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thedarkplume · 3 years ago

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I'm back again, guys! I recently received a message from @definitelyjakejensen with a drawing from @kocuria depicting a C. Ev character with tentacles extending behind him!

I looked at that picture for about a minute, and afterward, this story began to take shape. I had spent the day before binge streaming Universal Horror films. While I was writing this, I was watching The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Such a beautiful film! It managed to knock Frankenstein down as my favorite Universal Horror film.

I want to thank my awesome Beta @georgiapeach30513 for not only editing this massive story but for being such a great source of motivation and support. I honestly could not have gotten through all my annoying self-sabotaging thoughts without your continued support.

For those of you reading this who don't already know @autumnrose40 is the expert on all sea creatures and wolves. So, it is with an anxious and excited heart that I prepare to post this!

Special thanks to @roguemonsterfucker and @monsterkinkmeme for their amazing blogs featuring prompts, art, and stories that fulfill all our monster-loving needs!

By the way, the title Cabin by the Lake comes from the greatly underappreciated Judd Nelson made-for-tv film, released in 2000.

Songs used: To Be Loved by Jackie Wilson (1958), Sleep Walk Instrumental by Santo & Johnny (1959), Saving All My Love For You by Whitney Houston (1985), You Give Good Love by Whitney Houston (1985), Who’s Lovin’ You by The Temptations (1965) & Pledging My Love by Johnny Ace (1954)

Books used/referenced: Captive Rose by Miriam Minger, Unbirthday from Disney’s A Twisted Tale series by Liz Braswell, Almost There from Disney’s A Twisted Tale series by Farrah Rochon, Grimm Fairytales by The Brothers Grimm & Scary Stories Treasury by Alvin Schwartz – The Haunted House & The Drum

Text excerpt of ‘The Drum’ taken from Scary Stories Treasury by Alvin Schwartz, specifically, book 2, More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (1984).

Disclaimer: The characters within this story are the property of Shirley Jackson, Stacie Passon, Sylvain White, Tobe Hooper, Steven Spielberg, Andy Diggle & Gideon Raff. I only own my OCs and Sylvie the Border Collie.

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. Isolation, gaslighting, blood, animal violence, animal sacrifice, death, murder, character death, smut, exophilia, somnophilia, dubious consent, profanity, reverse transformation, tentacle sex, monster threesome, oral sex, upside down spit roasting under the cut.

p.s. No chickens were harmed during the writing of this story.

Word Count: Over 15k!!! Again.

A Cabin by The Lake

I was never close to my biological father. I had vague memories of following him around the house on unsteady toddler legs. I remember at those times that I loved him. But after those memories, there were sadder ones punctuated by prison letters and timed phone calls. Sparse moments of contact that ceased completely when he moved on with a new wife and raised new kids. It came as a complete shock to me that upon his death, the executor of his estate contacted me with a letter and a deed to a property my father willed to me in Okeechobee, Florida. I loved it there when I was a child. It was my grandparents’ place. I went there two weekends every month for years. I would fish on the dock behind the cabin and sometimes swim under my grandma’s watchful eye. When they passed, I stopped going to Okeechobee. I can’t exactly remember why, but my mother always tried to compensate for the loss of the visits by taking me into the town to shop twice a month. She never once granted my requests to even drive by the property.

I lived in Alabama after having moved there following my high school graduation. My town was as remote as it could be. Not even a town really, more of an opening in the woods like something ripped from Wrong Turn. I went to school at what was called The Friendliest Campus in the South and was two semesters from graduating when my stepfather fell sick from Alzheimer’s. My mother, who had been estranged from my stepfather at the time rushed home, only to have an accident that left her with a broken neck. It was a miracle that she was not paralyzed. Once she got better, she ordered me to return to school and finish what I started. She said that I was the only child she had, and she would be damned if she was the reason I didn’t finish school. After I finished, I mostly stuck close to home finding freelance work online, but my feelings of restlessness never faded.

They quieted once. Two years before my father’s death, I met the most handsome and charming man. He had a sort of rugged old Hollywood beauty to him. He was a professor in the Political Science Department. My degree requirements were already met by the time I registered for The Judicial Process, but it sounded interesting enough and would be another 400 Level course to add to my transcript. From the moment he stepped in front of the class and introduced himself, I was hanging on his every word.

Professor Charles Stanford.

He scheduled office hours with each of us individually as a way to get to know his students better. I was thrilled of course for more than one reason. The main being that it was always a good idea to have three or four interpersonal relationships with your professors in the real world. The lesser more intimate reason, I just wanted an excuse to have his attention all to myself for a while.

As the semester went on, we met in his office often. Once a week at least. We never talked about his class or my grades, but about things like our favorite books and songs. We even argued over why films lost their appeal when Hammer Studios entered the scene—his opinion, not mine. He was a lover of gothic literature. When I noticed his leatherbound copy of Jane Eyre, he noted the change in my expression and from there we spent hours discussing the Bronte Sisters and the writings of that period. I questioned exactly why he was teaching a law class in the Political Science department when it was clear he belonged in the English Department. Our relationship, despite what others still think, did not progress to anything romantic until after I graduated.

