desires exist and arise out of nowhere. Why does something happen when there's clearly nothing good to be gained out of it? Why does the primal core of our being want what cannot be achieved in a decent, civilized society? Why do we feel a burning desire to give in to our basic instincts if we could never act on them?
Any person living in a civilization will tell you that these instincts must not be acted upon for the greater good - peace and stability in society as a whole. I fully agree with them. I absolutely do not condone the themes I post in my prompts to be acted upon in real life.
What brings me here? To have a safe avenue for exploring these fantasies.
I want to explore the what ifs that keep you awake at night, and make for intriguing dreams, to say the least. Some of them may be dark, criminal even, that you'd be ashamed to accept even to yourself that you're capable of fantasizing about something like that. Some of them maybe immoral, something that society would crucify you for if you were to come out accepting it. Some of them maybe just plain absurd, things that could never happen to you, either because you aren't, and will never be, in such a situation of life.
What am I looking for? Creating stories. Experiences. Fantasies.
I want a partner who is, first and foremost, interested in writing long term stories with me. This will proceed in the form of a roleplay, with you controlling your character(s) and I controlling mine. I tend to focus on the characters' internal world a lot, so expect plenty of internal thoughts and dialogues along with a description of their ever changing emotions. I expect my partner to reasonably reciprocate.
I also tend to take the world building more on my own shoulders, and don't really mind doing that. Partners are always welcome to add their own thoughts and contributions, and in fact are encouraged to do so. But even if you simply want to sit back and enjoy the ride, be my guest. All I ask is for you to give me a window to your character's soul - let me know what they're thinking, feeling, seeing, hearing etc.
Things to know about my writing style: I tend to write about 3-5 paragraphs per response, changeable according to need. I'm not picky about using first person or third person. My prompts tend to default to a third person writing style, but feel free to ask for a change if you have a different preference.
I don't like writing for my partner's characters, and expect the favor to be returned.
At times I may respond rather quickly, shooting multiple messages back and forth in a single day. At times, I might get busy with work and may not be able to reply for a few days. Please be patient; if we have started an interaction I won't leave you hanging without a response indefinitely.
Also, I may post the same prompt multiple times, even though I've already found a partner. To all future partners with whom this may happen - that is NOT, in any way, a sign that I'm not satisfied with our current RPs. I value your efforts and your company, and don't mean disrespect to you in any way. My prompts are usually quite open ended, such that with each interpretation it tends to take the story in a completely different direction, and so finding another partner is as good as finding a partner for a new story altogether, and not because I'm not enjoying our current story.
Last but not the least - I DO NOT GHOST. If there's ever a problem, be it within the RP or the story's direction, or any personal reasons due to which I need to stop writing to you, you'll hear back from me atleast one last time saying I need to go.
The type of characters I like to play: I generally like to play characters in their late twenties or thirties, although I can change it if the scene demands. I tend to be self indulgent, and my characters can sometimes reflect that, in the sense that you'd be hard pressed to find flaws in them. But that's not to say they're without any flaws, simply that they won't be aware of how arrogant or rude they might come across as.
My characters will be intelligent, sharp, and with a keen sense of the world around them. They don't expect the world to bend over backwards for them, but they don't shy away from getting what they want either. They have a realistic sense of how the world works. They don't expect a girl to fall head over heels in love with them just because they flashed a charming smile or wore a designer suit. They want to get in her mind first before getting in her pants.
Some other characters may be darker, and not-so-gentlemanly if the scene calls for it. These will usually be thugs, the scum of the society and on the wrong side of law. As such, they'd hardly care about being politically correct or being 'nice' to your character.
Please note that regardless of my character's actions, I'd never want you, the person behind the screen, the person typing out the words, to ever feel slighted or wronged. If you ever feel something is crossing a personal limit, please bring it up. I assure you it won't be out of malice, maybe just an oversight.
Some random thoughts: On keeping things interesting without being boring and repetitive
On using visual aids to enhance the writing experience
On writing a good submissive character
Kinks and limits: My biggest kink is showing off my large sex organ. The largest you'll ever see. So large you won't be able to take in all the things it can give you. You're gonna be overwhelmed with all the feelings its gonna make you feel! It is...it is....
The brain.
Human mind is the biggest, sexiest, and kinkiest sex organ in the world, might as well make use of it.
My biggest priority would be to create worlds that excite you. Something vanilla for one person may not be as vanilla for another, and this nuance is very important to understand. I try my best to give my partners exactly what they want in terms of characters, worlds, emotions, kinks - you name it.
But for material purposes, here's a typical list of what I'm into and not into. Its a lot of things, possible non-exhaustive, and just a big collection of everything I know about myself. Not every kink needs to be incorporated into an RP, ofcourse. Besides, if you have something in mind but don't see it here, just ask.
Kinks :
Gentle : sexy lingerie, sexy outfits, living the high life, luxury, smooth talking, dirty talking, flirty banter, sexual vibes, risky public play, exhibitionism, voyeurism, gentle lovemaking, missionary, whispering sweet nothings, handcuffs, blindfolds, eating you out, blowjobs, caresses, cuddles, hugs, kisses, pampering you, aftercare, ice creams, chocolates etc.
Not-so-gentle : spanking, rough sex, doggy style, anal(giving), rimjobs (giving and receiving), hair pulling, breast play, ass play, cock worship, body worship, large cocks, deepthroat, facials, cheating, cuckolding, bondage play, threesomes (MFM and FMF) etc.
Ouch!: butt plugs, vibrators, toys, slapping, collars, leashes, metal chains, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, double penetration, full nelson, pet play, slave play, D/s M/s dynamics, total power exchange, blackmailing, dub-con, non-con, kidnappings, knife play etc.
Maybes :
Spitting, piss play, extreme torture, incest etc.
Hard Limits :
Scat, gore, bestiality, underage characters, vore, lasting damage etc.
Previous prompts and ideas: A harmless fantasy gone too far : You've wanted an escape from your boring, monotonous life and you create an anonymous account to live out your fantasies. But its not enough for you, and now you want to take it one step further - you want to meet the man behind the screen.
Its such a small world after all
An extension of the above idea, but when you finally meet the man, he's someone you know!
Who in their right minds sets up an appointment with their rapist!?
You were raped, but you loved it. He left his number with you almost as a taunt, but you can't help wanting to set it up all over again.
You're on your way to the top in Hollywood, but not without hitting a few lows
You're a college student and you receive an unexpected response to your application for a modeling role. You're obviously very excited about your career. Little do you know the producers have very different ideas for what career to push you in.
Sub at first sight
When you know, you know.
Every high functioning person needs a break at times. You've got an awesome career, you're in charge of a group of people, you make decisions for your teams all day long. Wouldn't you just want to sit back, relax, and let someone else run the show every once in a while?
A sense of belonging
Some relationships take a lifetime to build. Some, merely a glance. Your relationship with him can't be expressed in words. It's simply a feeling you have whenever you're with him, a sense of belonging that just can't be shaken off.
An unexpected guest at a wedding
You had left the old life behind you. You had severed all connections, erased all memories that would take you back to him. Why, oh why, did he have to show up at your wedding of all places!
Only under a mask are we free to be ourselves
Your life has come to an unexpected standstill. You're supposed to be happy, you should feel good about having a loving, caring husband, but you just don't. Luckily, your friend has a solution for you - this masquerade party where you could afford a night of debauchery while remaining completely anonymous!
Love makes the greatest fools out of us
You love him more than your own self. Your heart breaks to see him in trouble. You'll do anything to help him, go to any lengths to protect him. Even if it means giving yourself away to one man you hate the most.
Being a spy is not an easy job!
You're on a secret mission. There's supposed to be a party you're going to attend, with the celebrity status you've cultivated for yourself under cover. Little do you know, your enemies are one step ahead of you and are already expecting you.
What a great first day at work
You're doing porn for the first time in your life. Your co-star is famous for his rough and brutal scenes, and stories of just how badly his co-stars are usually bruised have left you on edge the whole week. However, just before the shoot starts, you're in for a rather sweet surprise from him!
A good girl gone bad
You were sweet, shy, and innocent. No one could raise a finger at you when it came to questioning your morals. How then, did you go from that girl to the kind who sleeps around and freely expresses her sexuality without a care in the world?
A class apart
You've always had a thing for the finer things in life, be it jewels, cars, or houses. Why would you hold back on your job then? Ofcourse you'd sign up for the most exclusive, sophisticated, and elegant whore house that exists in the modern world! But be warned, its not that easy to get a job with them, they've got a very strict set of standards to uphold their reputation!
The newest craze in social media apps - FukPix - is here!
Since the rise of social media, social tolerance for posting revealing pictures of yourself up on the internet for the whole world to see has steadily gone up. Was it any surprise then that someone made an app specifically to share your sexual escapades, and it was taking off like crazy?
The most effective strategy to get over someone
It's your wedding anniversary, and your husband had to pick up a fight with you on this very day! Your mood is ruined, but you won't let that bastard spoil your whole day. You were gonna dress up and give him a good time tonight. You're still in the mood for sex. So what if it won't be your husband who gets to enjoy it?
The correction officer
There exists a special group of people, whose job it is to correct wayward girls and bring them to their senses. Only the rich and affluent can afford them. Luckily for you (or unluckily?) someone close to you has decided your behavior needs to be made more 'lady like', and has invited the correction officer to work on you.
Someone out there wants revenge, and tonight they're gonna get it
You pissed off somebody. Badly. So much so that they laced your drink at the party, and made sure you'd find yourself in their basement when you wake up. What plans do they have for you?
What makes a happy housewife, really happy?
Doing all the little things for your husband, ofcourse, but not because he likes it. You don't want him to have any suspicions, and you'd rather keep him docile with happiness than alert with suspicion.
Porn isn't what its supposed to be, let's change that
Porn glorifies violence and aggression far too much, and this needs to be changed. Lucky for you, your partner thinks the same way and wants to make a difference in the world, with your help ofcourse.
You've been abducted, but your father is no Liam Neeson!
Just as the title suggests. You go to a different country on a vacation, and end up getting abducted. What's going to be your fate now that no ex-special agent is coming to rescue you?
Cult of Colossal Cocks
The world is controlled by a cult of men who are gifted phenomenally, and the cult needs special women to take care of their men's libido. Are you brave enough to satisfy them?
It's not what you know, but who you blow
Stuck in a dead end office job with no prospects of progress, you realize the only way up is by going down...on your boss, his friends, his colleagues, whoever he wants!
submitted by AWickedMind to AdvancedLiterateRP [link] [comments]


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submitted by MansA20Augl to u/MansA20Augl [link] [comments]