We dated a full year before he proposed. It was almost too soon, but I was so happy with him, what else could I say besides yes?

It all came crashing down during our wedding rehearsal dinner. The police kicked in the doors and dragged Charles away from me in handcuffs, arresting him for the murder of three women in the town of Oxford, Alabama. I didn’t know what to think or how to feel. My Charles, a murderer? It was too insane to even consider. It had to be a mistake. Then there were other charges. Other accusations. The police had a search warrant for my mother’s house. They turned the place upside down looking for anything that could help their case. They even took my engagement ring as evidence. They said that it was taken from the body of one of Charles’s victims.

As the weeks turned into months, I was forced to accept that Charles Stanford, who was really Charles Blackwood, was wanted internationally for murders in Italy. An entire family, two servants, and three women who all died Mrs. Charles Blackwood. The police showed me the wedding photos. His hair was longer, and he didn’t wear glasses or have a beard, but there was nothing he could do to hide the likeness.

I held on to my naïve belief that this was some case of mistaken identity until Charles called me from jail. He would remain there until the courts determined which murders he would face trial for. He tried to persuade me that it was all a mistake, but there were too many facts and too much evidence. Charles finally snapped and said, “And you should be grateful I found those other women to feed this insatiable need for blood and violence inside of me! Do you even realize how many times I could have killed you? How easily you could have been like the others? Do you? But I love you and I committed these unspeakable acts, as you say, just to keep from taking your life!”

After that call, I ended all contact with Charles. I silently accepted that the man I had fallen in love with, the one whose arms always left me feeling safe and loved, the man who made love to me so passionately, was not only an imposter but a murderer of women and children and anyone who got in his way. There are not enough words to describe a pain like that. It’s something that no one should be made to face. That life we lived together, the life we were working to build was all a lie. It was a lie, but it was my lie, and now it was gone forever.

It was decided that Charles would be extradited to Italy to face trial for his crimes there. I would eventually have to testify for the murders he committed here, but until then, I was free to move about as I pleased.

My father’s death coincided with Charles’s arrest. I didn’t attend his funeral, despite my mother’s urging. I knew I had as much right to be there as his other kids, but it didn’t feel right to me. When the executor of my father’s estate contacted me, I made the decision to return to Florida to my grandparent’s old lake house. It was a little over five hundred miles from Alabama to Florida. I made the trip the same as we used to in the summers. Get up around three am and be on the road around four. My mother packed me a lunch like I was a child and hugged me for a long time. I know I can’t stop you, she said. But be careful. It’s been a long time since you’ve been down that way.

It felt good to get away.

A year passed, and people still whispered behind my back that I was the Black Widower’s Bride.

I only needed to stop twice for the eight-hour drive, once for the restroom and the other to pick up essentials. Using a grocery pick-up app became second nature to me. I could still feel the bitter sting of embarrassment when the other shoppers stopped and loudly whispered about my perceived complacency in Charles’s crimes. The store manager was polite enough to pull me aside when he requested that I start using the pick-up app rather than coming inside for my own safety and peace of mind until things died down. My mother ranted and raved telling me if I don’t want to sue, I should at least report him to the corporate manager.

I told my mother I would probably only be a week or two, but I was planning to stay at least a couple of months. By the time I made it to the house, the estate lawyer was already there waiting. She was an older lady named Janna Curtis. She wore glasses and had her hair in a stylish platinum pixie cut. She unlocked the door and showed me around. There was the sitting room, the laundry room just behind a door in the kitchen, the master bedroom and bathroom, my old room, another bathroom, the dining room, and the library. It was jarring being back after so many years away.

I knew it was all too good to be true. Ms. Curtis revealed to me that my grandparents had it in their wills that I was to be granted the deed to the house and the surrounding land as a college graduation present, but my father buried that fact because he was hoping to refinance the land to get quick cash for his last drug bender. It didn’t work, thankfully, and would have been given to me outright had he even had the chance to try.

The house, as far as appliances go, had been updated since I was a child. A new stove, refrigerator, and deep freezer. There was a deep fryer and microwave oven. Back when I was a child, my grandparents only had the microwave, blender, and slow cooker. The new side of this modern charm was…charming. Electricians came by regularly to check on the wires and electricity, along with a dependable housekeeping company to keep it clean from dust and mold, as well as a lawn service to keep the grass cut, the flowers tended, and the weeds down. There was even still a chicken coop with about ten or so live chickens. There was even a new alarm system put in place the week before so that only me and Ms. Curtis knew the code. The power and water were turned on, per my request, two days prior to my arrival so settling in was no problem.

“The lawn service company will come by next week. You have one visit left before you have to decide to keep them or take care of it yourself. If you do decide to keep them, I can handle the transfer of contract, if you would like.”

“Thank you, Ms. Curtis. I would appreciate that.” There was enough money left in my grandparents’ account for the upkeep of the property to continue utilizing the lawn service company. Even when that money was gone, I was going to do everything I can to keep my home as beautiful as it was in my memories.

Before Ms. Curtis left, not only did she leave with the keys, but she also left a letter from my grandma written before she passed. She assured me that no one, not even my father or aunts, knew the contents of the letter.

When Ms. Curtis left and the groceries were put away, I sat in my granddad’s favorite chair by the window and opened the letter.

“My little Buttercup,

I’m watching you outside the window as I write this. You and your granddaddy are fishing at the end of the dock. I miss you already because I can feel that when you read this, we will already be gone. I wish that when we are gone, my fool of a son will be there for you in our absence, but I know that will never happen. Aside from our love, this home and this land is the only thing we can leave you so that these moments we spent together in this house and all the land that surrounds it, will never leave you. You won’t be back here for a very long time.

When you do come back, things will have changed. I see how much you love the water even as a child, and I know that love will never fade, just be forgotten for a little while. I know you. When you come back the first thing you will want to do is to let this place know you’re back to claim it. I ask that before you do, you give Offering to the Lake the same way we used to on the first day of every visit.”

I stopped reading there as a memory, long forgotten, suddenly came back. The three of us, me, grandma, and granddad, would walk down the dock, all the way to the edge. Grandma would put a small, sharp knife in my hand, while grandpa held one of the chickens. She guided my hand with the knife to its neck and—

I shook my head, not wanting to think about the blood squirting on my clothes and onto the dock. I exhaled heavily, continuing.

“I can almost imagine the disgust on your face now, remembering our Offerings. I felt the same way in the beginning, but everything and everyone serves a purpose. The Lake knew you well when you were a child, but not only will you be gone for years and return without us, your scent, your essence, everything about you, will have changed to bring you from childhood to womanhood. I beg you, my little Buttercup. You honored our traditions when you were a child, please, please, honor them again. Do not enter that water without an Offering first. Look after the Lake, and the Lake will look after you.

I love you, my Buttercup.”

It was crazy. Completely insane. Yet, just before the sun went down, I took a chicken from the coop and walked it down to the end of the dock. The chicken clucked and looked at me liked it trusted me. I almost backed out, but another memory, one of my granddad telling me that if we didn’t do this every time, worse things than gators would come out of the water, made up my mind.

I pressed a kiss to its head, whispering “forgive me,” just before I slit its throat. I turned it just in time so that most of the spray hit the water and not me. I tossed the dying chicken into the lake and turned on my heels not bothering to see whatever may happen next.

I went back inside ignoring the splashing sounds behind me. I took a long hot bath. I almost couldn’t believe what I had done, but a part of me felt like it was the right thing to do. I called my mother and checked that she was still alright. I really wanted her to come with me, but she was never a fan of leaving her home to state jump for any reason.

I got ready for bed that night while playing my grandparents’ old vinyl records. I went through all of them, smiling to myself as I remembered them dancing to Jackie Wilson’s To Be Loved. I let it play, the music filling the house, making every room come to life again. I could almost hear my grandparent’s laughter and see them dancing in my mind’s eye. My favorite song was Santo & Johnny’s Sleep Walk. Not the singing version, but the instrumental. That haunting melody was so peaceful. My granddad used to let me stand on his feet and we would dance around the living room with Sleep Walk playing and grandma taking pictures.

But then I found the last vinyl in their collection. Johnny Ace’s Memorial Album. Charles loved Johnny Ace, specifically his Pledging My Love. We always danced to it, and every time, I would think how much my grandparents would appreciate that I found the last true gentleman in the world. I turned off the music. The memories were no longer pleasant and happy, but sour and painful.

I tried to go to bed and forget, but my mind would not let me. I knew what I had to do, even if I was putting it off longer than I needed. I put a robe over my long-sleeved sailor moon shirt and socks. Not giving myself time to think or change my mind, I went to my closet and removed the garment bag. There was a fire pit in the backyard. I unzipped the garment bag. Inside was my wedding dress. It had been over a year since I let myself gaze at the beautiful layers of lace and chiffon. Spare no expense, Charles had told the Parisian seamstress he hired. Nothing but the best for my Mrs. Stanford. I remembered the way it felt against my skin when Charles talked me into letting him fuck me in it the day before our rehearsal dinner. Charles was rabid that day. Something dark danced behind his mesmerizing gray eyes as he pulled off his tie and wrapped it around my throat. With each powerful thrust, his grip grew tighter and tighter. I came harder than I ever had, but a part of me was terrified he was not going to stop. I should have known then that Charles was not at all the man he made us believe he was.

I arranged the dress on the pit, dousing it with lighter fluid. Ignoring the tears trailing down my cheeks and the ominous feeling of being watched by unseen eyes, I struck a match, hesitating for only a second. Throwing that lit match onto my dress was as painful as it was freeing. I stepped back as the flames rose, steadily consuming the material until nothing remained but ashes.

“Fuck you, Charles,” I whispered, brushing my tears away with my sleeves.