2020.08.06 08:06 SuikaCider [HR] The Vegetarian

Kirk was sitting on the bed when I arrived to his cell, right leg crooked over the left and fingers interlaced in his lap. He didn’t seem imposing, and in fact did not even acknowledge me at first, just sat there staring at whatever point on the wall he’d laid his eyes upon. I wasn’t sure what to make of him. Bony face, empty and unadorned as the room itself. Pronounced clavicles. Tufts of brown hair poked out from the neck of a white tank top, which in turn had been tucked into a pair of orange trousers. Both were too large. An untouched pork roast was laid out on a platter next to him, the slab of meat girthier than his leg.
“We don’t normally do this, you know,” I said.
He turned and looked up at me, moving only his head to do so. Bushy eyebrows, flat nose, drooping earlobes, pointed chin. The corners of his lips curled up just enough to tip the scales and qualify as a smile. For a while he continued sitting there, looking more through me than at me, but then he blinked twice and met my eyes.
“I know.”
I took a step back in spite of myself, feeling like I’d opened the door to a naked stranger. Instead of covering up, though, he acknowledged me and grinned, as if saying don’t worry, this is the locker room, everybody is changing clothes here. He never moved an inch, but the tightness in my gut insisted that we were much too close. I was about to retreat another step when he reached out to pat the mattress beside him. The ring finger on his left hand was missing.
“Take a seat.”
I hesitated for a moment and then edged forward, sitting as far away from Kirk as I could. There were two feet or so between myself and the pork roast. Then him. A few feet further was the far wall of the cell. Its cement bricks were painted a peculiar green, like melted mint ice cream.
“Oh, Peter,” he said, a twinge of disappointment colouring his voice. “I don’t bite.”
I scooched closer, perhaps six inches; just enough to create a space for my left hand. The tips of Kirk’s lips dropped back down and his eyes glazed over again. It happened so quickly, as if an electric current was running through his veins and my little rejection had caused an important switch inside of him to fall out of place. Weight disappeared from the air, I was able to suck in a quick breath and, sighing, realized that the hand I’d planted next to me had been shaking. My eyes wandered to the far wall and settled upon a worn steel sink.
“I heard that you’d requested to eat with me,” I said.
The mention of food seemed to flip whatever switch I’d knocked loose. Kirk leaned over towards his pillow and then turned back to face me, a plate and some silverware in each hand. He placed one set on his side of the pork roast and the other on mine. I couldn’t help but notice the scars on his bicep when he extended his arm to do so. Jagged purple things that stood a half-centimeter tall, as if whatever caused them hadn’t quite been able to take his life and settled for a swathe of skin instead. Just then Kirk looked up, but as his smile grew, he must have misinterpreted the reason for my staring.
“I don’t suppose you like pork, do you?”
“I don’t eat pork,” the words fell out of my mouth, practically a reflex at this point.
“Really?” his eyebrows shot up. “You Muslim?”
“Huh? No. I mean, it’s not just pork. I don’t eat meat at all,” I said, more comfortable now that his focus had shifted off of me. “Back in high school I—”
Kirk interrupted me. “I used to do construction work. Carpentry, to be more specific. Anyhow, sometimes we got lunch at this barbecue joint. But one of the guys was a Muslim—Abdulrahman, I think—and he never came. So I asked him why. He said that pork was considered haram ‘cause it tastes like human flesh.”
“Uhh.. well, in my case, back in high school I dated this girl for a couple years. One day we saw a PETA advertisement on TV; cows getting tazed in a slaughterhouse. She got upset and started bawling—the cows were panicking and wailing, it was really terrible—and the next thing I knew, we were vegetarians. We broke up a few months afterwards, but fifteen years later and here I am, still a vegetarian.”
Kirk let out a whistle.
“It’s not really something I think about anymore, though,” I added. “After you haven’t eaten meat for a while, eventually it stops looking like food to you. Plus, I was already a vegetarian when I began cooking, so I never learned any recipes that needed meat. It’s just a habit, I guess.”
At the word habit, Kirk turned to look at me again. Differently, this time. I’m not sure how to describe the way he looked at me, exactly. Hesitantly, with scrutiny; the face a child makes when they’re rolling a new word around in their mouth and aren’t sure what to make of it. He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through the stubble along his jaw, back and forth from the beginning of his cheekbones to the bottom of his chin. Interested, to say the least, and searching.
“In that case,” he said, “do you want a slice?”
“Erm, no. I’m fine, thank you. ”
“Oh,” he frowned, then put a few slices of pork roast on his own plate. He stabbed one with his fork and then held it up in front of his eyes, squinting as if he were inspecting a dollar bill for signs of forgery. “Kind of boring for a last meal, huh. I heard that people order some pretty crazy stuff, but I just couldn’t think of anything I really wanted to eat,” he cocked his head a little to one side. “When I was a kid I heard about this restaurant in New York that sold gold-leaf plated ice cream sundaes. Always thought I wanted to try that just once before I died. Even just a spoonful. But when it came down to it, I asked for a pork roast. That’s the funny thing about habit, I guess.”
I didn’t respond, and he didn’t press me to. After a while he placed the entire slice of pork into his mouth—a whole slice, and a rather thick one at that—and chewed in silence. Though I’d have cut it into smaller pieces, myself, it was a wholly normal manner of eating. Lips sealed, but struggling to remain so. Cheeks puffed out. His jaw went down, his jaw came back up; slow, rhythmical, intentional. Eventually he lifted his chin a bit and swallowed. A lump formed in his throat and seemed to be stuck there for a second, then disappeared.
“Abdulrahman was wrong, by the way,” he said, bringing a fist to his mouth to suppress a burp, then turned to face me. He looked into my eyes right away this time. “About the pork, I mean.”
There wasn’t vitriol or remorse in Kirk’s words, but there was lightning. People often say they feel a chill race along their spine, or that their hairs stand on edge, but this was nothing like that. A wave of electricity dashed through my body as soon as the word pork made contact with my ears; my forearms clenched, my stomach lurched and my back straightened. All in the span of a tenth of a second. Then, finding nowhere to go, it held me transfixed. Pressure built in my throat and I wanted to breathe so badly, like a leading tone itchs to resolve to its tonic, but I found myself unable to contract my diaphragm. So I sat there, tensed and trembling, until I realized that Kirk wasn’t looking at me anymore. His gaze had returned to the wall—or to the sink, rather, judging by the tilt of his head—and he fell quiet. But the way his fingers slowly flexed and unflexed, clutching his pants so hard the fabric ruffled and then falling lifeless, I could tell that he wanted to say something. Unfortunately, the sink’s basin seemed much too shallow to find the words he was looking for.
“I wasn’t always like this,” he said, finally. “It... happened to me, really. Was just minding my job, you know? You’ve got to, in construction. My dad used to point at the saw after he’d cut a board in half. You see how slick it cut through this here two-by-four? Yeah? He’d say. Like a goddamn knife through butter. And it’ll do the same thing to your finger. Ya hear? We respect our tools, but all it takes is a second. One day a few guys had just finished loading a skip hoist and somebody told a joke. Apparently one of the others—his name was Carlos—thought it was real funny and he cracked up. Really cracked up, could hardly stand straight. Without thinking he laid a hand on the skip hoist to steady himself and so happened to grab the wire rope. It was exposed, somehow. Anyway, they’d been loading it with debris, yeah? Just then the batch they’d sent off discharged, the wire jumped and it ripped three of his fingers straight off. He’s lucky he didn’t lose his whole hand. I was standing twenty feet away, smoking a cigarette on break, and one of the fingers made it all the way to me.” Kirk sighed, long and deep.
“Just plopped there in front of me, fell right out of the sky. I was stunned for a second, but by the time I came to, I had that finger in the ziplock bag with my chips. At first I was worried somebody might see me, but they were preoccupied with Carlos. Understandably. So I wrapped the bag in a few napkins and stuck it under the ice pack in my lunch box, then ran off to help. We got him to the hospital real quick and then the foreman told us to take the rest of the day off. Everybody was shaken, to say the least.” he said. I was scrambling to put pieces together, but thankfully, Kirk didn’t seem too interested in hearing what I had to say. He just kept talking.
“I used that extra couple hours to go to the store and get stuff for a simple marinade. A bit of olive oil and soy sauce. Dijon mustard, ground black pepper and a clove of garlic. Let it sit overnight, then I roasted it with an omelette for breakfast in the morning. There’s not much meat on a finger, unfortunately.” Kirk suddenly glanced up, meeting my wide eyes for a second before looking away. His face was a mix of guilt and embarrassment, as if he was confronting someone who had earlier walked in on him masturbating. “It was nice. A bit chewy, but not in a bad way. I’m not much of a chef, but I remember thinking that it’d have gone better with something more acidic. Maybe a pineapple marinade. Anyhow, nothing like pork. Noth—” He looked up again, stopping mid-sentence upon meeting my eyes. Then he just sat there with his mouth open for a few seconds.
“And that was that for awhile. It was just… a really intense curiosity, and it was harmless, and it was done. The fingers were too fucked up to be reattached, anyway. Now I knew, you know, so that was that. It wasn’t bad, but not so special. Just a piece of meat. Not worth the trouble. That project we were working on ended and I went the next couple years without thinking about it again,” he nodded and bit his lower lip. “Then I took a project upstate. The commute was too far, so after the first day on the job I went to book a room at a nearby motel. Am I scaring you, Peter?”
I stuttered for a few seconds without saying much. His gaze hung much more heavily over me than his words did, so I looked away, to escape his eyes. “It’s unsettling, yes.” I said.
“That it is,” he said. “Anyway, it’s 9:30 at night or so and I pulled into this little motel lot. The worksite was already out of the way as it was, and the motel was in the opposite direction of the city. Real pretty though, at the foot of a mountain trail. I imagine it was for hikers, but this was mid-march and it was still too cold for that. There was nobody in the administrator’s office and, just as I was resigning to a night in the truck, I heard the scream. Not a scream like your kid had done something stupid or something on TV made you jump, either. You don’t know what desperate means till you hear someone scream like that. So I went looking. It didn’t take long, given that there was only light coming from one room and the door was cracked.”
“I stepped into the room to see two people struggling in bed. A woman old enough to be wrinkled but still with a head full of brown hair, her nightshirt half ripped off, and standing on the bed over her a large man. He had on a dirty red t-shirt, a bare ass and a pair of denim shorts around one of his ankles. When I walked in they both stopped and stared at me for a minute, all three of us frozen in place. The man moved first. ‘Get out,’ he said, but I was so shocked I couldn’t move. Then he turned towards the doorway, took a step forward and pointed a finger at me. You. He took another step forward, and when I met his eyes, I understood a bit of what I heard in that woman’s scream. They were hard steps, his penis bouncing from side to side with each one. For some reason my response was to bunch up my shoulders, hands at my side, like I was standing at attention. I couldn’t move from that spot, and maybe he saw my terror, that man started laughing as he walked towards me. Then the tips of my fingers felt the hammer, still hanging off the loop of my jeans.”
“A few steps later he reached out towards me. I don’t know if he meant to push me, or to grab me or to hit me. But when he reached out, suddenly all that desperation exploded into action. I swung out, the hammer connected with the side of his head and he dropped. Like a stone. It was over in a second, much quicker than I actually processed what happened. I stood there staring at him, motionless and bleeding on the floor, then looked up at the woman. She had pushed herself up tight against the bed frame and pulled the blankets up, scrunching them to cover her chest. We met eyes and she began whimpering—Please, don’t hurt me. Over and over again like some mantra. Eventually she lost it and started sobbing and convulsing, shaking the blankets off. Her breasts were pockmarked with cancer spots and bruises and wrinkles, but in that moment, she looked like a vulnerable little girl. Fear does that to people,” he said.
“Anyhow, I just stood there for a few minutes; it was all too surreal. Eventually it dawned on me that I’d just killed someone. The adrenaline and dizziness disappeared, like the image of an old television shrinks to a single point before blinking out into darkness, and I panicked. I hadn’t planned this. I was just doing my job. In that moment my life fell apart to the background music of this woman’s crying. There was no more noise than that, it was practically silent, and it all happened in a mundane hotel room you wouldn’t look twice at, but there was no going back from that day. That stood out to me real clear, like it was a line of text highlighted in a book. Everything had changed now. I didn’t know what to do so I dragged the man’s body outside, put him in my truck bed’s tool box and drove home. It was less of a choice and more of a resignation.”
“I ate him, of course. Started with his penis; deep fried, strewn with parsley. It was chewy, not in a particularly pleasant way, but the testicles were nice. Hard on the outside, crispy, but soft and sticky on the inside. His thighs were memorable, too—salt, pepper, a bit of nutmeg. Some sauteed brussel sprouts on the side. Eventually I finished eating him, but curiosity had only begun eating away at me. The next few years are a blur; I don’t remember how many people I killed. Ten? Fifteen? Maybe more. When I killed the man I was so worried that I’d see my face on the news; every time I heard sirens outside I tensed up, assuming they were for me. That they were coming, and the world knew what I’d done; but the world didn’t know and the police never came. I guess that woman at the motel didn’t paint a picture of me, and even if she did, I’d never ran into issues with the law before. They had no reason to look for me. I was just a normal guy out doing my job. The serial killers you see on TV, you know, I think they wanted the notoriety, like it was some sort of voyeurism. But I tried to stay out of the spotlight, and I guess it helps that I didn’t have a type. I’d get a fat old homeless guy here, a little orphan there. Lots of different ethnicities and sizes and ages. One day I picked up this methed-out prostitute. Straight up told her that I was going to kill her and eat her. That one sticks with me, out of all of them, you know. She didn’t respond, didn’t start frantically yanking on the door handle. Didn’t fight me or panic. Just sighed, closed her eyes and reclined the passenger seat a bit. It was hardly the worst thing the world had thrown her way; I suppose she’d been waiting to die for a long time already. I didn’t enjoy her.”
“I didn’t enjoy much after that, in fact. It was like the printer ran out of ink and started putting out stills that were nothing more than several shades of gray. The passion was gone, the creativity dead. Everybody looked about as appetizing as your dad’s meatloaf—” Kirk glanced at me. “No offence, Peter. I’m sure you’re great. Anyway, I stopped eating. Not just people, either. Everything. The bread in my pantry got moldy, the milk in my fridge went bad, and I started going, too. I lost a lot of weight.” Kirk’s hands reached up, seemingly inadvertently, and traced his clavicle. It stood so far out that I imagined he could wrap his fingers around the bone if he pushed a bit. “It happened real gradually. I’d always wake up early on Sunday mornings to make breakfast. Toss some bacon into the skillet, then when that’s done you use the bacon grease to make fried potatoes. You might as well have a cigarette or two because that takes awhile, fifteen or twenty minutes maybe, and otherwise you’re just standing there stirring. But they’ll be real good and crispy. Try it sometime. After that you can start the toast, then you use the same pan to scramble eggs. Once they set, toss in a bit of cheese, some salt and pepper. I liked to add a bit of paprika, myself. Anyhow, it’s simple, but it’s good.” Kirk wet his lips.
“Or, well, it was good. This prostitute, yeah? I picked her up on a Tuesday evening and we got back to my place at nine in the evening or so. Normally I’d talk to people, get to them a bit, but this woman just sat in the chair and ignored me the entire trip. When we got back I walked over to open her door, and she adjusted her skirt a bit then got out. I walked a bit behind her because I expected her to run, but she didn’t. Just walked to the house and let herself in. So I led her to the bathroom and told her to wait there; I went to the bedroom and took off my clothes, so as not to get blood on them. I took my time, and I thought she’d make an escape while I was gone. Show her colors. The door wasn’t locked, after all. But when I came back she was still there, sitting on the toilet. Didn’t even acknowledge me at first. Eventually she looked over real slowly, like she was bored. And her eyes, they—” Kirk stopped mid-sentence and scrunched up his face. “You’ ever kill anybody before, Peter?”
The question took me aback. “No,” I said. My voice was much shriller than I had expected, almost a whisper. “Never,” I glanced at my watch.
Peter nodded. “Well,” he said, “people look at you in a certain way, just before it happens. It’s an intimate thing. At first they’re shocked, and that quickly turns to fear. The adrenaline kicks in and they struggle for a bit, but before long that wears off and they accept that the ball is in your court. From there, some people start crying. Some people will beg with you, some people scream. Some people just stare at you, like a challenge. Eventually they give up. All of them. From that point on, they look at you in this special way. Like a child looks at their mother, or a pet waits for food. Expectantly, vulnerable, submissive. They’re totally dependent on you now, and they know it, and they know you know it. It’s a real intense thing, real personal; they might never have looked at anybody like that before. Hopeful and hopeless at the same time. It’s like looking right into their soul. You learn a lot about them during those few minutes. And then you kill them.”
“But this lady, she didn’t do anything like that. Just sat there, as if she was bored, like I was wasting her time. I stood there looking at her for a long time, I don’t know how long. I wasn’t sure what to do with her. You can’t dance if your partner doesn’t do their part, you know? Eventually she got up, walked over and took the knife. At this point I’d have let her wave it at me, I just wanted to see something in her. Instead she ran it through her own stomach. Deep. Then she walked over to the bathtub, laid down and died. I was still standing there, and I stood there for a long time, unsure what to make of things. But I never figured out what to do, so instead I left the bathroom and went to bed,” Kirk raised his eyebrows and shook his head slowly from side to side.
“I felt off that entire week. Sunday came, I made breakfast but found I couldn’t eat the bacon. The eggs were fine, and the potatoes, but I had no appetite for the bacon. I ate her liver, instead, but it was off, too. Next went steak and fried chicken, and within a few days, I couldn’t make myself eat any sort of meat. Somehow, after eating so many people, normal meat had just become a bit boring. That’s what I told myself, at least. Like somebody who starts drinking sparkling water instead of soda. It’s just not quite the same. Hard to get excited about. So I became, as you call it, a vegetarian,” Kirk flashed me a smile, but his lips were the only part of his face that moved. It disappeared just as quickly as it came, then he reached up and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know what happened, really. At first it was just meat, but then other foods followed, too. Within a couple weeks I couldn’t stomach the scrambled eggs or fried potatoes, either. By the time a month had passed I’d completely stopped eating. She was still up there in the bathtub and it was starting to stink. There was a half bath on the first floor, but I hadn’t showered since.”
“Two months in I woke up to hunger pangs. Terrible ones. Oh god, the hunger; it felt like my stomach was being ripped apart. I needed to eat. Something, anything, now. But I hadn’t left the house since that night. There was nothing left. So I—well you know, right?” Kirk glanced at me. “I saw you looking at my arms. I began cutting myself, taking chunks of meat from here and there. Mostly my thighs. Not such big ones; they bled for a bit and then closed up just fine. Unfortunately, it turns out I’m not all that delicious. A few days later I did this,” he held his hand up. “Just went into the kitchen, grabbed a knife and cut it off. There wasn’t as much blood as I expected, but it didn’t stop. Once it started it just kept going, and going, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. So I went to the hospital. The entire world stopped to look at me when I walked into the emergency room, but they hurried me to a room and patched me up just the same. Then they asked what happened, so I told them, and they sent me to inpatient care. Later that day the police found the girl. The therapists there asked me why I did that, so I told them—how this all started with Carlos’ finger, had come full circle and now it was time for me. Or something like that. I was in the hospital for a couple weeks, then was sent to prison to wait until my court case. That whole process took several months, but time wasn’t so important to me during those days. The next thing I knew my sentencing was up around the corner.”
“It hit me when I was getting dressed that morning. I didn’t dress up too much, but I figured that a guy should at least wear a tie to his own sentencing. So I put on a pair of navy blue slacks and a white Oxford; found an old belt, too, then set about doing my tie. Choosing the tie didn’t present much of a dilemma, as I only had one of them—mottled yellow, knitted—but what to do with it was more difficult. Eventually I decided on the Merovingian. It’s quite a difficult knot, so I expected to fail a few times. I fucked it up, of course, and then again. And again. Eight times. It didn’t bother me until I looked in the mirror and, seemingly for the first time, noticed my missing finger. Surely I would have succeeded if I had but one more finger; I threw the tie down and stomped. The Merovingian laughed at me.”
Kirk sighed.
“Not a lot gets by me, you know. But somehow, somewhere along the line, I lost my self. I’d have noticed if it were my dress socks or the change jar. If the stop sign down the street disappeared one day. But my self, it slipped away so quietly, and I was none the wiser. Maybe it was chased off by lust, or maybe my… hunger… consumed it, too. Maybe it went bit by bit, I don’t know. But for whatever reason it struck me that morning when I was trying to put on my damn tie. I was shocked to see that I was missing a finger, and suddenly I began coming back to myself. The fuzziness disappeared and I snapped back into it, only to find that I was missing much more than a finger. I didn’t have a self to come back to anymore. The Merovingian laughed at me.”
There’s nothing you can do,” it said. “It’s inevitable. Even if you stop, even if you know that you’re done, you swear it won’t happen no more, that doesn’t mean it’s gone. Nothing can replace it, that taste. And you know it. Try to move on. Just try. It’s hungry, and it’s powerful, and it’s patient. And once it gets ahold of you, it’ll eat away at you until nothing is left.
Just then two men appeared in the doorway and announced that time was up. Kirk was taken by a guard, and on his way out, without looking back at me, he announced:
“A nail is driven out by another nail, Peter. The Merovingian is coming for you, too. ”
And then he disappeared around the corner.
The warden furrowed his eyebrows and looked at me. “What the fuck was that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I’ve never talked to the man in my life.”


The warden disappeared and Peter began to cry.
Shortly after, he took a slice of pork.
submitted by SuikaCider to shortstories [link] [comments]


2020.08.02 04:11 NinjaFair Lady voyeur old

Been building myself up for a while to be able to post this, and am going to keep it as blunt and matter-of-fact as possible as I'm not interested in selling a sob story, and then some questions I have in my mind that hopefully someone can give me insight into
Last April I got a knock on the door before work for IIOC. I admitted to the police at the time and gave my story - increasing cocaine use left me looking for some kind of kick that only came from knowing I was doing something that could get me in trouble. Eventually this leads to using p2p to try and find a notorious file I saw talked about in a documentary, which leads to a weird compulsive collecive habit - finding names of series of images or references to a particular producer of IIOC and then trying to find all the files. I tell them which device it is on and that in all honesty I don't know how much there is but probably a lot. Images and videos, categories A B and C. They also find some valium tablets, a class B substance. Again I admit they're mine and i'd bought them while unemployed as I had troubel sleeping.
At the station my solicitor advises me to go no comment, so I do. I was released under investigation and suspended from work. I then hear that the lady who represented me was a stand in for my assigned solicitor. I later resigned my role before the investigation ended in hopes that my former colleagues would not get the information - I had told them I was expecting everything to come back clear.
The PC from the day called a few weeks ago and advised it was now being graded. I asked what I am facing and he said "well there's not thousands. It's certainly not the worst of what we deal with here". He used a term along the lines of "you've got no previous convictions, if you comply with erm, whatever they..... you know the register and everything, you should erm....... you'll probably be ok". He then called back last week and informed me it had been reffered to the CPS but I would need to go and speak to them about the drugs found, but would not be arrested again. The discolsure to my solicitor referred to both the drugs and IIOC, and I have the interview arranged for Monday and have a prepared statement ready.

The details of the current situation and my actions are

If anyone can, i'd really appreciate any clarity on the following:

Sorry for the extensive rambling and barrage of questions, i guess there was more I needed to express than I realised.
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2020.07.21 15:40 xdxx4520Jul Old lady voyeur

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submitted by xdxx4520Jul to Home_Made_Fun [link] [comments]


2020.07.21 07:41 21Julhouston Ti-t Pun-ishment Por-n Video

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submitted by 21Julhouston to Home_Made_Fun [link] [comments]