When the fire died down, I went back inside, locking the door behind me. I felt better and completely drained. I made myself a cup of hot tea and stood at the kitchen sink, feeling the exhaustion sink into my bones. The sky was pretty that night with stars all over. I looked out onto the lake and saw that the water was moving, rippling. I squinted my eyes, trying to see what it was. I knew it was not a gator because even a really big gator would not make that size of a disturbance. Something peeked above the surface. A moccasin maybe?

I shook my head. I would have to check the garden shed tomorrow for lime. I gave the lake one last look before shutting the curtains and climbing the stairs to my room.

That night, I had the best night’s sleep since everything with Charles started. I woke up early that next morning feeling a huge weight had lifted from my shoulders. I made myself a loaf of homemade bread, scrambled eggs, and another cup of tea. It was a lot colder on the lake than I remember, especially for it to be Florida. I showered and dressed in a pair of jeans, an olive V-neck sweater, and black booties. I enjoyed my breakfast outside. Breathing in the crisp morning air, I felt like a new person.

I took my jellied slice of bread and started to walk down the dock. It was one of those dreary mornings. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, and it looked like it might start raining at any moment. I loved when the weather was like this. There was a heavy mist lingering across the body of water behind the house. It was strangely quiet for this type of morning. There were usually birds chirping or squirrels foraging, maybe even a deer or two randomly walking in the yard.

I swallowed the last bite of my toast thinking of what I might do today. I might start job searching. I had some money in my savings from working the fast-food racket before, during, and after college, but I had no intentions of going back to that thankless cycle of take, take, take, without any significant give. Distantly, I wondered if I should change my name. Or perhaps take my mother’s maiden name. My last name was synonymous with the Black Widower.

I sighed, sitting by the edge of the dock. My mother had been trying to encourage me to get back into my writing. Outside of the required writings in class, the last time I wrote something…I closed my eyes, remembering exactly the last time I wrote something. I started feeling inspired during my last semester. It felt like the world around me had transformed from the monotonous dead-end of serving ungrateful, entitled customers for nickels and dimes to suddenly being able to go anywhere and do anything as one of the graduate elite.

I wrote two chapters and was so excited to show Charles. There was a time when I was painfully self-conscious about showing anyone my writing, but Charles had become more than a partner to me. He was my greatest motivator. I felt that there was nothing I could tell him. My story was about an elementary school teacher whose family was chosen to have a protector born in each generation. The protector would leave their home in the dead of night, lost in a trance, and venture deep into the woods behind their family home. There the protector would transform. I was still developing what that transformation would become. The townspeople would release a violent member of their community into the woods, the rapists, the child predators, the murderers, and domestic abusers, so that the protector could dispatch them. They would never remember changing, killing, or even going into the woods. They would be brought back to their home and returned to their bed as if nothing had happened. It was a shaky concept that needed a lot of work, but the seedling of the idea excited me.

When I let Charles read the two chapters I wrote, he laughed. He laughed and told me that it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever read. Worse even than some of the papers he had to suffer through during his courses. He pulled me onto his lap and kissed my forehead, still chuckling. “You have many talents, darling, but writing is not one of them.”

My tears fell soundlessly into the water. I didn’t mean to start crying but remembering the pain and embarrassment I felt under Charles’s cruel laughter hurt.

I heard splashing, just like last night. This time it was closer to where I was sitting. I peered down into the water. It was hard to see with the heavy mist covering the water.

I gasped.

There was something.

Something emerging from the water.

It was a man? Maybe?

He had blonde hair and pale skin. So pale it was blue.

But it was the eyes. There were no white or even iris or pupils. There were only yellow orbs in a vertical shape. The mist obscured the rest of him. The only clear thing was his face. His nose had a distinctly patrician shape. His lips were full and pouty and there were ridges underneath where his earlobes should have been.

“Please tell me I’m being pranked by Guillermo del Toro and you’re really Doug Jones in some amazing fucking makeup,” I rambled, trembling.

The man—creature—thing tilted his? Its? Head at me. Yellow eyes unblinking.

“Can you understand me?” the unblinking stare. “Can you speak?” still nothing. “I guess you’re the secret my grandparents kept from me. You ate the chicken yesterday, right?” his, its, eyes still didn’t blink and that was more than uncomfortable. “Okay, so, you’ve been here since I was a child, probably longer. That’s fine. I won’t tell anybody. I mean, this is obviously your lake and I’m just—” tentacles. Tentacles peeked over the edge of the dock. Dozens of them. They slithered and coiled independently of each other like snakes. The undersides of the tentacles were covered in suction cups that opened and closed like tiny mouths mimicking kisses. “Okay, let’s be cool. Okay? Let’s not start touching!” I tried to keep the hysteria from leaking into my voice, but I was doing a pretty shit job because the tentacles moved even more determinedly. “You want another Offering, right? I’m supposed to do that every day? Grandma didn’t put that in the letter, but times change and I’m nothing but adaptable. So! I’m going to go and grab you one of those chickens or two, why not, right? It is cheat season, after all, once October hits!” I tried to crawl back when two of the tentacles wrapped around my ankles, dragging me back towards him. It. I almost bit my tongue off, trying not to scream. Don’t panic. Never, ever panic. But the Creature brought me even closer than I was before. Now my legs hung over the end of the dock. I felt the cold water around my ankles. The Creature’s webbed claws rested on top of my thighs, the water off its skin seeping through my jeans. It opened its mouth and there were fangs, sharp, ivory white fangs surrounded by jagged teeth. Its tongue lolled out, long, thick and red. I gasped, choking out a whimper when it touched my cheeks, lapping up tears I didn’t know were falling.

“Bu—but—er—up…” it rasped.

“What?” I trembled. More tentacles emerged. They surrounded me, touching my cheeks, pressing my hair, slipping under my shirt. “What are you doing?”

“But—er—up…” it repeated. It moved closer, the tip of its cold wet nose touching mine. “But—ter—up…”

Then it hit me. “Buttercup? Aa—are you trying to say Buttercup?” it didn’t answer, but one of its tentacles tightened once around my wrist. “Yes! I’m Buttercup.” Surprisingly, I felt a little better knowing that this, Creature, had been around long enough and intelligent enough to not only understand my grandparents calling me Buttercup, but to remember me. “Or at least the taste of my tears,” I mumbled. “Do you have a name?” that unblinking stare was my answer. “What do the others call you?” the tentacles thankfully withdrew from my shirt and ankles. I looked beyond it and at the surrounding water. “Are there more of you? Here in my—your lake?” its expression did not change, but there was a strange feeling of sadness in those yellow orbs staring unblinkingly at me. “Only you.” A single squeeze around my wrist as if to confirm my words. “I’m alone too,” I whispered. “I wanted to be. It’s why I came out here.” I couldn’t believe I was making a conversation with a…water…creature…thing. “This is your lake. Do you, do you want me to leave?” the tentacle around my wrist squeezed twice this time. “Stay? You want me to stay?” a single squeeze.

The Creature let me go without trying to eat me. Its yellow eyes tracked my movements back towards the house. Just to be sure, I grabbed another chicken from the coop and held it over the water for another Offering. The Creature watched me with silent yellow eyes and made no move towards it until I turned my back. I ignored the splashes and horrific ripping sounds as I walked back to the house careful not to run. Don’t ever run.

I’m not proud to admit it, but when I went back to the house after locking every door and window—like that was enough to stop it if it wanted to come inside—I changed out of my wet clothes so that I wouldn’t catch pneumonia and lit the fireplace. I opened the freezer pulling out a chilled bottle of vodka. I promised my mother I would stop spending my days drinking, but this was different. This particular bender had less to do with a serial killer ex-fiancé and more with the Creature from the Black Lagoon inhabiting my lake. Usually, I mixed it with cranberry juice or even orange juice, but after seeing what I just saw, I drank that shit from the bottle. I drank until my insides were burning.

“So much for a productive day!” I slurred.

I stumbled to the living room to the old record player. Sleep Walk was still on the player. I turned it on, letting the music lull me. Even with the vodka coursing through my blood, I was still shaking.

I woke up the next morning to a pounding in my head and a sour, rancid taste in my mouth. But what had me wanting to reach for my bottle again were the damp spots on my clothes and the distinct smell of the lake clinging to the fabric. Slowly, hesitantly, I glanced out of the kitchen window expecting to see the Creature watching me from the lake, but there was nothing there. Just the calm open lake, the surface swaying from the gentle breeze.

I took a long, warm shower, still not quite adjusting to the unusually cold Autumn weather in Okeechobee. I slipped on a burgundy long-sleeved scrunchie dress, black tights, and thick wooly socks. I hoped that the Offerings would tide the Creature over for the next couple of days because I had no plans of venturing out to the dock. A part of me was still holding out hope that yesterday was just some hysterical episode triggered by not only the move but by participating in my grandparents�� superstitious practices.

“God, if the Game Warden had any clue what I was doing to those chickens I’d have fines out of my ass, not to mention my very own cell. Wouldn’t that be a fitting end for the Black Widower’s Bride?”

With nothing left to do, I unpacked the few vinyls I refused to leave home without. I decided reading would be more than a good distraction. It was a good thing I brought my own books along. More than half of the books in the library were my grandma’s and those books all had Fabio Lanzoni on the cover. “The next man I’m going to marry if your granddaddy puts even one toe out of line,” she used to sigh, staring fondly at the cover of her favorite, making my granddad huff and mutter under his breath, “well, if you get Fabio then I’m going after Pam Grier.” I put on Whitney Houston, smiling to myself when Saving All My Love For You began to play. I made myself a light brunch of soup, warm bread, and Gatorade to help settle my stomach. I put the Creature in the lake out of my mind and lost myself in the pages of a book from Disney’s A Twisted Tale series. Unbirthday was book number ten in the series. I’ve read them all at least twice and liked to reread them again and again until a new one drops. I was bidding my time until Almost There is released, the ‘What If’ take on Princess Tiana’s story I’ve been waiting for.