2020.06.08 22:02 unknownhorrorwriter2 Old voyeur lady

The Crane house was just ordinary, abandoned trash. Boring even. The house was a two-story farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Miles of woods surrounded it. Needless to say, there weren't any neighbors for miles either. The house's mailbox stood tall, wearing its abundance of rust for a paint job. Rather than a paved driveway, a long stretch of faded dirt ran through the house's tall grass and weeds, all the way up to the decrepit front porch.
The clear country sky illuminated the home in a vivid light. The house a beacon that only drew local paranormal enthusiasts and juvenile delinquents looking for cheap thrills in the small town of Stanwyck, Georgia. Even if you didn't believe in ghosts, the Crane house certainly did look the part.
The once-pretty country home looked to have gone uninhabited for decades. Crooked shutters guarded the large cracked windows. Busted wooden steps led up to the house's creaky front porch. The home's bricks all faded with age.
An archaic lantern hung on the porch, its glass case long shattered. The rocking chairs were at least functional if you could look past the layers of thick cobwebs wrapped all around them.
Given the house's many deficiencies and its hopeless place in the open market, the hot Georgia night brought a huge surprise when a pristine and shiny new convertible zoomed down the long dirt driveway.
Appearing with the sudden quickness of a mirage, the car's tires scattered dust everywhere. The convertible's top was down, the occupants inside blasting loud and obnoxious pop music.
The car came to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from the porch. As the rag top started coming back down, the music and lights were shut off. After the doors swung open, jovial laughter echoed through the night.
Out stepped two beautiful young women. Bonnie Campbell and Carty Elizabeth, both of them in their late-20s and both of them ultra-attractive. A gay couple just as clever as they were sensual. These weren't the nerdy ghost enthusiasts, the Stanwyck High dropouts, or any of the other typical yokel explorers. This was a couple straight out of a Beverly Hills photo shoot.
Bonnie was a tall and streetwise Latina. Fit enough to be a supermodel, but too anti-establishment for that kinda shit. Everything about her was rebellious. From her hairstyle all the way to her attire. But instead of being scary or intimidating, the aggressive swagger was hot thanks in part to her pretty face.... a fact Bonnie was well aware of.
On the other hand, Carty was less confrontational in both her personality and style. While Bonnie gladly wore the "Butch" persona, Carty was the feminine "girly-girl" of the pair. But like Bonnie, Carty didn't take much shit either. After all, these ladies were entrepreneurs. Bonnie was holding a wireless mic and Carty a camcorder for a reason. They knew how to exploit what God gave them.
The couple stopped and looked on at the derelict house, both of them awestruck for different reasons. Bonnie with excitement, Carty with more than a little unease.
"Fuck, it's gorgeous," Bonnie said. "Absolutely perfect..."
Carty gave her a weird look. "Gorgeous?"
"You know what I mean." Bonnie grabbed a hold of Carty's hand and led her up to the front porch. "Come on. Let's explore."
With big frightened eyes, Carty looked on at the imposing farmhouse as they got closer and closer to the porch's battered wooden steps. It was a country home from Hell, she thought. A cross between a Cracker Barrel and Amityville.
Like a playful older sibling, Bonnie leaned in toward Carty. "Creepy..." she teased Carty in her best horror-host voice.
Carty pushed Bonnie away from her, annoyed. "Fuck you!"
"Aww, you scared, hon?" Bonnie replied.
"Who wouldn't be?" Carty said. She stole a glance back at their car.
"I've seen worse." Bonnie noticed Carty hadn't even turned on the camcorder yet. Outraged, Bonnie stopped and snatched Carty's arm. "Carty, what the Hell are you doing!"
Carty yanked her arm away from Bonnie's grasp. "What!"
Bonnie waved at the camcorder. "The camera, girl!"
Groaning, Carty turned it on.
"Establishing shots, hello," Bonnie reiterated.
"Here's your damn establishing shot," Carty responded. Agitated, she pointed the camera at Bonnie. "Scene one, enter the bitch Bonnie."
Bonnie cracked up.
Still pissy, Carty lowered the camera. "It's your idea to come here in the first place."
"Man, this ain't even that scary!" Bonnie protested. "That old motel in Decatur was way freakier."
Carty went silent and looked on at the house. Technically, Bonnie was right. This place was no different than your average abandoned shack... but something about it felt different. Maybe they’d gone too far off the beaten path of local haunts. After all, there wasn't a whole lot about the Crane house on-line.
"Shit, the graveyard in Bainbridge," Bonnie went on. "I still have those ant bites on my ass."
Carty chuckled. "Well," she began as she stole a glance at Bonnie's shapely booty. "It still looks pretty nice."
Bonnie admired her own ass. "I think they made it bigger."
"Still not as big as mine," Carty quipped.
"Mmm, but I'm getting there," Bonnie replied. She slapped Carty's bubble butt.
Giggling, Carty pointed the camera at the house. "How'd you find this place anyway?" She looked on at the rocking chairs, both of them mummified in cobwebs.
"You know, just the interwebs," Bonnie said.
"Reddit?"
"Pretty much," Bonnie replied with a smile. She faced Carty and ran her hand along Carty's arm. "Let's go."
Still uneasy, Carty looked at her.
Sensing Carty's unease, Bonnie leaned in closer. For once, Bonnie pushed the camcorder away, giving them a sense of privacy.
The couple shared a sweet kiss. One not for the cameras but for themselves. Its potency certainly did the trick for Carty. She felt all of Bonnie's love for her in that one pleasant embrace.
They smiled at one another. Playing teenage lovers in this magic moment.
"You ready?" Bonnie asked mischievously.
Grinning, Carty looked over at the farmhouse. Either the house wasn't that scary to begin with or the drug that was Bonnie's kiss really had calmed my nerves, Carty thought. "Sure," Carty said.
Bonnie pulled Carty in closer to her as they approached the porch's first step. "I got what I could for the legend."
Carty aimed the camera at the house, getting the "establishing shots." "Any of it true?" she asked Bonnie.
Stopping them in front of the porch stairs, Bonnie turned and grinned at Carty. "True enough."
"Okay," Carty said. Using the camera, she motioned Bonnie toward the porch. "You want the honors?"
In a confident stride, Bonnie stepped up in front of the camera. "Absolutely." She glanced back, making sure the house could be seen behind her for a foreboding backdrop.
Carty pointed the camera right at Bonnie. A steady grip. "Awesome," Carty congratulated herself.
Facing Carty, Bonnie fixed her shirt. Now it showed off her boobs even more than she realized was possible. She straightened her hair quickly for good measure. Her and Carty knew they had to look good on camera. Even when they were trespassing onto creepy private property.
"You ready?" Carty asked Bonnie.
For a final test, Bonnie raised the mic and gave it one firm hit. Ready to go. "Yeah, roll it," Bonnie said.
Eager, Carty flashed her a thumbs up.
Bonnie paused for a moment, letting the camera capture her in all her candid glory: pretty face, a stern yet commanding expression, and some really big breasts. In the staunch darkness and with the terrifying house lurking behind her, Bonnie had the aura of a Playboy-sponsored horror show host. A more sexualized Elvira. Just what Carty knew Bonnie was going for.
"Welcome back, voyeurs," Bonnie said in a ghoulishly campy voice. She squeezed her big boobs together in sexy, obnoxious fashion. "Tonight, your two favorite sexy starlets are taking their well-endowed talents to the sleepy little town of Stanwyck, Georgia. Home of the infamous Crane house."
Struggling to contain her laughter, Carty took a few steps back, capturing a wider shot of the house.
God, Bonnie was really hamming it up tonight, Carty thought. Bonnie's silliness could turn any of these eerie locations into both a literal and figurative playhouse for us.
Bonnie looked right into the camera, being as serious as her "acting" would allow. "Thirty years ago, at this very house, sexy, carefree housewife Bette Crane flipped out on her stud farmer husband." With the dedication of a terrible actress gunning for an Oscar, Bonnie took a step closer toward the camera. What should've been porn-level lighting actually gave Bonnie an otherworldly quality in the country night. "Bette took a frying pan, the very thing she'd used to make Farmer Studbucket's scrambled eggs for him that morning and then turned it into a vicious weapon!"
"Oh God..." Carty muttered through a smirk.
"Bette Crane savagely beat her husband with that frying pan until his face was mushier and more splattered than the greasiest eggs she'd ever cooked," Bonnie continued. "But the housewife wasn't through. After beating her husband to death, Bette took the biggest butcher knife she could find."
Holding the camcorder with the steadiness of a veteran Hollywood filmmaker, Carty stopped right in front of Bonnie for a closer shot of the host.
"And she walked over to her husband's bludgeoned body," Bonnie went on. "And plunged the knife straight into her forehead!" Toning down the theatrics, Bonnie locked eyes with the camera. One on one with her audience. "Ever since the murder, people believe the Crane house is haunted by evil spirits."
Bonnie pointed toward the farmhouse, as if she were emulating a horror tour guide rather than a horror host. "Stanwyck residents have reported many ghost sightings and paranormal incidents over the years," Bonnie said. "Objects seen flying around, weird noises being heard, even what is believed to be the ghost of Bette Crane still walking around with her bloody frying pan." Bonnie paused for dramatic effect. "So now," she began. Still keeping her serious demeanor, Bonnie took a step closer toward the camera. "We've arrived not to investigate the Crane house." Bonnie's stray hand moved down toward her breasts. "But for the house to investigate us."
Faster than a Mardi Gras veteran, Bonnie stuck out her tongue and flashed the camera with those glorious breasts. "This is Paranormal Fornication, bitches!" she shouted with glee.
Carty burst out laughing as she lowered the camera.
Bonnie lowered her shirt. "You got it?" she asked.
Still laughing, Carty lowered the camera. "Yeah, for sure."
Bonnie stepped toward Carty. "How was I?" she asked, fully expecting Carty's enthusiastic response.
Carty wrapped her arms around Bonnie. "Magnificent, babe!"
Flattered, Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's back. "Mmm, thank you, boo," Bonnie said.
The couple locked lips once more. A gentle kiss that was much more tender than any of their on-screen ones.
"Alright," Bonnie started. She led them toward the stairs. In director mode, she motioned around the porch. "Try to get a few shots of us going in."
At her command, Carty aimed the camcorder at the house. "Roger that, Bon."
Looking through the lens, Carty thought their walk up to the front door was being filmed like the climactic scene to The Blair Witch Project. A slow trek to a foreboding entrance. It looked great on camera. Maybe we can shoot a real horror film someday.
Bonnie slapped Carty's juicy ass, snapping Carty out of her post-pornographic aspirations.
"Ooh, baby!" Carty exclaimed with a startled smile.
"Just keep filming, babe," Bonnie said.
"I know," Carty said as they made their way up the rickety steps. If it weren't for their model physiques, Carty questioned whether these creaking stairs could even hold them.
Breaking away from Carty, Bonnie strolled up onto the front porch, reveling in this conglomeration of country decay.
"Bonnie!" Carty said with unease. Even just a few feet away, Carty thought the distance between them may as well have been a hundred feet considering the eerie circumstances.
Unconcerned, Bonnie gazed around at the house's offerings. The rocking chairs. The busted windows. Even the harsh graffiti scribbled on the aged wood. This house had it all. "God, just look at it!" Bonnie said. The wooden floor kept creaking and giving in but she didn't care one bit. "What a fucking spot!"
"Yeah..." the nervous Carty said as she stopped next to Bonnie. While filming, Carty kept clinging to the camera. Both as a source of light and as a potential weapon. "Fucking weird..."
Reaching out, Bonnie touched a rocking chair and made contact with all the sticky cobwebs. Bonnie drew her hand back, but the icky texture seemed to give her a thrill rather than sicken her. She watched the chair rock back-and-forth in a slow rhythm. The chair's loud creaking formed a hypnotic tune.
Concerned, Carty snatched Bonnie's arm and pulled her away from it. "What are you doing!" Carty yelled.
Chuckling, Bonnie faced her. "What? I just wanted to see-"
Carty stepped back. "Oh my God, you touched it!"
Trying to calm Carty, Bonnie held her hands up in a facetious manner. "Hey, look, nothing got on me."
"Whatever!" Carty backed away and stumbled into a dangling cobweb. Crying out, she rushed back toward Bonnie. "Fuck!"
Bonnie grabbed Carty's shoulder. "Babe, just chill-"
"No!" Carty yelled back at her.
Bonnie motioned toward the rocking chair, highlighting its continuous melody of creaks. "Look, we should be filming the shit!"
At its height of rocking, the chair went completely still. The spiders stopping with it.
"Holy shit!" Bonnie exclaimed.
Nervous, Carty focused her camera on the chairs. "Okay, that was creepy."
"Shit, let's get this party started!" Bonnie said. She stepped toward the front door.
Carty looked at her real quick. "Bonnie!"
Before Carty could stop her, Bonnie snagged the rusty doorknob. She flashed Carty a smile. "Be sure to get this."
Carty pointed the camera at Bonnie.
"You ready?" Bonnie asked.
Carty gave her an apprehensive nod. "Yeah."
"Okay," Bonnie said. "Into the Crane house we go." She started to turn the loose doorknob when an incessant noise startled her and Carty.
"Shit!" Carty yelled as the couple whirled around.
They saw both rocking chairs now swinging in unison. Beneath the weight of age and the cobwebs, these rocking chairs were going harder and faster than seemed possible. Their consistent creaks a countrified chorus.
All the while, Carty kept filming the eerie event. "Oh my God..." she said in fear.
"Shit, this is amazing!" Bonnie exclaimed. She staggered up toward the chairs.
Carty snatched her shoulder, the tight grip ensuring Bonnie wasn't straying too far. "No, don't leave me!"
The rocking chairs came to a sudden stop. Either a slight breeze had gone away or the spiders had used their collective force once more... or the Crane house's spirits had moved on.
Somewhat disappointed, Bonnie pointed at the chairs. "See, it's nothing," she said to soothe Carty. She caressed Carty's shoulder. "We're gonna be fine."
"I don't know," Carty said. She lowered the camera. "I've got a weird feeling about this place."
Bonnie gave her a playful smile. "You get a weird feeling about everywhere."
"Yeah, but not like this..."
"Well, I'm here," Bonnie replied. She leaned in closer toward Carty's lips. "And I'll protect you."
Reassured as always by Bonnie, a grin cracked through Carty's nerves. "You better."
"You know I will." Bonnie gave Carty a soft kiss on the lips.
Carty liked it.
But right before Carty could expect more, Bonnie nodded at the camera. "You got all that shit, right?"
"Uh, yeah," Carty said.
Back to business, Bonnie looked back at the door. "Awesome."
"God, we're not still going in there, are we?" Carty said.
Bonnie faced her. "Why not?"
Upset, Carty motioned toward the chairs. "Not after all that shit!"
Bonnie grabbed Carty's wrist in a gentle grip. "Carty, please. Can we just go inside?"
The silent Carty just looked at Bonnie. Bonnie's pretty face and persuasive brown eyes were such an irresistible combination when Bonnie really wanted to do something. Especially when it came to Bonnie's passion for the paranormal.
"This is what we do," Bonnie went on. "Our scary shit." With a sly and seductive touch, she pulled Carty in closer toward her. "Look, I'll make it up to you, baby. I promise. But let's do this first, okay."
How can I say no, Carty thought. Bonnie was rather tough anyway... certainly, braver than me. She was so cute this excited. She always was. "Okay," Carty gave in.
Bonnie leaned in toward Carty's face. "I promise I'll make it up in there, baby," she said in a seductive whisper. Sweetening the deal, Bonnie guided Carty's hand all against her breasts. "I promise."
Carty didn't have a chance. She felt on one of those double-Ds, immense pleasure coursing through Carty's veins. She cracked a smirk. "Goddammit, Bonnie..."
Chuckling, Bonnie pulled her toward the door. "Come on."
Carty pointed the camera at Bonnie as Bonnie grabbed the knob once more. "Take two," Carty joked.
Turning, Bonnie smiled for the camera. "Paranormal Fornication, motherfuckers."
With dramatic emphasis, Bonnie turned the old doorknob and let the door swing into the house with a grueling creak.
The open doorway now lied before Carty and Bonnie. The dark farmhouse was beckoning them to enter. Paranormal Fornication must go on! it seemed to scream.
The couple journeyed through the farmhouse's narrow downstairs hallway. The camcorder and Bonnie's small flashlight like torches in uncharted terrain. Behind them, the front door was still wide open, Carty refusing to let Bonnie close it. Carty didn't want that sinking feeling of hearing that door slam shut. It was too definitive… Locked in not just for the night but forever.
Holding her mic and the flashlight, Bonnie led the way, Carty right behind her. Carty did her best to keep up, but Bonnie seemed to glide on that torn carpet. "Slow down," Carty grumbled.
"I am," Bonnie retorted. Her eyes were drawn to a doorway on the left at the very end of the hall.
Through the unflinching camera lens, Carty captured the usual array of spooky clichés inside. There were the broken counters and bookshelves. The torn carpets. The literal holes in the walls that reoccurred in patterns on the faded paint. A wooden staircase in the very back that was a poor farmer's attempt to be regal. Even a small door under the staircase that looked to be designed to be a small child's hiding place. The small door aged yet functional.
But it wasn't these scary attributes that bothered Carty. It was how the house somehow appeared... clean. There weren't any spiderwebs or rodents. No dirt, cigarette butts, beer bottles, or any of the other types of debris the duo saw in all their other explorations. The inside of the Crane home was in decent condition. As if someone had been in there and tried to straighten the place up as much as they could. And to Carty's horror, she thought maybe someone had.
"Hello?" Bonnie asked aloud, her voice echoing down the hallway.
Carty glared at her. "Bonnie, shut up!"
Ignoring Carty, Bonnie went closer and closer to the doorway. "Is there anybody home?" she said, her voice seemingly louder.
Carty could only groan in dismay.
But there was no reply. No answers from the Crane house.
Still following Bonnie, Carty looked toward the stairway. Darkness awaited whoever dared walk up those steps. Or whoever could make it up those steps. Several of them were dilapidated, even moreso than the porch steps. The stairway's crooked railing wouldn't offer much support either.
Uneasy, Carty saw the small door under the staircase was open just a crack. No one appeared to be inside it nor were there any lights on inside. It had to be a closet and a small one at that, Carty figured. Not a bad spot for hide and seek...
Bonnie snatched Carty's arm, scaring the shit out of her.
"Jesus!" Carty yelled at Bonnie.
Shushing Carty, Bonnie stopped them just a foot away from the doorway. "Do you hear that?" Bonnie asked.
"What?"
Bonnie clenched tighter to Carty's shoulder. "Just listen," Bonnie said. She waved her microphone toward the doorway. "It's coming from there."
Carty looked toward the doorway.
And there it was. A soft crackle and pop. It sounded soothing. It sounded like Christmas. And then Carty realized it felt like Christmas as well. The dank house felt a little toasty.
"Did you hear that?" Bonnie asked.
"Yeah."
Another pop echoed toward the couple.
They looked on at the doorway and saw a faint orange glow radiating from inside the room.
Bonnie pointed at the light, excited. "Look at it!"
Carty stared at the doorway, her fear the exact opposite of Bonnie's enthusiasm. The crackling continued as a soundtrack to the faint glow. Stunned, Carty realized it was a burning fireplace. "Bonnie-" Carty began.
Bonnie grabbed Carty's hand. "Come on!"
Carty was no match for Bonnie's powerful pull. "But wait-" Carty tried to say.
"Just keep filming!"
Bonnie led Carty into the mysterious room.
Through Bonnie's small light and the weak flickers of the fireplace, Carty could make out they were in a spacious room.
Bonnie stopped in the middle of the room, fascinated. "Are you getting this?" asked Bonnie, her eyes gazing all around the living room.
Staying as close to Bonnie as possible, Carty scanned the room with her camera.
It was definitely the farmhouse's living room, but not one from the twenty-first century. There was no T.V. and seemingly no electricity. No family photos or portraits. No decorations at all. And not much furniture aside from a couple of wooden shelves.
"When'd that murder happen again?" Carty asked.
Still shining her flashlight around the room, Bonnie didn't even look at Carty. "I don't know, like maybe thirty years ago?"
Carty saw a tombstone radio standing near the fireplace. An open doorway was about ten feet away from the radio, this one leading into yet another dark room.
Leaning in closer for a better look, Carty could tell this room had a large wooden table. It must've been the kitchenOr what was left of it.
For all the lack of amenities in the living room, at least the antique radio was an impressive if outdated source of entertainment. The fireplace was similarly grandiose.
But thirty years ago, Carty wondered. Didn't the eighties at least have MTV? What were these bitches doing?
"It seems older," Carty said. She pointed the camera toward a raggedy couch that stood by the fireplace and radio. "Looks older."
"Yeah, well it was like 1982, 1983," Bonnie said. She thought she saw something on a corner wall across the room. Bonnie shined her light toward it and squinted her eyes, trying to see what was there.
"1983?" Carty asked. Her amusement shifted toward fear after she focused on the fireplace. So much wood was piled up in there... wood that had been consumed over a longer period of time. "Shit..."
Bonnie could tell the corner wall had large letters drawn on them. "What the Hell is that?" Bonnie wondered aloud.
"What?" Carty asked.
Intrigued, Bonnie stepped closer toward the letters.
Clinging to the camera for her security, Carty followed Bonnie to the spot. "Bonnie, wait!"
Bonnie stopped and stared at the wall, stunned yet awestruck by her new "discovery." "Oh fuck..."
"What is it!" Carty said as she stopped next to her.
Spraypainted letters splattered across the wall. Vile graffiti. The words had been rotting there a long time, practically implanted into the farmhouse's walls at this point. And the words all shared the same color: blood red paint.
Nasty phrases and slurs made up the collection: Bitch! The Crane Cunt! Bette The Psycho Bitch! Murderer! Cocksucker Crane!
Uneasy, Carty filmed the sight in all its vicious glory. She moved the camera around, even seeing how the graffiti carried over onto the other walls. The endless profanities and insults were all a big billboard brought to you by Stanwyck's resident assholes as a commemorative FUCK YOU to Bette Crane.
Carty stared at the entire scene in horror. This was further indication that this secluded farmhouse truly was home to something horrific. Something so traumatic and disturbing that to this day, the citizens of Stanwyck still felt the need to make this vengeance-fueled pilgrimage.
But to Bonnie, the graffiti was further proof that the couple had come to the right spot.
"Shit!" Carty said. She looked over at Bonnie. "We can't stay here."
With the excited eagerness of a kid about to catch a foul ball in the stands, Bonnie reached out toward "Bette The Psycho Bitch."
"Bonnie!" Carty yelled in outrage. She grabbed Bonnie's arm, stopping her.
Bonnie faced her, annoyed. "Carty, what the fuck!"
"What the fuck are you doing!"
Scoffing, Bonnie waved the mic toward the wall. "See for yourself!"
"No!" Carty said. "Someone's been here, Bonnie. And they might still be here."
"It's just a fire-"
"Just a fucking fire!" Ready to leave, a pissed-off Carty headed straight for the hallway.
"Carty!" Bonnie snagged Carty's arm, making Carty face her. "Look at me! This house is empty!" Using the mic, she motioned toward the fireplace. "Whoever did this shit's probably gone anyway."
"Probably!" Carty replied, incredulous.
Desperate to comfort Carty, Bonnie caressed her shoulders. "Hey, whoever it is is more scared of us than we are of them," Bonnie went on. She ran her finger against Carty's smooth cheek. "They're gone, Carty. And they ain't coming back."
"I don't know," Carty said. Still uneasy, Carty looked toward the fireplace.
"Look, Carty, this is what we do. Even when shit gets weird and scary." Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's arm. "We can't stop now."
Carty faced her. "But the fire. This isn't-"
Adamant, Bonnie stepped away from Carty. "They probably left when they heard us pull up! Just think about it, Carty."
"I don't know..."
Proving her point, Bonnie shined her flashlight all around the living room. "Hello!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, bitches!"
"Bonnie!"
"Come out, motherfucker!" Bonnie went on.
No answer was heard. Just the consistent crackle of the crisp fire.
The lack of a response was helping Carty ease up. Much to Bonnie's delight.
"We don't bite!" Bonnie said. She gave Carty a flirtatious smile. "Well. Maybe I do."
Carty chuckled and shook her head.
The whole house seemed silent except for the fire. And the couple's soft laughter.
"See," Bonnie said as she grabbed a hold of Carty's hand. "It's nothing."
"But why here?" Carty asked. "Why can't we just go somewhere else?"
"Look, just think about it, alright," Bonnie said in a gentle tone. "This is gonna be so big, Carty." She waved the flashlight around the living room. "I mean just look at this place! A creepy fucking Texas Chainsaw house, and we discover the fireplace, the graffiti! The damn rocking chairs."
Carty didn't argue. She knew she couldn't due to a combination of Bonnie making sense and being too stubborn to turn back now.
Bonnie caressed Carty's face. "Think of the hits, baby," Bonnie went on. "All the ads we'll get on the site."
Debating the idea, Carty looked off toward the bright fireplace.
"We'll make so much money, boo," Bonnie said. “We'll have enough to do the Lady Macbeth piece."
Carty faced Bonnie, allured by the prospect of doing their dream project. Just the sheer mention of it got Carty's attention.
Displaying a warm smile, Bonnie rubbed Carty's shoulder. "Like we always planned. We'll do real movies from now on, no more creeper sex shit."
"You promise this is the last one?" Carty asked, her voice begging for a yes.
"Yes!" the excited Bonnie said.
"Okay..." Carty relented.
"Thank you!"
"Let's do this."
Bonnie gave Carty a quick kiss. "I love you, baby," Bonnie said.
"I love you too."
"This is gonna be so perfect," Bonnie said. She stepped away from Carty and focused her attention on the corner wall graffiti. "Fucking crazy."
Carty followed Bonnie's gaze toward the gratuitous graffiti. All those vile words were more than just your average juvenile's bullshit. The phrases looked embroidered with emotion. Sculpted from pure disgust and hate.
Thinking about the creepy stairway, Carty looked back toward the hallway. She couldn't help but wonder if their squatter was hiding upstairs rather than in the woods. "This still feels weird," Carty commented.
Bonnie faced her. "Why, babe?"
Nervous, Carty hesitated on how to answer. "I don't know. It's like someone's watching."
Bonnie stepped right in front of Carty, not even attempting to make her sexual tease more nuanced. "Someone's always watching."
Carty grinned.
Thirty minutes later, Bonnie and Carty's film shoot was going hot and heavy. Steamy, sexy, scintillating. Words you usually wouldn't associate with a "haunted house." But then again, this was Paranormal Fornication.
Sprawled out on the couch, the naked duo engaged in passionate and exuberant sex.
Bonnie and Carty's lovemaking was certainly chock-full of genuine pleasure. Their emotions, the moaning, and the undeniable chemistry between the two were well on display. But their exploitative positions and cloying mannerisms proved that they knew how to put on a show.
The warm fire bathed the couple in a glorious light. Their clothes stacked up in neat piles right by the sofa.
Sitting on top of the tombstone radio, the camcorder filmed the couple's erotica with the detachment of an asexual filmmaker.
Leaning back on the sofa, Carty moaned in pleasure.
All the while, Bonnie continued going down on her partner. The pace was frenetic but Bonnie was gentle. She knew all the right spots. And Carty wasn't complaining.
Carty wrapped her hands around Bonnie's head. "Ooh, baby," Carty said. She tilted her head back and shut her eyes. Just let Bonnie do her thing, she thought. Stopping her now would be like stopping LeBron from going in hard with a highlight-reel dunk. Sometimes, you just gotta let greatness do its thing.
"You like that?" Bonnie said with dirty talk glee.
"Yes, baby!" Carty moaned. She opened her eyes just to steal a look over at the camera. A quick glance for their audience.
With rough quickness, Bonnie started to flip Carty over.
"What are you doing?" Carty whispered.
"I gotta get that ass, mamacita," Bonnie replied.
Glaring, Carty stopped Bonnie. "Just hold on!"
"Carty, the camera-"
"I don't give a shit about them!" Carty grumbled as she turned on her stomach. "Just be more gentle next time."
"Okay," Bonnie sighed. Back in porn mode, she caressed Carty's round booty. "That ass, mamacita!" she exclaimed.
Carty cringed at Bonnie's forced delivery. These glorified butt scenes were a little much, she thought. Maybe I should let out a fart to really shake things up.
"That booty though..." Bonnie continued. She gave Carty a quick (and literal) kiss on the ass.
"God..." Carty mumbled. This wasn't the Bonnie she liked.
Bonnie felt along Carty's butt, cradling it for all the camera to see. It was an impressive booty for sure. Fake as Hell, but that certainly didn't bother Bonnie nor the Paranormal Fornication faithful.
"I gotta see that ass in reverse, girl," Bonnie said in a most oversexualized manner. If this was the extent of her acting abilities, her Lady Macbeth performances must've been a fucking disaster.
"Ooh, you want it, baby," Carty responded, disinterested. She wiggled her ass with the enthusiasm of a jaded stripper on her last day at work.
Bonnie smacked Carty on the ass, making that booty jiggle for the camera.
"Ooh, harder, baby," Carty said in a more seductive tone, making sure her voice was loud for the camera.
"That's my girl," Bonnie beamed.
Bonnie's next smack on Carty's butt was quick and gentle. A love tap Carty enjoyed.
Smiling, Carty looked back at Bonnie. "Mmm, keep going, sexy..."
Bonnie crouched down toward Carty's smooth bubble butt. "With pleasure..."
Bracing for more ass worship, Carty looked toward the hallway. She was surprised at how aroused she was getting in such a creepy place... Bonnie's kisses along her ass were actually feeling really nice. Hell, this was Bonnie's best "performance" since the Hiers farm in Alabama, Carty realized.
"God, you're perfect," Bonnie said.
Carty grinned. She knew that wasn't Bonnie the actress talking, but Bonnie the girlfriend. Not that it was hard to differentiate since Bonnie was a shitty actress.
Carty enjoyed the touch of Bonnie's soft hands running along her lower back and perky butt. The gentle kisses. Maybe we need to keep this episode for ourselves.
A soft, hushed singing drifted toward Carty's ears, piercing through her pleasure. The song's words were murky and unclear, the voice similarly vague. The singer could've been a boy or a girl. But whoever it was didn't seem to be want to be heard. Not yet at least...
Alarmed, Carty looked on at the hallway. The singing appeared to be coming from near the staircase. "What the Hell..." she muttered.
A set of teeth sunk into Carty's juicy ass, startling Carty. The bite was a vampire's wet dream, but Carty knew it wasn't no vampire. "Shit, Bonnie!" Carty fumed as she confronted her girlfriend.
Bonnie leaned back, confused. "What?"
"Did you hear that!"
The haunting singing continued, pulling Carty's attention back toward the hallway.
"I don't hear shit." Bonnie responded.
Carty pointed her toward the stairs. "It's coming from in there!"
Alert, both women listened out for the singing. Even as the words stayed jumbled, the voice had gotten louder. The singer would've never made it on American Idol, but it had a pretty meekness to it. An innocent child’s charm. The voice sounded too deep for a girl... but such vulnerability seemed more fitting for a melancholy teenage female singing herself to sleep.
Bonnie finally heard it. All the confidence drained from her face. For once, she looked rattled by the pair's paranormal excursions. "Shit..."
Carty glared at her. "I told you this was a bad idea!"
The singing kept on repeating the same tune. The same melody. The same scrambled words. The whole production a loop of insanity, albeit, a pretty loop.
"We shouldn't have ever come here!" Carty went on.
Lost in thought, Bonnie turned and looked over at the camcorder. The camera stared right back at her, taunting her with its mere presence. The show must go on...
"Let's fucking go!" Carty pleaded to Bonnie. With uneasy eyes, she looked over at the downstairs hallway.
The singing stayed on a steady path of instability. The words never clear, the mysterious voice wobbling between lovely and stilted.
"Shit..." Carty muttered. She turned and saw Bonnie get off the couch. "Bonnie!"
Bonnie threw on her clothes.
Ready to get the fuck outta there, Carty stood up and did the same. She saw Bonnie grab the camera.
"Are we going?" Carty asked with impatience. She pulled her tight shirt over her head. Both women were now dressed. Easily the fastest either of them had ever put their clothes back on.
Bonnie gave Carty a quick kiss for reassurance. "I'm just gonna go look."
Carty pushed Bonnie back. "Are you crazy!"
"Carty, it's just for the site," Bonnie said. "We're just gonna look real quick and see what it is."
"Oh God," Carty said. Terrified, she turned away. She could still hear the singing. That fucking voice.
Bonnie retrieved the flashlight from her pocket. "Just follow me, alright," she told Carty.
Carty took an angry step toward her. "No-"
"Then what do you want us to do!" Bonnie interrupted. "The door's that way, Carty."
The repetitious singing went on in its hypnotic loop. Now the voice was even louder, begging for an audience.
Groaning, the scared Carty looked off toward the fireplace.
Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's shoulder. "Think of the show, babe," Bonnie said in a gentle tone. "Think of us."
Carty confronted her. "I am!" Carty yelled. "But this is crazy, Bonnie." Her trembling hand pointed toward the fireplace. "Whoever's here made the Goddamn fire!"
Forcing a smile, Bonnie turned on the flashlight and put it up under her face in a playful manner. "Then let's just hope it's a ghost."
Bonnie showed equal parts bravery and stupidity as she took off for the downstairs hallway. Toward the singer's lair..
"Shit, Bonnie!" Carty yelled after her. Left alone in frustration, Carty looked down and saw the mic lying on the ground. Desperate, she snatched it up.
Link To Part 2
Link To eBook
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2020.06.08 18:53 unknownhorrorwriter2 Idol Worship (Part 1/2)