There was a noise over my music.

Knocking.

For a moment, I was afraid that the Creature from the lake was knocking at my door.

“No, that’s stupid. Why would it knock?”

I forced myself to leave the sanctuary of the library and trudge to the front door. A tall man dressed in a police uniform faced away from the door. I opened it a little peering out.

“Yes?” there was no such thing as a good visit from the police, and in the past year, the police had not been kind to me.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” He turned to me, taking off his shades, revealing startling blue eyes that managed to be both kind and concerned. “I’m Sheriff Levinson. Would it be all right to speak with you for a moment?”

“Yes, Sheriff, please come in.” He took off his hat and stepped inside, brushing past me. He smelled good. “Would you care for some tea or a cup of coffee?” I offered. I had a bad feeling about the Sheriff being here and wanted to put off whatever his reasons for this visit were as long as I possibly could.

“A cup of coffee sounds lovely, ma’am,” he smiled politely, showing off incredibly white and perfect teeth behind one of the most glorious beards I’ve ever seen.

When I returned carrying the wooden serving tray my grandma loved to use on days when we would all sit in the library room, the Sheriff was standing by my granddad’s old chair looking out the window towards the lake.

“Coffee’s ready!” I called a little too loudly, terrified that the Sheriff was seeing the Creature.

“Thank you. It’s always been a little colder here than anywhere else in town,” he remarked.

“I don’t remember it being this cold during my visits when I was a child.”

“It’s the lake,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“The lake?”

“Yes, after your grandparents passed, may God rest their souls, all of the warmth seemed to go with them. In the winters, the lake gets so cold that it’s unable to freeze. It’s the damnedest thing.”

“I’m sure.” Sure that the Creature has everything to do with that. “Whitney Houston.” He smiled with a sigh, listening to You Give Good Love. “I see your grandparent’s taste in music lives on in you.”

“Did you know my grandparents well, Sheriff?”

“I did. I spent a lot of time here in the summers helping your granddad keep the land up. I’m awfully fond of this place, particularly the woods.”

“Well, thank you for being here when I couldn’t.” I hope he knew I meant that. “And you’re welcomed here at any time.”

His eyes lit up and his smile was as beautiful as the rest of them. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do, Sheriff. It always bothered me that I didn’t push more with my mom to come back here. The time I spent here with my grandparents was some of the happiest of my life.”

“I’m sure they knew that. Thank you, Buttercup.” The Sheriff mirrored my wide-eyed gaze over his slip.

“Does everyone here know me by that name?”

The Sheriff’s cheeks turned an appealing shade of red. “I’m sorry, but your grandparents used Buttercup more than your actual name when they talked about you.”

“It’s fine, Sheriff.”

“Please, call me Ari.”

“Ari,” I repeated, liking the way his name sounded. “I’m going to regret bringing this up, but I don’t believe coffee and a friendly conversation was your motivation for stopping by today.”

Ari’s smile fell. “You’re correct, unfortunately. I got a call this morning from INTERPOL.” I think my heart stopped. “Charles Blackwood was killed last night in a prison riot.”

We sit in silence for a moment. Ari’s eyes are on me as I stir my now lukewarm tea. Whitney Houston still sings to us. The grandfather clock in the library chimes signaling a new hour. INTERPOL declared Charles Blackwood dead and the grief or relief I should be feeling never comes. Maybe I did know him better than I thought.

Ari’s warm, calloused hand settled over mine. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t answer that right now. I need to stop by the fish market for a couple of pounds of turtle meat. I was so busy trying to get here the other day, it completely slipped my mind.”

“I don’t think you should be driving right now, Buttercup. I can make that trip for you.”

“No, no, I can’t ask you to do that, Ari. You’re the sheriff for god’s sake!”

“And as the sheriff, it’s my duty to assist each and every person in my jurisdiction.” Ari’s hands took mine as he moved to kneel in front of me. He was such a large man. He was wide and rugged like a lumberjack and tall enough that even kneeling he still had to look down to make eye contact. “You’ve opened your home to me, this is the least I can do for you.”

The sincerity in his eyes and the softness of his voice left me powerless to deny Ari. “Thank you, Ari.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I want to. I, um, didn’t see a ring, so I’m hoping that I won’t offend you or a possible significant other by inviting you to dinner.” Even with the numbness settling into my bones over Charles’s apparent fate, the little part of me I ignored since the arrest, the part of me that longed for even one friend who didn’t want me around just to talk about the murders, wanted to reach out to Ari.

“There is no significant other, and I would love to have dinner with you. Tomorrow night, if you can?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Great. I’ll bring the meat back then, too. Unless you need it now?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be doing much cooking tonight.”

Ari licked his lips and reached inside the pocket of his coat. “This is my card. It has my home phone, my cell phone, and my direct number at the station. You call me anytime if you need anything. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see myself out. You just take it easy today.”

I stayed in my chair long after he was gone. I should be calling my mom. There’s a chance that the authorities contacted her to contact me. But all I could do was just sit there.