The Crane house was just ordinary, abandoned trash. Boring even. The house was a two-story farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Miles of woods surrounded it. Needless to say, there weren't any neighbors for miles either. The house's mailbox stood tall, wearing its abundance of rust for a paint job. Rather than a paved driveway, a long stretch of faded dirt ran through the house's tall grass and weeds, all the way up to the decrepit front porch.
The clear country sky illuminated the home in a vivid light. The house a beacon that only drew local paranormal enthusiasts and juvenile delinquents looking for cheap thrills in the small town of Stanwyck, Georgia. Even if you didn't believe in ghosts, the Crane house certainly did look the part.
The once-pretty country home looked to have gone uninhabited for decades. Crooked shutters guarded the large cracked windows. Busted wooden steps led up to the house's creaky front porch. The home's bricks all faded with age.
An archaic lantern hung on the porch, its glass case long shattered. The rocking chairs were at least functional if you could look past the layers of thick cobwebs wrapped all around them.
Given the house's many deficiencies and its hopeless place in the open market, the hot Georgia night brought a huge surprise when a pristine and shiny new convertible zoomed down the long dirt driveway.
Appearing with the sudden quickness of a mirage, the car's tires scattered dust everywhere. The convertible's top was down, the occupants inside blasting loud and obnoxious pop music.
The car came to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from the porch. As the rag top started coming back down, the music and lights were shut off. After the doors swung open, jovial laughter echoed through the night.
Out stepped two beautiful young women. Bonnie Campbell and Carty Elizabeth, both of them in their late-20s and both of them ultra-attractive. A gay couple just as clever as they were sensual. These weren't the nerdy ghost enthusiasts, the Stanwyck High dropouts, or any of the other typical yokel explorers. This was a couple straight out of a Beverly Hills photo shoot.
Bonnie was a tall and streetwise Latina. Fit enough to be a supermodel, but too anti-establishment for that kinda shit. Everything about her was rebellious. From her hairstyle all the way to her attire. But instead of being scary or intimidating, the aggressive swagger was hot thanks in part to her pretty face.... a fact Bonnie was well aware of.
On the other hand, Carty was less confrontational in both her personality and style. While Bonnie gladly wore the "Butch" persona, Carty was the feminine "girly-girl" of the pair. But like Bonnie, Carty didn't take much shit either. After all, these ladies were entrepreneurs. Bonnie was holding a wireless mic and Carty a camcorder for a reason. They knew how to exploit what God gave them.
The couple stopped and looked on at the derelict house, both of them awestruck for different reasons. Bonnie with excitement, Carty with more than a little unease.
"Fuck, it's gorgeous," Bonnie said. "Absolutely perfect..."
Carty gave her a weird look. "Gorgeous?"
"You know what I mean." Bonnie grabbed a hold of Carty's hand and led her up to the front porch. "Come on. Let's explore."
With big frightened eyes, Carty looked on at the imposing farmhouse as they got closer and closer to the porch's battered wooden steps. It was a country home from Hell, she thought. A cross between a Cracker Barrel and Amityville.
Like a playful older sibling, Bonnie leaned in toward Carty. "Creepy..." she teased Carty in her best horror-host voice.
Carty pushed Bonnie away from her, annoyed. "Fuck you!"
"Aww, you scared, hon?" Bonnie replied.
"Who wouldn't be?" Carty said. She stole a glance back at their car.
"I've seen worse." Bonnie noticed Carty hadn't even turned on the camcorder yet. Outraged, Bonnie stopped and snatched Carty's arm. "Carty, what the Hell are you doing!"
Carty yanked her arm away from Bonnie's grasp. "What!"
Bonnie waved at the camcorder. "The camera, girl!"
Groaning, Carty turned it on.
"Establishing shots, hello," Bonnie reiterated.
"Here's your damn establishing shot," Carty responded. Agitated, she pointed the camera at Bonnie. "Scene one, enter the bitch Bonnie."
Bonnie cracked up.
Still pissy, Carty lowered the camera. "It's your idea to come here in the first place."
"Man, this ain't even that scary!" Bonnie protested. "That old motel in Decatur was way freakier."
Carty went silent and looked on at the house. Technically, Bonnie was right. This place was no different than your average abandoned shack... but something about it felt different. Maybe they’d gone too far off the beaten path of local haunts. After all, there wasn't a whole lot about the Crane house on-line.
"Shit, the graveyard in Bainbridge," Bonnie went on. "I still have those ant bites on my ass."
Carty chuckled. "Well," she began as she stole a glance at Bonnie's shapely booty. "It still looks pretty nice."
Bonnie admired her own ass. "I think they made it bigger."
"Still not as big as mine," Carty quipped.
"Mmm, but I'm getting there," Bonnie replied. She slapped Carty's bubble butt.
Giggling, Carty pointed the camera at the house. "How'd you find this place anyway?" She looked on at the rocking chairs, both of them mummified in cobwebs.
"You know, just the interwebs," Bonnie said.
"Reddit?"
"Pretty much," Bonnie replied with a smile. She faced Carty and ran her hand along Carty's arm. "Let's go."
Still uneasy, Carty looked at her.
Sensing Carty's unease, Bonnie leaned in closer. For once, Bonnie pushed the camcorder away, giving them a sense of privacy.
The couple shared a sweet kiss. One not for the cameras but for themselves. Its potency certainly did the trick for Carty. She felt all of Bonnie's love for her in that one pleasant embrace.
They smiled at one another. Playing teenage lovers in this magic moment.
"You ready?" Bonnie asked mischievously.
Grinning, Carty looked over at the farmhouse. Either the house wasn't that scary to begin with or the drug that was Bonnie's kiss really had calmed my nerves, Carty thought. "Sure," Carty said.
Bonnie pulled Carty in closer to her as they approached the porch's first step. "I got what I could for the legend."
Carty aimed the camera at the house, getting the "establishing shots." "Any of it true?" she asked Bonnie.
Stopping them in front of the porch stairs, Bonnie turned and grinned at Carty. "True enough."
"Okay," Carty said. Using the camera, she motioned Bonnie toward the porch. "You want the honors?"
In a confident stride, Bonnie stepped up in front of the camera. "Absolutely." She glanced back, making sure the house could be seen behind her for a foreboding backdrop.
Carty pointed the camera right at Bonnie. A steady grip. "Awesome," Carty congratulated herself.
Facing Carty, Bonnie fixed her shirt. Now it showed off her boobs even more than she realized was possible. She straightened her hair quickly for good measure. Her and Carty knew they had to look good on camera. Even when they were trespassing onto creepy private property.
"You ready?" Carty asked Bonnie.
For a final test, Bonnie raised the mic and gave it one firm hit. Ready to go. "Yeah, roll it," Bonnie said.
Eager, Carty flashed her a thumbs up.
Bonnie paused for a moment, letting the camera capture her in all her candid glory: pretty face, a stern yet commanding expression, and some really big breasts. In the staunch darkness and with the terrifying house lurking behind her, Bonnie had the aura of a Playboy-sponsored horror show host. A more sexualized Elvira. Just what Carty knew Bonnie was going for.
"Welcome back, voyeurs," Bonnie said in a ghoulishly campy voice. She squeezed her big boobs together in sexy, obnoxious fashion. "Tonight, your two favorite sexy starlets are taking their well-endowed talents to the sleepy little town of Stanwyck, Georgia. Home of the infamous Crane house."
Struggling to contain her laughter, Carty took a few steps back, capturing a wider shot of the house.
God, Bonnie was really hamming it up tonight, Carty thought. Bonnie's silliness could turn any of these eerie locations into both a literal and figurative playhouse for us.
Bonnie looked right into the camera, being as serious as her "acting" would allow. "Thirty years ago, at this very house, sexy, carefree housewife Bette Crane flipped out on her stud farmer husband." With the dedication of a terrible actress gunning for an Oscar, Bonnie took a step closer toward the camera. What should've been porn-level lighting actually gave Bonnie an otherworldly quality in the country night. "Bette took a frying pan, the very thing she'd used to make Farmer Studbucket's scrambled eggs for him that morning and then turned it into a vicious weapon!"
"Oh God..." Carty muttered through a smirk.
"Bette Crane savagely beat her husband with that frying pan until his face was mushier and more splattered than the greasiest eggs she'd ever cooked," Bonnie continued. "But the housewife wasn't through. After beating her husband to death, Bette took the biggest butcher knife she could find."
Holding the camcorder with the steadiness of a veteran Hollywood filmmaker, Carty stopped right in front of Bonnie for a closer shot of the host.
"And she walked over to her husband's bludgeoned body," Bonnie went on. "And plunged the knife straight into her forehead!" Toning down the theatrics, Bonnie locked eyes with the camera. One on one with her audience. "Ever since the murder, people believe the Crane house is haunted by evil spirits."
Bonnie pointed toward the farmhouse, as if she were emulating a horror tour guide rather than a horror host. "Stanwyck residents have reported many ghost sightings and paranormal incidents over the years," Bonnie said. "Objects seen flying around, weird noises being heard, even what is believed to be the ghost of Bette Crane still walking around with her bloody frying pan." Bonnie paused for dramatic effect. "So now," she began. Still keeping her serious demeanor, Bonnie took a step closer toward the camera. "We've arrived not to investigate the Crane house." Bonnie's stray hand moved down toward her breasts. "But for the house to investigate us."
Faster than a Mardi Gras veteran, Bonnie stuck out her tongue and flashed the camera with those glorious breasts. "This is Paranormal Fornication, bitches!" she shouted with glee.
Carty burst out laughing as she lowered the camera.
Bonnie lowered her shirt. "You got it?" she asked.
Still laughing, Carty lowered the camera. "Yeah, for sure."
Bonnie stepped toward Carty. "How was I?" she asked, fully expecting Carty's enthusiastic response.
Carty wrapped her arms around Bonnie. "Magnificent, babe!"
Flattered, Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's back. "Mmm, thank you, boo," Bonnie said.
The couple locked lips once more. A gentle kiss that was much more tender than any of their on-screen ones.
"Alright," Bonnie started. She led them toward the stairs. In director mode, she motioned around the porch. "Try to get a few shots of us going in."
At her command, Carty aimed the camcorder at the house. "Roger that, Bon."
Looking through the lens, Carty thought their walk up to the front door was being filmed like the climactic scene to The Blair Witch Project. A slow trek to a foreboding entrance. It looked great on camera. Maybe we can shoot a real horror film someday.
Bonnie slapped Carty's juicy ass, snapping Carty out of her post-pornographic aspirations.
"Ooh, baby!" Carty exclaimed with a startled smile.
"Just keep filming, babe," Bonnie said.
"I know," Carty said as they made their way up the rickety steps. If it weren't for their model physiques, Carty questioned whether these creaking stairs could even hold them.
Breaking away from Carty, Bonnie strolled up onto the front porch, reveling in this conglomeration of country decay.
"Bonnie!" Carty said with unease. Even just a few feet away, Carty thought the distance between them may as well have been a hundred feet considering the eerie circumstances.
Unconcerned, Bonnie gazed around at the house's offerings. The rocking chairs. The busted windows. Even the harsh graffiti scribbled on the aged wood. This house had it all. "God, just look at it!" Bonnie said. The wooden floor kept creaking and giving in but she didn't care one bit. "What a fucking spot!"
"Yeah..." the nervous Carty said as she stopped next to Bonnie. While filming, Carty kept clinging to the camera. Both as a source of light and as a potential weapon. "Fucking weird..."
Reaching out, Bonnie touched a rocking chair and made contact with all the sticky cobwebs. Bonnie drew her hand back, but the icky texture seemed to give her a thrill rather than sicken her. She watched the chair rock back-and-forth in a slow rhythm. The chair's loud creaking formed a hypnotic tune.
Concerned, Carty snatched Bonnie's arm and pulled her away from it. "What are you doing!" Carty yelled.
Chuckling, Bonnie faced her. "What? I just wanted to see-"
Carty stepped back. "Oh my God, you touched it!"
Trying to calm Carty, Bonnie held her hands up in a facetious manner. "Hey, look, nothing got on me."
"Whatever!" Carty backed away and stumbled into a dangling cobweb. Crying out, she rushed back toward Bonnie. "Fuck!"
Bonnie grabbed Carty's shoulder. "Babe, just chill-"
"No!" Carty yelled back at her.
Bonnie motioned toward the rocking chair, highlighting its continuous melody of creaks. "Look, we should be filming the shit!"
At its height of rocking, the chair went completely still. The spiders stopping with it.
"Holy shit!" Bonnie exclaimed.
Nervous, Carty focused her camera on the chairs. "Okay, that was creepy."
"Shit, let's get this party started!" Bonnie said. She stepped toward the front door.
Carty looked at her real quick. "Bonnie!"
Before Carty could stop her, Bonnie snagged the rusty doorknob. She flashed Carty a smile. "Be sure to get this."
Carty pointed the camera at Bonnie.
"You ready?" Bonnie asked.
Carty gave her an apprehensive nod. "Yeah."
"Okay," Bonnie said. "Into the Crane house we go." She started to turn the loose doorknob when an incessant noise startled her and Carty.
"Shit!" Carty yelled as the couple whirled around.
They saw both rocking chairs now swinging in unison. Beneath the weight of age and the cobwebs, these rocking chairs were going harder and faster than seemed possible. Their consistent creaks a countrified chorus.
All the while, Carty kept filming the eerie event. "Oh my God..." she said in fear.
"Shit, this is amazing!" Bonnie exclaimed. She staggered up toward the chairs.
Carty snatched her shoulder, the tight grip ensuring Bonnie wasn't straying too far. "No, don't leave me!"
The rocking chairs came to a sudden stop. Either a slight breeze had gone away or the spiders had used their collective force once more... or the Crane house's spirits had moved on.
Somewhat disappointed, Bonnie pointed at the chairs. "See, it's nothing," she said to soothe Carty. She caressed Carty's shoulder. "We're gonna be fine."
"I don't know," Carty said. She lowered the camera. "I've got a weird feeling about this place."
Bonnie gave her a playful smile. "You get a weird feeling about everywhere."
"Yeah, but not like this..."
"Well, I'm here," Bonnie replied. She leaned in closer toward Carty's lips. "And I'll protect you."
Reassured as always by Bonnie, a grin cracked through Carty's nerves. "You better."
"You know I will." Bonnie gave Carty a soft kiss on the lips.
Carty liked it.
But right before Carty could expect more, Bonnie nodded at the camera. "You got all that shit, right?"
"Uh, yeah," Carty said.
Back to business, Bonnie looked back at the door. "Awesome."
"God, we're not still going in there, are we?" Carty said.
Bonnie faced her. "Why not?"
Upset, Carty motioned toward the chairs. "Not after all that shit!"
Bonnie grabbed Carty's wrist in a gentle grip. "Carty, please. Can we just go inside?"
The silent Carty just looked at Bonnie. Bonnie's pretty face and persuasive brown eyes were such an irresistible combination when Bonnie really wanted to do something. Especially when it came to Bonnie's passion for the paranormal.
"This is what we do," Bonnie went on. "Our scary shit." With a sly and seductive touch, she pulled Carty in closer toward her. "Look, I'll make it up to you, baby. I promise. But let's do this first, okay."
How can I say no, Carty thought. Bonnie was rather tough anyway... certainly, braver than me. She was so cute this excited. She always was. "Okay," Carty gave in.
Bonnie leaned in toward Carty's face. "I promise I'll make it up in there, baby," she said in a seductive whisper. Sweetening the deal, Bonnie guided Carty's hand all against her breasts. "I promise."
Carty didn't have a chance. She felt on one of those double-Ds, immense pleasure coursing through Carty's veins. She cracked a smirk. "Goddammit, Bonnie..."
Chuckling, Bonnie pulled her toward the door. "Come on."
Carty pointed the camera at Bonnie as Bonnie grabbed the knob once more. "Take two," Carty joked.
Turning, Bonnie smiled for the camera. "Paranormal Fornication, motherfuckers."
With dramatic emphasis, Bonnie turned the old doorknob and let the door swing into the house with a grueling creak.
The open doorway now lied before Carty and Bonnie. The dark farmhouse was beckoning them to enter. Paranormal Fornication must go on! it seemed to scream.
The couple journeyed through the farmhouse's narrow downstairs hallway. The camcorder and Bonnie's small flashlight like torches in uncharted terrain. Behind them, the front door was still wide open, Carty refusing to let Bonnie close it. Carty didn't want that sinking feeling of hearing that door slam shut. It was too definitive… Locked in not just for the night but forever.
Holding her mic and the flashlight, Bonnie led the way, Carty right behind her. Carty did her best to keep up, but Bonnie seemed to glide on that torn carpet. "Slow down," Carty grumbled.
"I am," Bonnie retorted. Her eyes were drawn to a doorway on the left at the very end of the hall.
Through the unflinching camera lens, Carty captured the usual array of spooky clichés inside. There were the broken counters and bookshelves. The torn carpets. The literal holes in the walls that reoccurred in patterns on the faded paint. A wooden staircase in the very back that was a poor farmer's attempt to be regal. Even a small door under the staircase that looked to be designed to be a small child's hiding place. The small door aged yet functional.
But it wasn't these scary attributes that bothered Carty. It was how the house somehow appeared... clean. There weren't any spiderwebs or rodents. No dirt, cigarette butts, beer bottles, or any of the other types of debris the duo saw in all their other explorations. The inside of the Crane home was in decent condition. As if someone had been in there and tried to straighten the place up as much as they could. And to Carty's horror, she thought maybe someone had.
"Hello?" Bonnie asked aloud, her voice echoing down the hallway.
Carty glared at her. "Bonnie, shut up!"
Ignoring Carty, Bonnie went closer and closer to the doorway. "Is there anybody home?" she said, her voice seemingly louder.
Carty could only groan in dismay.
But there was no reply. No answers from the Crane house.
Still following Bonnie, Carty looked toward the stairway. Darkness awaited whoever dared walk up those steps. Or whoever could make it up those steps. Several of them were dilapidated, even moreso than the porch steps. The stairway's crooked railing wouldn't offer much support either.
Uneasy, Carty saw the small door under the staircase was open just a crack. No one appeared to be inside it nor were there any lights on inside. It had to be a closet and a small one at that, Carty figured. Not a bad spot for hide and seek...
Bonnie snatched Carty's arm, scaring the shit out of her.
"Jesus!" Carty yelled at Bonnie.
Shushing Carty, Bonnie stopped them just a foot away from the doorway. "Do you hear that?" Bonnie asked.
"What?"
Bonnie clenched tighter to Carty's shoulder. "Just listen," Bonnie said. She waved her microphone toward the doorway. "It's coming from there."
Carty looked toward the doorway.
And there it was. A soft crackle and pop. It sounded soothing. It sounded like Christmas. And then Carty realized it felt like Christmas as well. The dank house felt a little toasty.
"Did you hear that?" Bonnie asked.
"Yeah."
Another pop echoed toward the couple.
They looked on at the doorway and saw a faint orange glow radiating from inside the room.
Bonnie pointed at the light, excited. "Look at it!"
Carty stared at the doorway, her fear the exact opposite of Bonnie's enthusiasm. The crackling continued as a soundtrack to the faint glow. Stunned, Carty realized it was a burning fireplace. "Bonnie-" Carty began.
Bonnie grabbed Carty's hand. "Come on!"
Carty was no match for Bonnie's powerful pull. "But wait-" Carty tried to say.
"Just keep filming!"
Bonnie led Carty into the mysterious room.
Through Bonnie's small light and the weak flickers of the fireplace, Carty could make out they were in a spacious room.
Bonnie stopped in the middle of the room, fascinated. "Are you getting this?" asked Bonnie, her eyes gazing all around the living room.
Staying as close to Bonnie as possible, Carty scanned the room with her camera.
It was definitely the farmhouse's living room, but not one from the twenty-first century. There was no T.V. and seemingly no electricity. No family photos or portraits. No decorations at all. And not much furniture aside from a couple of wooden shelves.
"When'd that murder happen again?" Carty asked.
Still shining her flashlight around the room, Bonnie didn't even look at Carty. "I don't know, like maybe thirty years ago?"
Carty saw a tombstone radio standing near the fireplace. An open doorway was about ten feet away from the radio, this one leading into yet another dark room.
Leaning in closer for a better look, Carty could tell this room had a large wooden table. It must've been the kitchenOr what was left of it.
For all the lack of amenities in the living room, at least the antique radio was an impressive if outdated source of entertainment. The fireplace was similarly grandiose.
But thirty years ago, Carty wondered. Didn't the eighties at least have MTV? What were these bitches doing?
"It seems older," Carty said. She pointed the camera toward a raggedy couch that stood by the fireplace and radio. "Looks older."
"Yeah, well it was like 1982, 1983," Bonnie said. She thought she saw something on a corner wall across the room. Bonnie shined her light toward it and squinted her eyes, trying to see what was there.
"1983?" Carty asked. Her amusement shifted toward fear after she focused on the fireplace. So much wood was piled up in there... wood that had been consumed over a longer period of time. "Shit..."
Bonnie could tell the corner wall had large letters drawn on them. "What the Hell is that?" Bonnie wondered aloud.
"What?" Carty asked.
Intrigued, Bonnie stepped closer toward the letters.
Clinging to the camera for her security, Carty followed Bonnie to the spot. "Bonnie, wait!"
Bonnie stopped and stared at the wall, stunned yet awestruck by her new "discovery." "Oh fuck..."
"What is it!" Carty said as she stopped next to her.
Spraypainted letters splattered across the wall. Vile graffiti. The words had been rotting there a long time, practically implanted into the farmhouse's walls at this point. And the words all shared the same color: blood red paint.
Nasty phrases and slurs made up the collection: Bitch! The Crane Cunt! Bette The Psycho Bitch! Murderer! Cocksucker Crane!
Uneasy, Carty filmed the sight in all its vicious glory. She moved the camera around, even seeing how the graffiti carried over onto the other walls. The endless profanities and insults were all a big billboard brought to you by Stanwyck's resident assholes as a commemorative FUCK YOU to Bette Crane.
Carty stared at the entire scene in horror. This was further indication that this secluded farmhouse truly was home to something horrific. Something so traumatic and disturbing that to this day, the citizens of Stanwyck still felt the need to make this vengeance-fueled pilgrimage.
But to Bonnie, the graffiti was further proof that the couple had come to the right spot.
"Shit!" Carty said. She looked over at Bonnie. "We can't stay here."
With the excited eagerness of a kid about to catch a foul ball in the stands, Bonnie reached out toward "Bette The Psycho Bitch."
"Bonnie!" Carty yelled in outrage. She grabbed Bonnie's arm, stopping her.
Bonnie faced her, annoyed. "Carty, what the fuck!"
"What the fuck are you doing!"
Scoffing, Bonnie waved the mic toward the wall. "See for yourself!"
"No!" Carty said. "Someone's been here, Bonnie. And they might still be here."
"It's just a fire-"
"Just a fucking fire!" Ready to leave, a pissed-off Carty headed straight for the hallway.
"Carty!" Bonnie snagged Carty's arm, making Carty face her. "Look at me! This house is empty!" Using the mic, she motioned toward the fireplace. "Whoever did this shit's probably gone anyway."
"Probably!" Carty replied, incredulous.
Desperate to comfort Carty, Bonnie caressed her shoulders. "Hey, whoever it is is more scared of us than we are of them," Bonnie went on. She ran her finger against Carty's smooth cheek. "They're gone, Carty. And they ain't coming back."
"I don't know," Carty said. Still uneasy, Carty looked toward the fireplace.
"Look, Carty, this is what we do. Even when shit gets weird and scary." Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's arm. "We can't stop now."
Carty faced her. "But the fire. This isn't-"
Adamant, Bonnie stepped away from Carty. "They probably left when they heard us pull up! Just think about it, Carty."
"I don't know..."
Proving her point, Bonnie shined her flashlight all around the living room. "Hello!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, bitches!"
"Bonnie!"
"Come out, motherfucker!" Bonnie went on.
No answer was heard. Just the consistent crackle of the crisp fire.
The lack of a response was helping Carty ease up. Much to Bonnie's delight.
"We don't bite!" Bonnie said. She gave Carty a flirtatious smile. "Well. Maybe I do."
Carty chuckled and shook her head.
The whole house seemed silent except for the fire. And the couple's soft laughter.
"See," Bonnie said as she grabbed a hold of Carty's hand. "It's nothing."
"But why here?" Carty asked. "Why can't we just go somewhere else?"
"Look, just think about it, alright," Bonnie said in a gentle tone. "This is gonna be so big, Carty." She waved the flashlight around the living room. "I mean just look at this place! A creepy fucking Texas Chainsaw house, and we discover the fireplace, the graffiti! The damn rocking chairs."
Carty didn't argue. She knew she couldn't due to a combination of Bonnie making sense and being too stubborn to turn back now.
Bonnie caressed Carty's face. "Think of the hits, baby," Bonnie went on. "All the ads we'll get on the site."
Debating the idea, Carty looked off toward the bright fireplace.
"We'll make so much money, boo," Bonnie said. “We'll have enough to do the Lady Macbeth piece."
Carty faced Bonnie, allured by the prospect of doing their dream project. Just the sheer mention of it got Carty's attention.
Displaying a warm smile, Bonnie rubbed Carty's shoulder. "Like we always planned. We'll do real movies from now on, no more creeper sex shit."
"You promise this is the last one?" Carty asked, her voice begging for a yes.
"Yes!" the excited Bonnie said.
"Okay..." Carty relented.
"Thank you!"
"Let's do this."
Bonnie gave Carty a quick kiss. "I love you, baby," Bonnie said.
"I love you too."
"This is gonna be so perfect," Bonnie said. She stepped away from Carty and focused her attention on the corner wall graffiti. "Fucking crazy."
Carty followed Bonnie's gaze toward the gratuitous graffiti. All those vile words were more than just your average juvenile's bullshit. The phrases looked embroidered with emotion. Sculpted from pure disgust and hate.
Thinking about the creepy stairway, Carty looked back toward the hallway. She couldn't help but wonder if their squatter was hiding upstairs rather than in the woods. "This still feels weird," Carty commented.
Bonnie faced her. "Why, babe?"
Nervous, Carty hesitated on how to answer. "I don't know. It's like someone's watching."
Bonnie stepped right in front of Carty, not even attempting to make her sexual tease more nuanced. "Someone's always watching."
Carty grinned.
Thirty minutes later, Bonnie and Carty's film shoot was going hot and heavy. Steamy, sexy, scintillating. Words you usually wouldn't associate with a "haunted house." But then again, this was Paranormal Fornication.
Sprawled out on the couch, the naked duo engaged in passionate and exuberant sex.
Bonnie and Carty's lovemaking was certainly chock-full of genuine pleasure. Their emotions, the moaning, and the undeniable chemistry between the two were well on display. But their exploitative positions and cloying mannerisms proved that they knew how to put on a show.
The warm fire bathed the couple in a glorious light. Their clothes stacked up in neat piles right by the sofa.
Sitting on top of the tombstone radio, the camcorder filmed the couple's erotica with the detachment of an asexual filmmaker.
Leaning back on the sofa, Carty moaned in pleasure.
All the while, Bonnie continued going down on her partner. The pace was frenetic but Bonnie was gentle. She knew all the right spots. And Carty wasn't complaining.
Carty wrapped her hands around Bonnie's head. "Ooh, baby," Carty said. She tilted her head back and shut her eyes. Just let Bonnie do her thing, she thought. Stopping her now would be like stopping LeBron from going in hard with a highlight-reel dunk. Sometimes, you just gotta let greatness do its thing.
"You like that?" Bonnie said with dirty talk glee.
"Yes, baby!" Carty moaned. She opened her eyes just to steal a look over at the camera. A quick glance for their audience.
With rough quickness, Bonnie started to flip Carty over.
"What are you doing?" Carty whispered.
"I gotta get that ass, mamacita," Bonnie replied.
Glaring, Carty stopped Bonnie. "Just hold on!"
"Carty, the camera-"
"I don't give a shit about them!" Carty grumbled as she turned on her stomach. "Just be more gentle next time."
"Okay," Bonnie sighed. Back in porn mode, she caressed Carty's round booty. "That ass, mamacita!" she exclaimed.
Carty cringed at Bonnie's forced delivery. These glorified butt scenes were a little much, she thought. Maybe I should let out a fart to really shake things up.
"That booty though..." Bonnie continued. She gave Carty a quick (and literal) kiss on the ass.
"God..." Carty mumbled. This wasn't the Bonnie she liked.
Bonnie felt along Carty's butt, cradling it for all the camera to see. It was an impressive booty for sure. Fake as Hell, but that certainly didn't bother Bonnie nor the Paranormal Fornication faithful.
"I gotta see that ass in reverse, girl," Bonnie said in a most oversexualized manner. If this was the extent of her acting abilities, her Lady Macbeth performances must've been a fucking disaster.
"Ooh, you want it, baby," Carty responded, disinterested. She wiggled her ass with the enthusiasm of a jaded stripper on her last day at work.
Bonnie smacked Carty on the ass, making that booty jiggle for the camera.
"Ooh, harder, baby," Carty said in a more seductive tone, making sure her voice was loud for the camera.
"That's my girl," Bonnie beamed.
Bonnie's next smack on Carty's butt was quick and gentle. A love tap Carty enjoyed.
Smiling, Carty looked back at Bonnie. "Mmm, keep going, sexy..."
Bonnie crouched down toward Carty's smooth bubble butt. "With pleasure..."
Bracing for more ass worship, Carty looked toward the hallway. She was surprised at how aroused she was getting in such a creepy place... Bonnie's kisses along her ass were actually feeling really nice. Hell, this was Bonnie's best "performance" since the Hiers farm in Alabama, Carty realized.
"God, you're perfect," Bonnie said.
Carty grinned. She knew that wasn't Bonnie the actress talking, but Bonnie the girlfriend. Not that it was hard to differentiate since Bonnie was a shitty actress.
Carty enjoyed the touch of Bonnie's soft hands running along her lower back and perky butt. The gentle kisses. Maybe we need to keep this episode for ourselves.
A soft, hushed singing drifted toward Carty's ears, piercing through her pleasure. The song's words were murky and unclear, the voice similarly vague. The singer could've been a boy or a girl. But whoever it was didn't seem to be want to be heard. Not yet at least...
Alarmed, Carty looked on at the hallway. The singing appeared to be coming from near the staircase. "What the Hell..." she muttered.
A set of teeth sunk into Carty's juicy ass, startling Carty. The bite was a vampire's wet dream, but Carty knew it wasn't no vampire. "Shit, Bonnie!" Carty fumed as she confronted her girlfriend.
Bonnie leaned back, confused. "What?"
"Did you hear that!"
The haunting singing continued, pulling Carty's attention back toward the hallway.
"I don't hear shit." Bonnie responded.
Carty pointed her toward the stairs. "It's coming from in there!"
Alert, both women listened out for the singing. Even as the words stayed jumbled, the voice had gotten louder. The singer would've never made it on American Idol, but it had a pretty meekness to it. An innocent child’s charm. The voice sounded too deep for a girl... but such vulnerability seemed more fitting for a melancholy teenage female singing herself to sleep.
Bonnie finally heard it. All the confidence drained from her face. For once, she looked rattled by the pair's paranormal excursions. "Shit..."
Carty glared at her. "I told you this was a bad idea!"
The singing kept on repeating the same tune. The same melody. The same scrambled words. The whole production a loop of insanity, albeit, a pretty loop.
"We shouldn't have ever come here!" Carty went on.
Lost in thought, Bonnie turned and looked over at the camcorder. The camera stared right back at her, taunting her with its mere presence. The show must go on...
"Let's fucking go!" Carty pleaded to Bonnie. With uneasy eyes, she looked over at the downstairs hallway.
The singing stayed on a steady path of instability. The words never clear, the mysterious voice wobbling between lovely and stilted.
"Shit..." Carty muttered. She turned and saw Bonnie get off the couch. "Bonnie!"
Bonnie threw on her clothes.
Ready to get the fuck outta there, Carty stood up and did the same. She saw Bonnie grab the camera.
"Are we going?" Carty asked with impatience. She pulled her tight shirt over her head. Both women were now dressed. Easily the fastest either of them had ever put their clothes back on.
Bonnie gave Carty a quick kiss for reassurance. "I'm just gonna go look."
Carty pushed Bonnie back. "Are you crazy!"
"Carty, it's just for the site," Bonnie said. "We're just gonna look real quick and see what it is."
"Oh God," Carty said. Terrified, she turned away. She could still hear the singing. That fucking voice.
Bonnie retrieved the flashlight from her pocket. "Just follow me, alright," she told Carty.
Carty took an angry step toward her. "No-"
"Then what do you want us to do!" Bonnie interrupted. "The door's that way, Carty."
The repetitious singing went on in its hypnotic loop. Now the voice was even louder, begging for an audience.
Groaning, the scared Carty looked off toward the fireplace.
Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's shoulder. "Think of the show, babe," Bonnie said in a gentle tone. "Think of us."
Carty confronted her. "I am!" Carty yelled. "But this is crazy, Bonnie." Her trembling hand pointed toward the fireplace. "Whoever's here made the Goddamn fire!"
Forcing a smile, Bonnie turned on the flashlight and put it up under her face in a playful manner. "Then let's just hope it's a ghost."
Bonnie showed equal parts bravery and stupidity as she took off for the downstairs hallway. Toward the singer's lair..
"Shit, Bonnie!" Carty yelled after her. Left alone in frustration, Carty looked down and saw the mic lying on the ground. Desperate, she snatched it up.
Link To Part 2
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2020.06.08 18:15 unknownhorrorwriter2 Idol Worship (Part 1/2)