“Killed in a prison riot,” I mumbled. “That sounds exactly like Charles.” I forced myself to trudge to my bedroom. There was still one small bag I left unpacked. It contained my jewelry—the ones not seized by the police—my perfume bottles and nail polish along with the sparse collection of eyeliners and lipsticks. Underneath those were pictures. Not many. Just two or three.

Grabbing my flannel shawl, I stepped outside with the pictures clutched in my hand. It was still cold like I was back in Alabama where the winters could get as low as thirty degrees at night. I spared a passing glance to the ashes of my wedding dress still lingering in the pit. I sat by the edge of the dock, tucking my legs underneath me. I was still examining the pictures in my hand when the splashes came.

“Charles never liked having his picture taken.” It was funny. Looking at the pictures now, it was obvious Charles always did something to obscure focus. Fiddle with his cufflinks, turn his head to glance at something over his shoulder, or whispering my ear so that the person with the camera focused more on my smile than Charles hiding his face. Anything so that no one could take a decent picture of him. “He always said he would rather sit for a painter, but that there were hardly any painters left worth the time and money. The red flags were always there. I suppose I just didn’t want to see them.” I came to the last picture. This was the only candid shot I had of Charles. “But there was one time when he was tending to my mom’s garden. He looked so happy and at peace.” I turned the picture around so that the Creature could see Charles. “I snapped his picture just as he looked up at me. I still get chills thinking about the look in his eyes that day and how he punished me that night until I had to lie and say that the picture didn’t take because of his quick movements.”

The Creature regarded me with its silent yellow eyes. Only this time, I felt sure that it understood every word I spoke. “I’m giving my relationship with him a disservice. Charles never hit me or forced himself on me or anything horrible that everyone always assumes happens when you say you were punished. He was really good to me. I could talk to him about anything.”

I could see a little more of the Creature now. The surprisingly broad shoulders and pecs. There were four slits on each side of the Creature’s neck that fluttered rhythmically. Gills. Lake water settled in the dips of its collarbones trailing down its pecs and disappearing in the water below.

My core clenched around nothing, and I had to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. “I must be losing my mind.”

But the Creature’s nostrils flared, and its eyes were locked on my legs. It made me nervous.

Then its slithering, writhing tentacles broke the surface of the lake, crawling up the dock. Like the day before, two tentacles wrapped around my knees. The strength of these weird limbs startled me and nearly toppled me backward. The tentacles pulled me closer, holding on to my legs in a firm grip. Unlike yesterday, I had no desire to fight this Creature. Maybe it was my own failures in life, my failures as a woman in not seeing the monster lurking just beneath my fiancé’s charming façade, all for the sake of being loved for the first time, that made me think I should let this Creature do whatever it wanted with me.

Another tentacle, this one a little thicker than the two holding me came up between my legs. The third tentacle brushed against my center tentatively. The light, barely-there pressure left me gasping and clenching around air. More of its tentacles slithered and crawled up the dock. Before I could blink, the tights were ripped from my body. It brought me closer to it, putting my legs over its shoulders. My heart raced and I knew it was completely stupid and horribly dangerous, but when the Creature’s tentacle nudged at the gusset of my thong before tearing off too, I begged. Laying on the dock in the freezing cold, I begged this humanoid creature to touch me.

My lips were swollen, my little nub was throbbing, and my arousal dribbled out of my hole and down my ass. The tentacles with their opening and closing cups, mimicking kisses writhed all over my mound. It drifted lower, making me cry out as one of the cups closed over my nub.

“Oh, god!” I cried. It had been so long since someone touched me that way. “Please, please.”

The Creature after saying my name only once and then going back to being mute, started making odd sounds. It was a mix between a whale’s song and a dolphin’s clicking. The odd sounds must thrum through the Creature’s body because I could feel the vibrations through its tentacles. That third thicker tentacle probed my opening before pushing inside me, stretching me.

“Fuck,” I whimpered, wriggling my hips to take more. It squirmed and wiggled inside of me, the little cups kissing and sucking my walls. I came with a wail, writhing like I was having convulsions. As amazing as sex the sex was with Charles, he had never gotten me off so good. I opened my eyes to see the Creature now nose to nose with me. Its breath coming in little puffs against my face. The Creature kept going, this time taking another tentacle, this one smaller than any that’s touched me to circle my puckered hole. My eyes rolled in the back of my head. The Creature’s tongue lolled out of its mouth, dragging up my chin to my lips. The tip of the second tentacles slipped into my hole, twisting, and wiggling until I opened enough to take it all the way inside me. The little cups kissing and sucking me there along with the third tentacle inside me and the extra still attached to my bud, I came again, my screams echoed around the trees as my vision went white.

When I came back to myself, the Creature had politely pulled my dress down to cover my nudity. The inside of my thighs was slick, and I could feel a big wet spot on the back of my dress. Its tentacles had retreated to the water and its claws rested on either side of my feet. Charles’s picture lay shredded beneath those claws, making me smile.