The Crane house was just ordinary, abandoned trash. Boring even. The house was a two-story farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Miles of woods surrounded it. Needless to say, there weren't any neighbors for miles either. The house's mailbox stood tall, wearing its abundance of rust for a paint job. Rather than a paved driveway, a long stretch of faded dirt ran through the house's tall grass and weeds, all the way up to the decrepit front porch.
The clear country sky illuminated the home in a vivid light. The house a beacon that only drew local paranormal enthusiasts and juvenile delinquents looking for cheap thrills in the small town of Stanwyck, Georgia. Even if you didn't believe in ghosts, the Crane house certainly did look the part.
The once-pretty country home looked to have gone uninhabited for decades. Crooked shutters guarded the large cracked windows. Busted wooden steps led up to the house's creaky front porch. The home's bricks all faded with age.
An archaic lantern hung on the porch, its glass case long shattered. The rocking chairs were at least functional if you could look past the layers of thick cobwebs wrapped all around them.
Given the house's many deficiencies and its hopeless place in the open market, the hot Georgia night brought a huge surprise when a pristine and shiny new convertible zoomed down the long dirt driveway.
Appearing with the sudden quickness of a mirage, the car's tires scattered dust everywhere. The convertible's top was down, the occupants inside blasting loud and obnoxious pop music.
The car came to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from the porch. As the rag top started coming back down, the music and lights were shut off. After the doors swung open, jovial laughter echoed through the night.
Out stepped two beautiful young women. Bonnie Campbell and Carty Elizabeth, both of them in their late-20s and both of them ultra-attractive. A gay couple just as clever as they were sensual. These weren't the nerdy ghost enthusiasts, the Stanwyck High dropouts, or any of the other typical yokel explorers. This was a couple straight out of a Beverly Hills photo shoot.
Bonnie was a tall and streetwise Latina. Fit enough to be a supermodel, but too anti-establishment for that kinda shit. Everything about her was rebellious. From her hairstyle all the way to her attire. But instead of being scary or intimidating, the aggressive swagger was hot thanks in part to her pretty face.... a fact Bonnie was well aware of.
On the other hand, Carty was less confrontational in both her personality and style. While Bonnie gladly wore the "Butch" persona, Carty was the feminine "girly-girl" of the pair. But like Bonnie, Carty didn't take much shit either. After all, these ladies were entrepreneurs. Bonnie was holding a wireless mic and Carty a camcorder for a reason. They knew how to exploit what God gave them.
The couple stopped and looked on at the derelict house, both of them awestruck for different reasons. Bonnie with excitement, Carty with more than a little unease.
"Fuck, it's gorgeous," Bonnie said. "Absolutely perfect..."
Carty gave her a weird look. "Gorgeous?"
"You know what I mean." Bonnie grabbed a hold of Carty's hand and led her up to the front porch. "Come on. Let's explore."
With big frightened eyes, Carty looked on at the imposing farmhouse as they got closer and closer to the porch's battered wooden steps. It was a country home from Hell, she thought. A cross between a Cracker Barrel and Amityville.
Like a playful older sibling, Bonnie leaned in toward Carty. "Creepy..." she teased Carty in her best horror-host voice.
Carty pushed Bonnie away from her, annoyed. "Fuck you!"
"Aww, you scared, hon?" Bonnie replied.
"Who wouldn't be?" Carty said. She stole a glance back at their car.
"I've seen worse." Bonnie noticed Carty hadn't even turned on the camcorder yet. Outraged, Bonnie stopped and snatched Carty's arm. "Carty, what the Hell are you doing!"
Carty yanked her arm away from Bonnie's grasp. "What!"
Bonnie waved at the camcorder. "The camera, girl!"
Groaning, Carty turned it on.
"Establishing shots, hello," Bonnie reiterated.
"Here's your damn establishing shot," Carty responded. Agitated, she pointed the camera at Bonnie. "Scene one, enter the bitch Bonnie."
Bonnie cracked up.
Still pissy, Carty lowered the camera. "It's your idea to come here in the first place."
"Man, this ain't even that scary!" Bonnie protested. "That old motel in Decatur was way freakier."
Carty went silent and looked on at the house. Technically, Bonnie was right. This place was no different than your average abandoned shack... but something about it felt different. Maybe they’d gone too far off the beaten path of local haunts. After all, there wasn't a whole lot about the Crane house on-line.
"Shit, the graveyard in Bainbridge," Bonnie went on. "I still have those ant bites on my ass."
Carty chuckled. "Well," she began as she stole a glance at Bonnie's shapely booty. "It still looks pretty nice."
Bonnie admired her own ass. "I think they made it bigger."
"Still not as big as mine," Carty quipped.
"Mmm, but I'm getting there," Bonnie replied. She slapped Carty's bubble butt.
Giggling, Carty pointed the camera at the house. "How'd you find this place anyway?" She looked on at the rocking chairs, both of them mummified in cobwebs.
"You know, just the interwebs," Bonnie said.
"Reddit?"
"Pretty much," Bonnie replied with a smile. She faced Carty and ran her hand along Carty's arm. "Let's go."
Still uneasy, Carty looked at her.
Sensing Carty's unease, Bonnie leaned in closer. For once, Bonnie pushed the camcorder away, giving them a sense of privacy.
The couple shared a sweet kiss. One not for the cameras but for themselves. Its potency certainly did the trick for Carty. She felt all of Bonnie's love for her in that one pleasant embrace.
They smiled at one another. Playing teenage lovers in this magic moment.
"You ready?" Bonnie asked mischievously.
Grinning, Carty looked over at the farmhouse. Either the house wasn't that scary to begin with or the drug that was Bonnie's kiss really had calmed my nerves, Carty thought. "Sure," Carty said.
Bonnie pulled Carty in closer to her as they approached the porch's first step. "I got what I could for the legend."
Carty aimed the camera at the house, getting the "establishing shots." "Any of it true?" she asked Bonnie.
Stopping them in front of the porch stairs, Bonnie turned and grinned at Carty. "True enough."
"Okay," Carty said. Using the camera, she motioned Bonnie toward the porch. "You want the honors?"
In a confident stride, Bonnie stepped up in front of the camera. "Absolutely." She glanced back, making sure the house could be seen behind her for a foreboding backdrop.
Carty pointed the camera right at Bonnie. A steady grip. "Awesome," Carty congratulated herself.
Facing Carty, Bonnie fixed her shirt. Now it showed off her boobs even more than she realized was possible. She straightened her hair quickly for good measure. Her and Carty knew they had to look good on camera. Even when they were trespassing onto creepy private property.
"You ready?" Carty asked Bonnie.
For a final test, Bonnie raised the mic and gave it one firm hit. Ready to go. "Yeah, roll it," Bonnie said.
Eager, Carty flashed her a thumbs up.
Bonnie paused for a moment, letting the camera capture her in all her candid glory: pretty face, a stern yet commanding expression, and some really big breasts. In the staunch darkness and with the terrifying house lurking behind her, Bonnie had the aura of a Playboy-sponsored horror show host. A more sexualized Elvira. Just what Carty knew Bonnie was going for.
"Welcome back, voyeurs," Bonnie said in a ghoulishly campy voice. She squeezed her big boobs together in sexy, obnoxious fashion. "Tonight, your two favorite sexy starlets are taking their well-endowed talents to the sleepy little town of Stanwyck, Georgia. Home of the infamous Crane house."
Struggling to contain her laughter, Carty took a few steps back, capturing a wider shot of the house.
God, Bonnie was really hamming it up tonight, Carty thought. Bonnie's silliness could turn any of these eerie locations into both a literal and figurative playhouse for us.
Bonnie looked right into the camera, being as serious as her "acting" would allow. "Thirty years ago, at this very house, sexy, carefree housewife Bette Crane flipped out on her stud farmer husband." With the dedication of a terrible actress gunning for an Oscar, Bonnie took a step closer toward the camera. What should've been porn-level lighting actually gave Bonnie an otherworldly quality in the country night. "Bette took a frying pan, the very thing she'd used to make Farmer Studbucket's scrambled eggs for him that morning and then turned it into a vicious weapon!"
"Oh God..." Carty muttered through a smirk.
"Bette Crane savagely beat her husband with that frying pan until his face was mushier and more splattered than the greasiest eggs she'd ever cooked," Bonnie continued. "But the housewife wasn't through. After beating her husband to death, Bette took the biggest butcher knife she could find."
Holding the camcorder with the steadiness of a veteran Hollywood filmmaker, Carty stopped right in front of Bonnie for a closer shot of the host.
"And she walked over to her husband's bludgeoned body," Bonnie went on. "And plunged the knife straight into her forehead!" Toning down the theatrics, Bonnie locked eyes with the camera. One on one with her audience. "Ever since the murder, people believe the Crane house is haunted by evil spirits."
Bonnie pointed toward the farmhouse, as if she were emulating a horror tour guide rather than a horror host. "Stanwyck residents have reported many ghost sightings and paranormal incidents over the years," Bonnie said. "Objects seen flying around, weird noises being heard, even what is believed to be the ghost of Bette Crane still walking around with her bloody frying pan." Bonnie paused for dramatic effect. "So now," she began. Still keeping her serious demeanor, Bonnie took a step closer toward the camera. "We've arrived not to investigate the Crane house." Bonnie's stray hand moved down toward her breasts. "But for the house to investigate us."
Faster than a Mardi Gras veteran, Bonnie stuck out her tongue and flashed the camera with those glorious breasts. "This is Paranormal Fornication, bitches!" she shouted with glee.
Carty burst out laughing as she lowered the camera.
Bonnie lowered her shirt. "You got it?" she asked.
Still laughing, Carty lowered the camera. "Yeah, for sure."
Bonnie stepped toward Carty. "How was I?" she asked, fully expecting Carty's enthusiastic response.
Carty wrapped her arms around Bonnie. "Magnificent, babe!"
Flattered, Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's back. "Mmm, thank you, boo," Bonnie said.
The couple locked lips once more. A gentle kiss that was much more tender than any of their on-screen ones.
"Alright," Bonnie started. She led them toward the stairs. In director mode, she motioned around the porch. "Try to get a few shots of us going in."
At her command, Carty aimed the camcorder at the house. "Roger that, Bon."
Looking through the lens, Carty thought their walk up to the front door was being filmed like the climactic scene to The Blair Witch Project. A slow trek to a foreboding entrance. It looked great on camera. Maybe we can shoot a real horror film someday.
Bonnie slapped Carty's juicy ass, snapping Carty out of her post-pornographic aspirations.
"Ooh, baby!" Carty exclaimed with a startled smile.
"Just keep filming, babe," Bonnie said.
"I know," Carty said as they made their way up the rickety steps. If it weren't for their model physiques, Carty questioned whether these creaking stairs could even hold them.
Breaking away from Carty, Bonnie strolled up onto the front porch, reveling in this conglomeration of country decay.
"Bonnie!" Carty said with unease. Even just a few feet away, Carty thought the distance between them may as well have been a hundred feet considering the eerie circumstances.
Unconcerned, Bonnie gazed around at the house's offerings. The rocking chairs. The busted windows. Even the harsh graffiti scribbled on the aged wood. This house had it all. "God, just look at it!" Bonnie said. The wooden floor kept creaking and giving in but she didn't care one bit. "What a fucking spot!"
"Yeah..." the nervous Carty said as she stopped next to Bonnie. While filming, Carty kept clinging to the camera. Both as a source of light and as a potential weapon. "Fucking weird..."
Reaching out, Bonnie touched a rocking chair and made contact with all the sticky cobwebs. Bonnie drew her hand back, but the icky texture seemed to give her a thrill rather than sicken her. She watched the chair rock back-and-forth in a slow rhythm. The chair's loud creaking formed a hypnotic tune.
Concerned, Carty snatched Bonnie's arm and pulled her away from it. "What are you doing!" Carty yelled.
Chuckling, Bonnie faced her. "What? I just wanted to see-"
Carty stepped back. "Oh my God, you touched it!"
Trying to calm Carty, Bonnie held her hands up in a facetious manner. "Hey, look, nothing got on me."
"Whatever!" Carty backed away and stumbled into a dangling cobweb. Crying out, she rushed back toward Bonnie. "Fuck!"
Bonnie grabbed Carty's shoulder. "Babe, just chill-"
"No!" Carty yelled back at her.
Bonnie motioned toward the rocking chair, highlighting its continuous melody of creaks. "Look, we should be filming the shit!"
At its height of rocking, the chair went completely still. The spiders stopping with it.
"Holy shit!" Bonnie exclaimed.
Nervous, Carty focused her camera on the chairs. "Okay, that was creepy."
"Shit, let's get this party started!" Bonnie said. She stepped toward the front door.
Carty looked at her real quick. "Bonnie!"
Before Carty could stop her, Bonnie snagged the rusty doorknob. She flashed Carty a smile. "Be sure to get this."
Carty pointed the camera at Bonnie.
"You ready?" Bonnie asked.
Carty gave her an apprehensive nod. "Yeah."
"Okay," Bonnie said. "Into the Crane house we go." She started to turn the loose doorknob when an incessant noise startled her and Carty.
"Shit!" Carty yelled as the couple whirled around.
They saw both rocking chairs now swinging in unison. Beneath the weight of age and the cobwebs, these rocking chairs were going harder and faster than seemed possible. Their consistent creaks a countrified chorus.
All the while, Carty kept filming the eerie event. "Oh my God..." she said in fear.
"Shit, this is amazing!" Bonnie exclaimed. She staggered up toward the chairs.
Carty snatched her shoulder, the tight grip ensuring Bonnie wasn't straying too far. "No, don't leave me!"
The rocking chairs came to a sudden stop. Either a slight breeze had gone away or the spiders had used their collective force once more... or the Crane house's spirits had moved on.
Somewhat disappointed, Bonnie pointed at the chairs. "See, it's nothing," she said to soothe Carty. She caressed Carty's shoulder. "We're gonna be fine."
"I don't know," Carty said. She lowered the camera. "I've got a weird feeling about this place."
Bonnie gave her a playful smile. "You get a weird feeling about everywhere."
"Yeah, but not like this..."
"Well, I'm here," Bonnie replied. She leaned in closer toward Carty's lips. "And I'll protect you."
Reassured as always by Bonnie, a grin cracked through Carty's nerves. "You better."
"You know I will." Bonnie gave Carty a soft kiss on the lips.
Carty liked it.
But right before Carty could expect more, Bonnie nodded at the camera. "You got all that shit, right?"
"Uh, yeah," Carty said.
Back to business, Bonnie looked back at the door. "Awesome."
"God, we're not still going in there, are we?" Carty said.
Bonnie faced her. "Why not?"
Upset, Carty motioned toward the chairs. "Not after all that shit!"
Bonnie grabbed Carty's wrist in a gentle grip. "Carty, please. Can we just go inside?"
The silent Carty just looked at Bonnie. Bonnie's pretty face and persuasive brown eyes were such an irresistible combination when Bonnie really wanted to do something. Especially when it came to Bonnie's passion for the paranormal.
"This is what we do," Bonnie went on. "Our scary shit." With a sly and seductive touch, she pulled Carty in closer toward her. "Look, I'll make it up to you, baby. I promise. But let's do this first, okay."
How can I say no, Carty thought. Bonnie was rather tough anyway... certainly, braver than me. She was so cute this excited. She always was. "Okay," Carty gave in.
Bonnie leaned in toward Carty's face. "I promise I'll make it up in there, baby," she said in a seductive whisper. Sweetening the deal, Bonnie guided Carty's hand all against her breasts. "I promise."
Carty didn't have a chance. She felt on one of those double-Ds, immense pleasure coursing through Carty's veins. She cracked a smirk. "Goddammit, Bonnie..."
Chuckling, Bonnie pulled her toward the door. "Come on."
Carty pointed the camera at Bonnie as Bonnie grabbed the knob once more. "Take two," Carty joked.
Turning, Bonnie smiled for the camera. "Paranormal Fornication, motherfuckers."
With dramatic emphasis, Bonnie turned the old doorknob and let the door swing into the house with a grueling creak.
The open doorway now lied before Carty and Bonnie. The dark farmhouse was beckoning them to enter. Paranormal Fornication must go on! it seemed to scream.
The couple journeyed through the farmhouse's narrow downstairs hallway. The camcorder and Bonnie's small flashlight like torches in uncharted terrain. Behind them, the front door was still wide open, Carty refusing to let Bonnie close it. Carty didn't want that sinking feeling of hearing that door slam shut. It was too definitive… Locked in not just for the night but forever.
Holding her mic and the flashlight, Bonnie led the way, Carty right behind her. Carty did her best to keep up, but Bonnie seemed to glide on that torn carpet. "Slow down," Carty grumbled.
"I am," Bonnie retorted. Her eyes were drawn to a doorway on the left at the very end of the hall.
Through the unflinching camera lens, Carty captured the usual array of spooky clichés inside. There were the broken counters and bookshelves. The torn carpets. The literal holes in the walls that reoccurred in patterns on the faded paint. A wooden staircase in the very back that was a poor farmer's attempt to be regal. Even a small door under the staircase that looked to be designed to be a small child's hiding place. The small door aged yet functional.
But it wasn't these scary attributes that bothered Carty. It was how the house somehow appeared... clean. There weren't any spiderwebs or rodents. No dirt, cigarette butts, beer bottles, or any of the other types of debris the duo saw in all their other explorations. The inside of the Crane home was in decent condition. As if someone had been in there and tried to straighten the place up as much as they could. And to Carty's horror, she thought maybe someone had.
"Hello?" Bonnie asked aloud, her voice echoing down the hallway.
Carty glared at her. "Bonnie, shut up!"
Ignoring Carty, Bonnie went closer and closer to the doorway. "Is there anybody home?" she said, her voice seemingly louder.
Carty could only groan in dismay.
But there was no reply. No answers from the Crane house.
Still following Bonnie, Carty looked toward the stairway. Darkness awaited whoever dared walk up those steps. Or whoever could make it up those steps. Several of them were dilapidated, even moreso than the porch steps. The stairway's crooked railing wouldn't offer much support either.
Uneasy, Carty saw the small door under the staircase was open just a crack. No one appeared to be inside it nor were there any lights on inside. It had to be a closet and a small one at that, Carty figured. Not a bad spot for hide and seek...
Bonnie snatched Carty's arm, scaring the shit out of her.
"Jesus!" Carty yelled at Bonnie.
Shushing Carty, Bonnie stopped them just a foot away from the doorway. "Do you hear that?" Bonnie asked.
"What?"
Bonnie clenched tighter to Carty's shoulder. "Just listen," Bonnie said. She waved her microphone toward the doorway. "It's coming from there."
Carty looked toward the doorway.
And there it was. A soft crackle and pop. It sounded soothing. It sounded like Christmas. And then Carty realized it felt like Christmas as well. The dank house felt a little toasty.
"Did you hear that?" Bonnie asked.
"Yeah."
Another pop echoed toward the couple.
They looked on at the doorway and saw a faint orange glow radiating from inside the room.
Bonnie pointed at the light, excited. "Look at it!"
Carty stared at the doorway, her fear the exact opposite of Bonnie's enthusiasm. The crackling continued as a soundtrack to the faint glow. Stunned, Carty realized it was a burning fireplace. "Bonnie-" Carty began.
Bonnie grabbed Carty's hand. "Come on!"
Carty was no match for Bonnie's powerful pull. "But wait-" Carty tried to say.
"Just keep filming!"
Bonnie led Carty into the mysterious room.
Through Bonnie's small light and the weak flickers of the fireplace, Carty could make out they were in a spacious room.
Bonnie stopped in the middle of the room, fascinated. "Are you getting this?" asked Bonnie, her eyes gazing all around the living room.
Staying as close to Bonnie as possible, Carty scanned the room with her camera.
It was definitely the farmhouse's living room, but not one from the twenty-first century. There was no T.V. and seemingly no electricity. No family photos or portraits. No decorations at all. And not much furniture aside from a couple of wooden shelves.
"When'd that murder happen again?" Carty asked.
Still shining her flashlight around the room, Bonnie didn't even look at Carty. "I don't know, like maybe thirty years ago?"
Carty saw a tombstone radio standing near the fireplace. An open doorway was about ten feet away from the radio, this one leading into yet another dark room.
Leaning in closer for a better look, Carty could tell this room had a large wooden table. It must've been the kitchenOr what was left of it.
For all the lack of amenities in the living room, at least the antique radio was an impressive if outdated source of entertainment. The fireplace was similarly grandiose.
But thirty years ago, Carty wondered. Didn't the eighties at least have MTV? What were these bitches doing?
"It seems older," Carty said. She pointed the camera toward a raggedy couch that stood by the fireplace and radio. "Looks older."
"Yeah, well it was like 1982, 1983," Bonnie said. She thought she saw something on a corner wall across the room. Bonnie shined her light toward it and squinted her eyes, trying to see what was there.
"1983?" Carty asked. Her amusement shifted toward fear after she focused on the fireplace. So much wood was piled up in there... wood that had been consumed over a longer period of time. "Shit..."
Bonnie could tell the corner wall had large letters drawn on them. "What the Hell is that?" Bonnie wondered aloud.
"What?" Carty asked.
Intrigued, Bonnie stepped closer toward the letters.
Clinging to the camera for her security, Carty followed Bonnie to the spot. "Bonnie, wait!"
Bonnie stopped and stared at the wall, stunned yet awestruck by her new "discovery." "Oh fuck..."
"What is it!" Carty said as she stopped next to her.
Spraypainted letters splattered across the wall. Vile graffiti. The words had been rotting there a long time, practically implanted into the farmhouse's walls at this point. And the words all shared the same color: blood red paint.
Nasty phrases and slurs made up the collection: Bitch! The Crane Cunt! Bette The Psycho Bitch! Murderer! Cocksucker Crane!
Uneasy, Carty filmed the sight in all its vicious glory. She moved the camera around, even seeing how the graffiti carried over onto the other walls. The endless profanities and insults were all a big billboard brought to you by Stanwyck's resident assholes as a commemorative FUCK YOU to Bette Crane.
Carty stared at the entire scene in horror. This was further indication that this secluded farmhouse truly was home to something horrific. Something so traumatic and disturbing that to this day, the citizens of Stanwyck still felt the need to make this vengeance-fueled pilgrimage.
But to Bonnie, the graffiti was further proof that the couple had come to the right spot.
"Shit!" Carty said. She looked over at Bonnie. "We can't stay here."
With the excited eagerness of a kid about to catch a foul ball in the stands, Bonnie reached out toward "Bette The Psycho Bitch."
"Bonnie!" Carty yelled in outrage. She grabbed Bonnie's arm, stopping her.
Bonnie faced her, annoyed. "Carty, what the fuck!"
"What the fuck are you doing!"
Scoffing, Bonnie waved the mic toward the wall. "See for yourself!"
"No!" Carty said. "Someone's been here, Bonnie. And they might still be here."
"It's just a fire-"
"Just a fucking fire!" Ready to leave, a pissed-off Carty headed straight for the hallway.
"Carty!" Bonnie snagged Carty's arm, making Carty face her. "Look at me! This house is empty!" Using the mic, she motioned toward the fireplace. "Whoever did this shit's probably gone anyway."
"Probably!" Carty replied, incredulous.
Desperate to comfort Carty, Bonnie caressed her shoulders. "Hey, whoever it is is more scared of us than we are of them," Bonnie went on. She ran her finger against Carty's smooth cheek. "They're gone, Carty. And they ain't coming back."
"I don't know," Carty said. Still uneasy, Carty looked toward the fireplace.
"Look, Carty, this is what we do. Even when shit gets weird and scary." Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's arm. "We can't stop now."
Carty faced her. "But the fire. This isn't-"
Adamant, Bonnie stepped away from Carty. "They probably left when they heard us pull up! Just think about it, Carty."
"I don't know..."
Proving her point, Bonnie shined her flashlight all around the living room. "Hello!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, bitches!"
"Bonnie!"
"Come out, motherfucker!" Bonnie went on.
No answer was heard. Just the consistent crackle of the crisp fire.
The lack of a response was helping Carty ease up. Much to Bonnie's delight.
"We don't bite!" Bonnie said. She gave Carty a flirtatious smile. "Well. Maybe I do."
Carty chuckled and shook her head.
The whole house seemed silent except for the fire. And the couple's soft laughter.
"See," Bonnie said as she grabbed a hold of Carty's hand. "It's nothing."
"But why here?" Carty asked. "Why can't we just go somewhere else?"
"Look, just think about it, alright," Bonnie said in a gentle tone. "This is gonna be so big, Carty." She waved the flashlight around the living room. "I mean just look at this place! A creepy fucking Texas Chainsaw house, and we discover the fireplace, the graffiti! The damn rocking chairs."
Carty didn't argue. She knew she couldn't due to a combination of Bonnie making sense and being too stubborn to turn back now.
Bonnie caressed Carty's face. "Think of the hits, baby," Bonnie went on. "All the ads we'll get on the site."
Debating the idea, Carty looked off toward the bright fireplace.
"We'll make so much money, boo," Bonnie said. “We'll have enough to do the Lady Macbeth piece."
Carty faced Bonnie, allured by the prospect of doing their dream project. Just the sheer mention of it got Carty's attention.
Displaying a warm smile, Bonnie rubbed Carty's shoulder. "Like we always planned. We'll do real movies from now on, no more creeper sex shit."
"You promise this is the last one?" Carty asked, her voice begging for a yes.
"Yes!" the excited Bonnie said.
"Okay..." Carty relented.
"Thank you!"
"Let's do this."
Bonnie gave Carty a quick kiss. "I love you, baby," Bonnie said.
"I love you too."
"This is gonna be so perfect," Bonnie said. She stepped away from Carty and focused her attention on the corner wall graffiti. "Fucking crazy."
Carty followed Bonnie's gaze toward the gratuitous graffiti. All those vile words were more than just your average juvenile's bullshit. The phrases looked embroidered with emotion. Sculpted from pure disgust and hate.
Thinking about the creepy stairway, Carty looked back toward the hallway. She couldn't help but wonder if their squatter was hiding upstairs rather than in the woods. "This still feels weird," Carty commented.
Bonnie faced her. "Why, babe?"
Nervous, Carty hesitated on how to answer. "I don't know. It's like someone's watching."
Bonnie stepped right in front of Carty, not even attempting to make her sexual tease more nuanced. "Someone's always watching."
Carty grinned.
Thirty minutes later, Bonnie and Carty's film shoot was going hot and heavy. Steamy, sexy, scintillating. Words you usually wouldn't associate with a "haunted house." But then again, this was Paranormal Fornication.
Sprawled out on the couch, the naked duo engaged in passionate and exuberant sex.
Bonnie and Carty's lovemaking was certainly chock-full of genuine pleasure. Their emotions, the moaning, and the undeniable chemistry between the two were well on display. But their exploitative positions and cloying mannerisms proved that they knew how to put on a show.
The warm fire bathed the couple in a glorious light. Their clothes stacked up in neat piles right by the sofa.
Sitting on top of the tombstone radio, the camcorder filmed the couple's erotica with the detachment of an asexual filmmaker.
Leaning back on the sofa, Carty moaned in pleasure.
All the while, Bonnie continued going down on her partner. The pace was frenetic but Bonnie was gentle. She knew all the right spots. And Carty wasn't complaining.
Carty wrapped her hands around Bonnie's head. "Ooh, baby," Carty said. She tilted her head back and shut her eyes. Just let Bonnie do her thing, she thought. Stopping her now would be like stopping LeBron from going in hard with a highlight-reel dunk. Sometimes, you just gotta let greatness do its thing.
"You like that?" Bonnie said with dirty talk glee.
"Yes, baby!" Carty moaned. She opened her eyes just to steal a look over at the camera. A quick glance for their audience.
With rough quickness, Bonnie started to flip Carty over.
"What are you doing?" Carty whispered.
"I gotta get that ass, mamacita," Bonnie replied.
Glaring, Carty stopped Bonnie. "Just hold on!"
"Carty, the camera-"
"I don't give a shit about them!" Carty grumbled as she turned on her stomach. "Just be more gentle next time."
"Okay," Bonnie sighed. Back in porn mode, she caressed Carty's round booty. "That ass, mamacita!" she exclaimed.
Carty cringed at Bonnie's forced delivery. These glorified butt scenes were a little much, she thought. Maybe I should let out a fart to really shake things up.
"That booty though..." Bonnie continued. She gave Carty a quick (and literal) kiss on the ass.
"God..." Carty mumbled. This wasn't the Bonnie she liked.
Bonnie felt along Carty's butt, cradling it for all the camera to see. It was an impressive booty for sure. Fake as Hell, but that certainly didn't bother Bonnie nor the Paranormal Fornication faithful.
"I gotta see that ass in reverse, girl," Bonnie said in a most oversexualized manner. If this was the extent of her acting abilities, her Lady Macbeth performances must've been a fucking disaster.
"Ooh, you want it, baby," Carty responded, disinterested. She wiggled her ass with the enthusiasm of a jaded stripper on her last day at work.
Bonnie smacked Carty on the ass, making that booty jiggle for the camera.
"Ooh, harder, baby," Carty said in a more seductive tone, making sure her voice was loud for the camera.
"That's my girl," Bonnie beamed.
Bonnie's next smack on Carty's butt was quick and gentle. A love tap Carty enjoyed.
Smiling, Carty looked back at Bonnie. "Mmm, keep going, sexy..."
Bonnie crouched down toward Carty's smooth bubble butt. "With pleasure..."
Bracing for more ass worship, Carty looked toward the hallway. She was surprised at how aroused she was getting in such a creepy place... Bonnie's kisses along her ass were actually feeling really nice. Hell, this was Bonnie's best "performance" since the Hiers farm in Alabama, Carty realized.
"God, you're perfect," Bonnie said.
Carty grinned. She knew that wasn't Bonnie the actress talking, but Bonnie the girlfriend. Not that it was hard to differentiate since Bonnie was a shitty actress.
Carty enjoyed the touch of Bonnie's soft hands running along her lower back and perky butt. The gentle kisses. Maybe we need to keep this episode for ourselves.
A soft, hushed singing drifted toward Carty's ears, piercing through her pleasure. The song's words were murky and unclear, the voice similarly vague. The singer could've been a boy or a girl. But whoever it was didn't seem to be want to be heard. Not yet at least...
Alarmed, Carty looked on at the hallway. The singing appeared to be coming from near the staircase. "What the Hell..." she muttered.
A set of teeth sunk into Carty's juicy ass, startling Carty. The bite was a vampire's wet dream, but Carty knew it wasn't no vampire. "Shit, Bonnie!" Carty fumed as she confronted her girlfriend.
Bonnie leaned back, confused. "What?"
"Did you hear that!"
The haunting singing continued, pulling Carty's attention back toward the hallway.
"I don't hear shit." Bonnie responded.
Carty pointed her toward the stairs. "It's coming from in there!"
Alert, both women listened out for the singing. Even as the words stayed jumbled, the voice had gotten louder. The singer would've never made it on American Idol, but it had a pretty meekness to it. An innocent child’s charm. The voice sounded too deep for a girl... but such vulnerability seemed more fitting for a melancholy teenage female singing herself to sleep.
Bonnie finally heard it. All the confidence drained from her face. For once, she looked rattled by the pair's paranormal excursions. "Shit..."
Carty glared at her. "I told you this was a bad idea!"
The singing kept on repeating the same tune. The same melody. The same scrambled words. The whole production a loop of insanity, albeit, a pretty loop.
"We shouldn't have ever come here!" Carty went on.
Lost in thought, Bonnie turned and looked over at the camcorder. The camera stared right back at her, taunting her with its mere presence. The show must go on...
"Let's fucking go!" Carty pleaded to Bonnie. With uneasy eyes, she looked over at the downstairs hallway.
The singing stayed on a steady path of instability. The words never clear, the mysterious voice wobbling between lovely and stilted.
"Shit..." Carty muttered. She turned and saw Bonnie get off the couch. "Bonnie!"
Bonnie threw on her clothes.
Ready to get the fuck outta there, Carty stood up and did the same. She saw Bonnie grab the camera.
"Are we going?" Carty asked with impatience. She pulled her tight shirt over her head. Both women were now dressed. Easily the fastest either of them had ever put their clothes back on.
Bonnie gave Carty a quick kiss for reassurance. "I'm just gonna go look."
Carty pushed Bonnie back. "Are you crazy!"
"Carty, it's just for the site," Bonnie said. "We're just gonna look real quick and see what it is."
"Oh God," Carty said. Terrified, she turned away. She could still hear the singing. That fucking voice.
Bonnie retrieved the flashlight from her pocket. "Just follow me, alright," she told Carty.
Carty took an angry step toward her. "No-"
"Then what do you want us to do!" Bonnie interrupted. "The door's that way, Carty."
The repetitious singing went on in its hypnotic loop. Now the voice was even louder, begging for an audience.
Groaning, the scared Carty looked off toward the fireplace.
Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's shoulder. "Think of the show, babe," Bonnie said in a gentle tone. "Think of us."
Carty confronted her. "I am!" Carty yelled. "But this is crazy, Bonnie." Her trembling hand pointed toward the fireplace. "Whoever's here made the Goddamn fire!"
Forcing a smile, Bonnie turned on the flashlight and put it up under her face in a playful manner. "Then let's just hope it's a ghost."
Bonnie showed equal parts bravery and stupidity as she took off for the downstairs hallway. Toward the singer's lair..
"Shit, Bonnie!" Carty yelled after her. Left alone in frustration, Carty looked down and saw the mic lying on the ground. Desperate, she snatched it up.
Link To Part 2
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2020.06.08 17:38 unknownhorrorwriter2 Old lady voyeur

The Crane house was just ordinary, abandoned trash. Boring even. The house was a two-story farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Miles of woods surrounded it. Needless to say, there weren't any neighbors for miles either. The house's mailbox stood tall, wearing its abundance of rust for a paint job. Rather than a paved driveway, a long stretch of faded dirt ran through the house's tall grass and weeds, all the way up to the decrepit front porch.
The clear country sky illuminated the home in a vivid light. The house a beacon that only drew local paranormal enthusiasts and juvenile delinquents looking for cheap thrills in the small town of Stanwyck, Georgia. Even if you didn't believe in ghosts, the Crane house certainly did look the part.
The once-pretty country home looked to have gone uninhabited for decades. Crooked shutters guarded the large cracked windows. Busted wooden steps led up to the house's creaky front porch. The home's bricks all faded with age.
An archaic lantern hung on the porch, its glass case long shattered. The rocking chairs were at least functional if you could look past the layers of thick cobwebs wrapped all around them.
Given the house's many deficiencies and its hopeless place in the open market, the hot Georgia night brought a huge surprise when a pristine and shiny new convertible zoomed down the long dirt driveway.
Appearing with the sudden quickness of a mirage, the car's tires scattered dust everywhere. The convertible's top was down, the occupants inside blasting loud and obnoxious pop music.
The car came to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from the porch. As the rag top started coming back down, the music and lights were shut off. After the doors swung open, jovial laughter echoed through the night.
Out stepped two beautiful young women. Bonnie Campbell and Carty Elizabeth, both of them in their late-20s and both of them ultra-attractive. A gay couple just as clever as they were sensual. These weren't the nerdy ghost enthusiasts, the Stanwyck High dropouts, or any of the other typical yokel explorers. This was a couple straight out of a Beverly Hills photo shoot.
Bonnie was a tall and streetwise Latina. Fit enough to be a supermodel, but too anti-establishment for that kinda shit. Everything about her was rebellious. From her hairstyle all the way to her attire. But instead of being scary or intimidating, the aggressive swagger was hot thanks in part to her pretty face.... a fact Bonnie was well aware of.
On the other hand, Carty was less confrontational in both her personality and style. While Bonnie gladly wore the "Butch" persona, Carty was the feminine "girly-girl" of the pair. But like Bonnie, Carty didn't take much shit either. After all, these ladies were entrepreneurs. Bonnie was holding a wireless mic and Carty a camcorder for a reason. They knew how to exploit what God gave them.
The couple stopped and looked on at the derelict house, both of them awestruck for different reasons. Bonnie with excitement, Carty with more than a little unease.
"Fuck, it's gorgeous," Bonnie said. "Absolutely perfect..."
Carty gave her a weird look. "Gorgeous?"
"You know what I mean." Bonnie grabbed a hold of Carty's hand and led her up to the front porch. "Come on. Let's explore."
With big frightened eyes, Carty looked on at the imposing farmhouse as they got closer and closer to the porch's battered wooden steps. It was a country home from Hell, she thought. A cross between a Cracker Barrel and Amityville.
Like a playful older sibling, Bonnie leaned in toward Carty. "Creepy..." she teased Carty in her best horror-host voice.
Carty pushed Bonnie away from her, annoyed. "Fuck you!"
"Aww, you scared, hon?" Bonnie replied.
"Who wouldn't be?" Carty said. She stole a glance back at their car.
"I've seen worse." Bonnie noticed Carty hadn't even turned on the camcorder yet. Outraged, Bonnie stopped and snatched Carty's arm. "Carty, what the Hell are you doing!"
Carty yanked her arm away from Bonnie's grasp. "What!"
Bonnie waved at the camcorder. "The camera, girl!"
Groaning, Carty turned it on.
"Establishing shots, hello," Bonnie reiterated.
"Here's your damn establishing shot," Carty responded. Agitated, she pointed the camera at Bonnie. "Scene one, enter the bitch Bonnie."
Bonnie cracked up.
Still pissy, Carty lowered the camera. "It's your idea to come here in the first place."
"Man, this ain't even that scary!" Bonnie protested. "That old motel in Decatur was way freakier."
Carty went silent and looked on at the house. Technically, Bonnie was right. This place was no different than your average abandoned shack... but something about it felt different. Maybe they’d gone too far off the beaten path of local haunts. After all, there wasn't a whole lot about the Crane house on-line.
"Shit, the graveyard in Bainbridge," Bonnie went on. "I still have those ant bites on my ass."
Carty chuckled. "Well," she began as she stole a glance at Bonnie's shapely booty. "It still looks pretty nice."
Bonnie admired her own ass. "I think they made it bigger."
"Still not as big as mine," Carty quipped.
"Mmm, but I'm getting there," Bonnie replied. She slapped Carty's bubble butt.
Giggling, Carty pointed the camera at the house. "How'd you find this place anyway?" She looked on at the rocking chairs, both of them mummified in cobwebs.
"You know, just the interwebs," Bonnie said.
"Reddit?"
"Pretty much," Bonnie replied with a smile. She faced Carty and ran her hand along Carty's arm. "Let's go."
Still uneasy, Carty looked at her.
Sensing Carty's unease, Bonnie leaned in closer. For once, Bonnie pushed the camcorder away, giving them a sense of privacy.
The couple shared a sweet kiss. One not for the cameras but for themselves. Its potency certainly did the trick for Carty. She felt all of Bonnie's love for her in that one pleasant embrace.
They smiled at one another. Playing teenage lovers in this magic moment.
"You ready?" Bonnie asked mischievously.
Grinning, Carty looked over at the farmhouse. Either the house wasn't that scary to begin with or the drug that was Bonnie's kiss really had calmed my nerves, Carty thought. "Sure," Carty said.
Bonnie pulled Carty in closer to her as they approached the porch's first step. "I got what I could for the legend."
Carty aimed the camera at the house, getting the "establishing shots." "Any of it true?" she asked Bonnie.
Stopping them in front of the porch stairs, Bonnie turned and grinned at Carty. "True enough."
"Okay," Carty said. Using the camera, she motioned Bonnie toward the porch. "You want the honors?"
In a confident stride, Bonnie stepped up in front of the camera. "Absolutely." She glanced back, making sure the house could be seen behind her for a foreboding backdrop.
Carty pointed the camera right at Bonnie. A steady grip. "Awesome," Carty congratulated herself.
Facing Carty, Bonnie fixed her shirt. Now it showed off her boobs even more than she realized was possible. She straightened her hair quickly for good measure. Her and Carty knew they had to look good on camera. Even when they were trespassing onto creepy private property.
"You ready?" Carty asked Bonnie.
For a final test, Bonnie raised the mic and gave it one firm hit. Ready to go. "Yeah, roll it," Bonnie said.
Eager, Carty flashed her a thumbs up.
Bonnie paused for a moment, letting the camera capture her in all her candid glory: pretty face, a stern yet commanding expression, and some really big breasts. In the staunch darkness and with the terrifying house lurking behind her, Bonnie had the aura of a Playboy-sponsored horror show host. A more sexualized Elvira. Just what Carty knew Bonnie was going for.
"Welcome back, voyeurs," Bonnie said in a ghoulishly campy voice. She squeezed her big boobs together in sexy, obnoxious fashion. "Tonight, your two favorite sexy starlets are taking their well-endowed talents to the sleepy little town of Stanwyck, Georgia. Home of the infamous Crane house."
Struggling to contain her laughter, Carty took a few steps back, capturing a wider shot of the house.
God, Bonnie was really hamming it up tonight, Carty thought. Bonnie's silliness could turn any of these eerie locations into both a literal and figurative playhouse for us.
Bonnie looked right into the camera, being as serious as her "acting" would allow. "Thirty years ago, at this very house, sexy, carefree housewife Bette Crane flipped out on her stud farmer husband." With the dedication of a terrible actress gunning for an Oscar, Bonnie took a step closer toward the camera. What should've been porn-level lighting actually gave Bonnie an otherworldly quality in the country night. "Bette took a frying pan, the very thing she'd used to make Farmer Studbucket's scrambled eggs for him that morning and then turned it into a vicious weapon!"
"Oh God..." Carty muttered through a smirk.
"Bette Crane savagely beat her husband with that frying pan until his face was mushier and more splattered than the greasiest eggs she'd ever cooked," Bonnie continued. "But the housewife wasn't through. After beating her husband to death, Bette took the biggest butcher knife she could find."
Holding the camcorder with the steadiness of a veteran Hollywood filmmaker, Carty stopped right in front of Bonnie for a closer shot of the host.
"And she walked over to her husband's bludgeoned body," Bonnie went on. "And plunged the knife straight into her forehead!" Toning down the theatrics, Bonnie locked eyes with the camera. One on one with her audience. "Ever since the murder, people believe the Crane house is haunted by evil spirits."
Bonnie pointed toward the farmhouse, as if she were emulating a horror tour guide rather than a horror host. "Stanwyck residents have reported many ghost sightings and paranormal incidents over the years," Bonnie said. "Objects seen flying around, weird noises being heard, even what is believed to be the ghost of Bette Crane still walking around with her bloody frying pan." Bonnie paused for dramatic effect. "So now," she began. Still keeping her serious demeanor, Bonnie took a step closer toward the camera. "We've arrived not to investigate the Crane house." Bonnie's stray hand moved down toward her breasts. "But for the house to investigate us."
Faster than a Mardi Gras veteran, Bonnie stuck out her tongue and flashed the camera with those glorious breasts. "This is Paranormal Fornication, bitches!" she shouted with glee.
Carty burst out laughing as she lowered the camera.
Bonnie lowered her shirt. "You got it?" she asked.
Still laughing, Carty lowered the camera. "Yeah, for sure."
Bonnie stepped toward Carty. "How was I?" she asked, fully expecting Carty's enthusiastic response.
Carty wrapped her arms around Bonnie. "Magnificent, babe!"
Flattered, Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's back. "Mmm, thank you, boo," Bonnie said.
The couple locked lips once more. A gentle kiss that was much more tender than any of their on-screen ones.
"Alright," Bonnie started. She led them toward the stairs. In director mode, she motioned around the porch. "Try to get a few shots of us going in."
At her command, Carty aimed the camcorder at the house. "Roger that, Bon."
Looking through the lens, Carty thought their walk up to the front door was being filmed like the climactic scene to The Blair Witch Project. A slow trek to a foreboding entrance. It looked great on camera. Maybe we can shoot a real horror film someday.
Bonnie slapped Carty's juicy ass, snapping Carty out of her post-pornographic aspirations.
"Ooh, baby!" Carty exclaimed with a startled smile.
"Just keep filming, babe," Bonnie said.
"I know," Carty said as they made their way up the rickety steps. If it weren't for their model physiques, Carty questioned whether these creaking stairs could even hold them.
Breaking away from Carty, Bonnie strolled up onto the front porch, reveling in this conglomeration of country decay.
"Bonnie!" Carty said with unease. Even just a few feet away, Carty thought the distance between them may as well have been a hundred feet considering the eerie circumstances.
Unconcerned, Bonnie gazed around at the house's offerings. The rocking chairs. The busted windows. Even the harsh graffiti scribbled on the aged wood. This house had it all. "God, just look at it!" Bonnie said. The wooden floor kept creaking and giving in but she didn't care one bit. "What a fucking spot!"
"Yeah..." the nervous Carty said as she stopped next to Bonnie. While filming, Carty kept clinging to the camera. Both as a source of light and as a potential weapon. "Fucking weird..."
Reaching out, Bonnie touched a rocking chair and made contact with all the sticky cobwebs. Bonnie drew her hand back, but the icky texture seemed to give her a thrill rather than sicken her. She watched the chair rock back-and-forth in a slow rhythm. The chair's loud creaking formed a hypnotic tune.
Concerned, Carty snatched Bonnie's arm and pulled her away from it. "What are you doing!" Carty yelled.
Chuckling, Bonnie faced her. "What? I just wanted to see-"
Carty stepped back. "Oh my God, you touched it!"
Trying to calm Carty, Bonnie held her hands up in a facetious manner. "Hey, look, nothing got on me."
"Whatever!" Carty backed away and stumbled into a dangling cobweb. Crying out, she rushed back toward Bonnie. "Fuck!"
Bonnie grabbed Carty's shoulder. "Babe, just chill-"
"No!" Carty yelled back at her.
Bonnie motioned toward the rocking chair, highlighting its continuous melody of creaks. "Look, we should be filming the shit!"
At its height of rocking, the chair went completely still. The spiders stopping with it.
"Holy shit!" Bonnie exclaimed.
Nervous, Carty focused her camera on the chairs. "Okay, that was creepy."
"Shit, let's get this party started!" Bonnie said. She stepped toward the front door.
Carty looked at her real quick. "Bonnie!"
Before Carty could stop her, Bonnie snagged the rusty doorknob. She flashed Carty a smile. "Be sure to get this."
Carty pointed the camera at Bonnie.
"You ready?" Bonnie asked.
Carty gave her an apprehensive nod. "Yeah."
"Okay," Bonnie said. "Into the Crane house we go." She started to turn the loose doorknob when an incessant noise startled her and Carty.
"Shit!" Carty yelled as the couple whirled around.
They saw both rocking chairs now swinging in unison. Beneath the weight of age and the cobwebs, these rocking chairs were going harder and faster than seemed possible. Their consistent creaks a countrified chorus.
All the while, Carty kept filming the eerie event. "Oh my God..." she said in fear.
"Shit, this is amazing!" Bonnie exclaimed. She staggered up toward the chairs.
Carty snatched her shoulder, the tight grip ensuring Bonnie wasn't straying too far. "No, don't leave me!"
The rocking chairs came to a sudden stop. Either a slight breeze had gone away or the spiders had used their collective force once more... or the Crane house's spirits had moved on.
Somewhat disappointed, Bonnie pointed at the chairs. "See, it's nothing," she said to soothe Carty. She caressed Carty's shoulder. "We're gonna be fine."
"I don't know," Carty said. She lowered the camera. "I've got a weird feeling about this place."
Bonnie gave her a playful smile. "You get a weird feeling about everywhere."
"Yeah, but not like this..."
"Well, I'm here," Bonnie replied. She leaned in closer toward Carty's lips. "And I'll protect you."
Reassured as always by Bonnie, a grin cracked through Carty's nerves. "You better."
"You know I will." Bonnie gave Carty a soft kiss on the lips.
Carty liked it.
But right before Carty could expect more, Bonnie nodded at the camera. "You got all that shit, right?"
"Uh, yeah," Carty said.
Back to business, Bonnie looked back at the door. "Awesome."
"God, we're not still going in there, are we?" Carty said.
Bonnie faced her. "Why not?"
Upset, Carty motioned toward the chairs. "Not after all that shit!"
Bonnie grabbed Carty's wrist in a gentle grip. "Carty, please. Can we just go inside?"
The silent Carty just looked at Bonnie. Bonnie's pretty face and persuasive brown eyes were such an irresistible combination when Bonnie really wanted to do something. Especially when it came to Bonnie's passion for the paranormal.
"This is what we do," Bonnie went on. "Our scary shit." With a sly and seductive touch, she pulled Carty in closer toward her. "Look, I'll make it up to you, baby. I promise. But let's do this first, okay."
How can I say no, Carty thought. Bonnie was rather tough anyway... certainly, braver than me. She was so cute this excited. She always was. "Okay," Carty gave in.
Bonnie leaned in toward Carty's face. "I promise I'll make it up in there, baby," she said in a seductive whisper. Sweetening the deal, Bonnie guided Carty's hand all against her breasts. "I promise."
Carty didn't have a chance. She felt on one of those double-Ds, immense pleasure coursing through Carty's veins. She cracked a smirk. "Goddammit, Bonnie..."
Chuckling, Bonnie pulled her toward the door. "Come on."
Carty pointed the camera at Bonnie as Bonnie grabbed the knob once more. "Take two," Carty joked.
Turning, Bonnie smiled for the camera. "Paranormal Fornication, motherfuckers."
With dramatic emphasis, Bonnie turned the old doorknob and let the door swing into the house with a grueling creak.
The open doorway now lied before Carty and Bonnie. The dark farmhouse was beckoning them to enter. Paranormal Fornication must go on! it seemed to scream.
The couple journeyed through the farmhouse's narrow downstairs hallway. The camcorder and Bonnie's small flashlight like torches in uncharted terrain. Behind them, the front door was still wide open, Carty refusing to let Bonnie close it. Carty didn't want that sinking feeling of hearing that door slam shut. It was too definitive… Locked in not just for the night but forever.
Holding her mic and the flashlight, Bonnie led the way, Carty right behind her. Carty did her best to keep up, but Bonnie seemed to glide on that torn carpet. "Slow down," Carty grumbled.
"I am," Bonnie retorted. Her eyes were drawn to a doorway on the left at the very end of the hall.
Through the unflinching camera lens, Carty captured the usual array of spooky clichés inside. There were the broken counters and bookshelves. The torn carpets. The literal holes in the walls that reoccurred in patterns on the faded paint. A wooden staircase in the very back that was a poor farmer's attempt to be regal. Even a small door under the staircase that looked to be designed to be a small child's hiding place. The small door aged yet functional.
But it wasn't these scary attributes that bothered Carty. It was how the house somehow appeared... clean. There weren't any spiderwebs or rodents. No dirt, cigarette butts, beer bottles, or any of the other types of debris the duo saw in all their other explorations. The inside of the Crane home was in decent condition. As if someone had been in there and tried to straighten the place up as much as they could. And to Carty's horror, she thought maybe someone had.
"Hello?" Bonnie asked aloud, her voice echoing down the hallway.
Carty glared at her. "Bonnie, shut up!"
Ignoring Carty, Bonnie went closer and closer to the doorway. "Is there anybody home?" she said, her voice seemingly louder.
Carty could only groan in dismay.
But there was no reply. No answers from the Crane house.
Still following Bonnie, Carty looked toward the stairway. Darkness awaited whoever dared walk up those steps. Or whoever could make it up those steps. Several of them were dilapidated, even moreso than the porch steps. The stairway's crooked railing wouldn't offer much support either.
Uneasy, Carty saw the small door under the staircase was open just a crack. No one appeared to be inside it nor were there any lights on inside. It had to be a closet and a small one at that, Carty figured. Not a bad spot for hide and seek...
Bonnie snatched Carty's arm, scaring the shit out of her.
"Jesus!" Carty yelled at Bonnie.
Shushing Carty, Bonnie stopped them just a foot away from the doorway. "Do you hear that?" Bonnie asked.
"What?"
Bonnie clenched tighter to Carty's shoulder. "Just listen," Bonnie said. She waved her microphone toward the doorway. "It's coming from there."
Carty looked toward the doorway.
And there it was. A soft crackle and pop. It sounded soothing. It sounded like Christmas. And then Carty realized it felt like Christmas as well. The dank house felt a little toasty.
"Did you hear that?" Bonnie asked.
"Yeah."
Another pop echoed toward the couple.
They looked on at the doorway and saw a faint orange glow radiating from inside the room.
Bonnie pointed at the light, excited. "Look at it!"
Carty stared at the doorway, her fear the exact opposite of Bonnie's enthusiasm. The crackling continued as a soundtrack to the faint glow. Stunned, Carty realized it was a burning fireplace. "Bonnie-" Carty began.
Bonnie grabbed Carty's hand. "Come on!"
Carty was no match for Bonnie's powerful pull. "But wait-" Carty tried to say.
"Just keep filming!"
Bonnie led Carty into the mysterious room.
Through Bonnie's small light and the weak flickers of the fireplace, Carty could make out they were in a spacious room.
Bonnie stopped in the middle of the room, fascinated. "Are you getting this?" asked Bonnie, her eyes gazing all around the living room.
Staying as close to Bonnie as possible, Carty scanned the room with her camera.
It was definitely the farmhouse's living room, but not one from the twenty-first century. There was no T.V. and seemingly no electricity. No family photos or portraits. No decorations at all. And not much furniture aside from a couple of wooden shelves.
"When'd that murder happen again?" Carty asked.
Still shining her flashlight around the room, Bonnie didn't even look at Carty. "I don't know, like maybe thirty years ago?"
Carty saw a tombstone radio standing near the fireplace. An open doorway was about ten feet away from the radio, this one leading into yet another dark room.
Leaning in closer for a better look, Carty could tell this room had a large wooden table. It must've been the kitchenOr what was left of it.
For all the lack of amenities in the living room, at least the antique radio was an impressive if outdated source of entertainment. The fireplace was similarly grandiose.
But thirty years ago, Carty wondered. Didn't the eighties at least have MTV? What were these bitches doing?
"It seems older," Carty said. She pointed the camera toward a raggedy couch that stood by the fireplace and radio. "Looks older."
"Yeah, well it was like 1982, 1983," Bonnie said. She thought she saw something on a corner wall across the room. Bonnie shined her light toward it and squinted her eyes, trying to see what was there.
"1983?" Carty asked. Her amusement shifted toward fear after she focused on the fireplace. So much wood was piled up in there... wood that had been consumed over a longer period of time. "Shit..."
Bonnie could tell the corner wall had large letters drawn on them. "What the Hell is that?" Bonnie wondered aloud.
"What?" Carty asked.
Intrigued, Bonnie stepped closer toward the letters.
Clinging to the camera for her security, Carty followed Bonnie to the spot. "Bonnie, wait!"
Bonnie stopped and stared at the wall, stunned yet awestruck by her new "discovery." "Oh fuck..."
"What is it!" Carty said as she stopped next to her.
Spraypainted letters splattered across the wall. Vile graffiti. The words had been rotting there a long time, practically implanted into the farmhouse's walls at this point. And the words all shared the same color: blood red paint.
Nasty phrases and slurs made up the collection: Bitch! The Crane Cunt! Bette The Psycho Bitch! Murderer! Cocksucker Crane!
Uneasy, Carty filmed the sight in all its vicious glory. She moved the camera around, even seeing how the graffiti carried over onto the other walls. The endless profanities and insults were all a big billboard brought to you by Stanwyck's resident assholes as a commemorative FUCK YOU to Bette Crane.
Carty stared at the entire scene in horror. This was further indication that this secluded farmhouse truly was home to something horrific. Something so traumatic and disturbing that to this day, the citizens of Stanwyck still felt the need to make this vengeance-fueled pilgrimage.
But to Bonnie, the graffiti was further proof that the couple had come to the right spot.
"Shit!" Carty said. She looked over at Bonnie. "We can't stay here."
With the excited eagerness of a kid about to catch a foul ball in the stands, Bonnie reached out toward "Bette The Psycho Bitch."
"Bonnie!" Carty yelled in outrage. She grabbed Bonnie's arm, stopping her.
Bonnie faced her, annoyed. "Carty, what the fuck!"
"What the fuck are you doing!"
Scoffing, Bonnie waved the mic toward the wall. "See for yourself!"
"No!" Carty said. "Someone's been here, Bonnie. And they might still be here."
"It's just a fire-"
"Just a fucking fire!" Ready to leave, a pissed-off Carty headed straight for the hallway.
"Carty!" Bonnie snagged Carty's arm, making Carty face her. "Look at me! This house is empty!" Using the mic, she motioned toward the fireplace. "Whoever did this shit's probably gone anyway."
"Probably!" Carty replied, incredulous.
Desperate to comfort Carty, Bonnie caressed her shoulders. "Hey, whoever it is is more scared of us than we are of them," Bonnie went on. She ran her finger against Carty's smooth cheek. "They're gone, Carty. And they ain't coming back."
"I don't know," Carty said. Still uneasy, Carty looked toward the fireplace.
"Look, Carty, this is what we do. Even when shit gets weird and scary." Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's arm. "We can't stop now."
Carty faced her. "But the fire. This isn't-"
Adamant, Bonnie stepped away from Carty. "They probably left when they heard us pull up! Just think about it, Carty."
"I don't know..."
Proving her point, Bonnie shined her flashlight all around the living room. "Hello!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, bitches!"
"Bonnie!"
"Come out, motherfucker!" Bonnie went on.
No answer was heard. Just the consistent crackle of the crisp fire.
The lack of a response was helping Carty ease up. Much to Bonnie's delight.
"We don't bite!" Bonnie said. She gave Carty a flirtatious smile. "Well. Maybe I do."
Carty chuckled and shook her head.
The whole house seemed silent except for the fire. And the couple's soft laughter.
"See," Bonnie said as she grabbed a hold of Carty's hand. "It's nothing."
"But why here?" Carty asked. "Why can't we just go somewhere else?"
"Look, just think about it, alright," Bonnie said in a gentle tone. "This is gonna be so big, Carty." She waved the flashlight around the living room. "I mean just look at this place! A creepy fucking Texas Chainsaw house, and we discover the fireplace, the graffiti! The damn rocking chairs."
Carty didn't argue. She knew she couldn't due to a combination of Bonnie making sense and being too stubborn to turn back now.
Bonnie caressed Carty's face. "Think of the hits, baby," Bonnie went on. "All the ads we'll get on the site."
Debating the idea, Carty looked off toward the bright fireplace.
"We'll make so much money, boo," Bonnie said. “We'll have enough to do the Lady Macbeth piece."
Carty faced Bonnie, allured by the prospect of doing their dream project. Just the sheer mention of it got Carty's attention.
Displaying a warm smile, Bonnie rubbed Carty's shoulder. "Like we always planned. We'll do real movies from now on, no more creeper sex shit."
"You promise this is the last one?" Carty asked, her voice begging for a yes.
"Yes!" the excited Bonnie said.
"Okay..." Carty relented.
"Thank you!"
"Let's do this."
Bonnie gave Carty a quick kiss. "I love you, baby," Bonnie said.
"I love you too."
"This is gonna be so perfect," Bonnie said. She stepped away from Carty and focused her attention on the corner wall graffiti. "Fucking crazy."
Carty followed Bonnie's gaze toward the gratuitous graffiti. All those vile words were more than just your average juvenile's bullshit. The phrases looked embroidered with emotion. Sculpted from pure disgust and hate.
Thinking about the creepy stairway, Carty looked back toward the hallway. She couldn't help but wonder if their squatter was hiding upstairs rather than in the woods. "This still feels weird," Carty commented.
Bonnie faced her. "Why, babe?"
Nervous, Carty hesitated on how to answer. "I don't know. It's like someone's watching."
Bonnie stepped right in front of Carty, not even attempting to make her sexual tease more nuanced. "Someone's always watching."
Carty grinned.
Thirty minutes later, Bonnie and Carty's film shoot was going hot and heavy. Steamy, sexy, scintillating. Words you usually wouldn't associate with a "haunted house." But then again, this was Paranormal Fornication.
Sprawled out on the couch, the naked duo engaged in passionate and exuberant sex.
Bonnie and Carty's lovemaking was certainly chock-full of genuine pleasure. Their emotions, the moaning, and the undeniable chemistry between the two were well on display. But their exploitative positions and cloying mannerisms proved that they knew how to put on a show.
The warm fire bathed the couple in a glorious light. Their clothes stacked up in neat piles right by the sofa.
Sitting on top of the tombstone radio, the camcorder filmed the couple's erotica with the detachment of an asexual filmmaker.
Leaning back on the sofa, Carty moaned in pleasure.
All the while, Bonnie continued going down on her partner. The pace was frenetic but Bonnie was gentle. She knew all the right spots. And Carty wasn't complaining.
Carty wrapped her hands around Bonnie's head. "Ooh, baby," Carty said. She tilted her head back and shut her eyes. Just let Bonnie do her thing, she thought. Stopping her now would be like stopping LeBron from going in hard with a highlight-reel dunk. Sometimes, you just gotta let greatness do its thing.
"You like that?" Bonnie said with dirty talk glee.
"Yes, baby!" Carty moaned. She opened her eyes just to steal a look over at the camera. A quick glance for their audience.
With rough quickness, Bonnie started to flip Carty over.
"What are you doing?" Carty whispered.
"I gotta get that ass, mamacita," Bonnie replied.
Glaring, Carty stopped Bonnie. "Just hold on!"
"Carty, the camera-"
"I don't give a shit about them!" Carty grumbled as she turned on her stomach. "Just be more gentle next time."
"Okay," Bonnie sighed. Back in porn mode, she caressed Carty's round booty. "That ass, mamacita!" she exclaimed.
Carty cringed at Bonnie's forced delivery. These glorified butt scenes were a little much, she thought. Maybe I should let out a fart to really shake things up.
"That booty though..." Bonnie continued. She gave Carty a quick (and literal) kiss on the ass.
"God..." Carty mumbled. This wasn't the Bonnie she liked.
Bonnie felt along Carty's butt, cradling it for all the camera to see. It was an impressive booty for sure. Fake as Hell, but that certainly didn't bother Bonnie nor the Paranormal Fornication faithful.
"I gotta see that ass in reverse, girl," Bonnie said in a most oversexualized manner. If this was the extent of her acting abilities, her Lady Macbeth performances must've been a fucking disaster.
"Ooh, you want it, baby," Carty responded, disinterested. She wiggled her ass with the enthusiasm of a jaded stripper on her last day at work.
Bonnie smacked Carty on the ass, making that booty jiggle for the camera.
"Ooh, harder, baby," Carty said in a more seductive tone, making sure her voice was loud for the camera.
"That's my girl," Bonnie beamed.
Bonnie's next smack on Carty's butt was quick and gentle. A love tap Carty enjoyed.
Smiling, Carty looked back at Bonnie. "Mmm, keep going, sexy..."
Bonnie crouched down toward Carty's smooth bubble butt. "With pleasure..."
Bracing for more ass worship, Carty looked toward the hallway. She was surprised at how aroused she was getting in such a creepy place... Bonnie's kisses along her ass were actually feeling really nice. Hell, this was Bonnie's best "performance" since the Hiers farm in Alabama, Carty realized.
"God, you're perfect," Bonnie said.
Carty grinned. She knew that wasn't Bonnie the actress talking, but Bonnie the girlfriend. Not that it was hard to differentiate since Bonnie was a shitty actress.
Carty enjoyed the touch of Bonnie's soft hands running along her lower back and perky butt. The gentle kisses. Maybe we need to keep this episode for ourselves.
A soft, hushed singing drifted toward Carty's ears, piercing through her pleasure. The song's words were murky and unclear, the voice similarly vague. The singer could've been a boy or a girl. But whoever it was didn't seem to be want to be heard. Not yet at least...
Alarmed, Carty looked on at the hallway. The singing appeared to be coming from near the staircase. "What the Hell..." she muttered.
A set of teeth sunk into Carty's juicy ass, startling Carty. The bite was a vampire's wet dream, but Carty knew it wasn't no vampire. "Shit, Bonnie!" Carty fumed as she confronted her girlfriend.
Bonnie leaned back, confused. "What?"
"Did you hear that!"
The haunting singing continued, pulling Carty's attention back toward the hallway.
"I don't hear shit." Bonnie responded.
Carty pointed her toward the stairs. "It's coming from in there!"
Alert, both women listened out for the singing. Even as the words stayed jumbled, the voice had gotten louder. The singer would've never made it on American Idol, but it had a pretty meekness to it. An innocent child’s charm. The voice sounded too deep for a girl... but such vulnerability seemed more fitting for a melancholy teenage female singing herself to sleep.
Bonnie finally heard it. All the confidence drained from her face. For once, she looked rattled by the pair's paranormal excursions. "Shit..."
Carty glared at her. "I told you this was a bad idea!"
The singing kept on repeating the same tune. The same melody. The same scrambled words. The whole production a loop of insanity, albeit, a pretty loop.
"We shouldn't have ever come here!" Carty went on.
Lost in thought, Bonnie turned and looked over at the camcorder. The camera stared right back at her, taunting her with its mere presence. The show must go on...
"Let's fucking go!" Carty pleaded to Bonnie. With uneasy eyes, she looked over at the downstairs hallway.
The singing stayed on a steady path of instability. The words never clear, the mysterious voice wobbling between lovely and stilted.
"Shit..." Carty muttered. She turned and saw Bonnie get off the couch. "Bonnie!"
Bonnie threw on her clothes.
Ready to get the fuck outta there, Carty stood up and did the same. She saw Bonnie grab the camera.
"Are we going?" Carty asked with impatience. She pulled her tight shirt over her head. Both women were now dressed. Easily the fastest either of them had ever put their clothes back on.
Bonnie gave Carty a quick kiss for reassurance. "I'm just gonna go look."
Carty pushed Bonnie back. "Are you crazy!"
"Carty, it's just for the site," Bonnie said. "We're just gonna look real quick and see what it is."
"Oh God," Carty said. Terrified, she turned away. She could still hear the singing. That fucking voice.
Bonnie retrieved the flashlight from her pocket. "Just follow me, alright," she told Carty.
Carty took an angry step toward her. "No-"
"Then what do you want us to do!" Bonnie interrupted. "The door's that way, Carty."
The repetitious singing went on in its hypnotic loop. Now the voice was even louder, begging for an audience.
Groaning, the scared Carty looked off toward the fireplace.
Bonnie ran her hand along Carty's shoulder. "Think of the show, babe," Bonnie said in a gentle tone. "Think of us."
Carty confronted her. "I am!" Carty yelled. "But this is crazy, Bonnie." Her trembling hand pointed toward the fireplace. "Whoever's here made the Goddamn fire!"
Forcing a smile, Bonnie turned on the flashlight and put it up under her face in a playful manner. "Then let's just hope it's a ghost."
Bonnie showed equal parts bravery and stupidity as she took off for the downstairs hallway. Toward the singer's lair..
"Shit, Bonnie!" Carty yelled after her. Left alone in frustration, Carty looked down and saw the mic lying on the ground. Desperate, she snatched it up.
Link To Part 2
Link To eBook
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