“The sheriff will be back tomorrow night. He says he’s been here with my grandparents before they passed. I trust him. Granted, I’m not the best person to gauge anyone’s character, but…I know you were in the house somehow after I fell asleep yesterday.” The Creature blinked and there was something in that blank stare that came across more of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Clearly, you can leave the water at any time you wish. I guess what I’m asking, with the sheriff and anyone else, I’ll bring you an Offering as much as you want, but please, don’t stop looking after me or this land.” The Creature made its chirping sound. I smiled a little, cupping its cold cheek. “Thank you, Jake.” The Creature tilted its head at me. “You look like a Jake.”

I slept well that night. So well in fact that I woke up twenty minutes after eleven the next morning to my phone ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, still laying there with my eyes closed.

“Well, thank you for calling me last night to let me know you’re okay!”

My mother’s tone made me wince. I meant to call her last night, but after the day I had, and the ending with the Creature—Jake, I barely had enough energy to shower. “I’m sorry, mama. You know about Charles then?”

“Yeah, the police called me trying to reach you and it’s on every news channel. I don’t wish death on anybody, but I can’t lie and say that I’m not relieved he’s gone. Are you alright?”

“I’m,” I sat up, sighing. “Sad that the person I wanted to marry wasn’t real, but I’m not sitting here crying because they told me he’s dead either.” But you didn’t want to talk about Charles. He was the past and there was so much more ahead of me now. “I wish you would change your mind and come down here. You know T.J. would drive you and watch the house while you’re gone.”

“Yeah, I know, but I just don’t want to travel right now.”

“I’ll probably come back in another week or so. Other than the patties, is there anything you want me to bring back? Oh, and before you ask, Dandee Bread isn’t on the shelves anymore. They were bought out by the company that makes Sunbeam.”

“That’s so fucked up.” She was not alone in her disappointment. It might not seem like a big deal to most people, but simple things such as a brand of bread or dairy were an essential part of our past. Florida had been both of our homes for years before the move to Alabama. Both her parents and my dad’s parents were gone now. Losing these two staples of the past was like saying a final goodbye to the vestiges of a life you’re not ready to let go of. “I guess a couple of pounds of crabs and shrimp.”

We chatted a little longer about the latest gossip happening down the street and with the handful of celebrities she still cared about, before saying our goodbyes. I had a lot to do today. Not only did I have to cook a nice meal for Sheriff Ari, but I needed to make my Offering to Jake, as well as see about getting some more wood chopped for the fireplace. Between yesterday on the dock and this constant abnormally cold weather, I would be lucky if I ended the week without a cold.

Dressed as warmly as can be in one of my granddad’s old flannels and a pair of jeans and sneakers, I made the familiar trek down the dock to give Jake his daily Offering. I didn’t turn this time. I watched the chicken’s blood spread through the water. The crimson tide beckoned Jake forward. I tried not to shiver watching his head slowly break surface like he was Sadako in Ringu.

“Good afternoon, Jake!” I smiled brightly. “One of these days I’ll be able to say good morning instead.” Jake looked pointedly at the chicken and then to me. “After yesterday, do you think I’m afraid to watch you eat that? It’s okay. I promise.” Jake looked at me for a long time before he finally grabbed the chicken with his claws and took big bites, making more blood gush and splash across his face. “Chicken is one of my favorite types of meat, you know, of course, I do love it cooked.” I rocked back and forth on my heels looking over at the surrounding woods. There was still no sign of wildlife out there. “You being here, it’s not scaring away the animals in the woods, is it?” Jake to no great surprise did not answer me but kept his eyes on me as he ate. “I don’t think it is. Even when you do get out of the water, I don’t think you like to take strolls through the woods just for shits and giggles. Something else out there is keeping the animals away.” It was a sobering thought. I could still remember when I was a child and me, mom, and my stepdad would drive around to find new fishing spots. We came across a panther. Its fur was blacker than a starless sky and eyes as yellow as Jake’s. I didn’t necessarily want to see a panther or a coyote or even a bear, but it made me wonder, if something like Jake could keep the gators away, what could keep the big game animals out of my woods?

“I need to get back inside and get started on dinner.” I turned back to Jake, and he had already gone back underwater. “Rude,” I huffed. He emerged again before I could head back to the house. What he brought with him made me smile. Two large bass fish. “Hold on a minute.” I jogged back up to the house, grabbing a ten-gallon bucket. “Put them in here, please.” He dropped the fish in the bucket, his gills fluttering lightly. “Thank you, Jake.” He nuzzled my hand when I cupped his face. A part of me wanted to stay and keep talking to Jake. Having him as a soundboard was turning out to be better than any conversation I had had in the past, but there was still so much to do. “I’m going to go back inside now, Jake. I’ll see you later.”

I put the fish in a mixing bowl of cold water inside the fridge, resolving to gut and scale them tomorrow. I washed my hands twice to get rid of that dead fish smell and started on my dinner for Sheriff Ari. Downhome South seemed like a good choice. Deep fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, mixed mustard and turnip greens, and honey butter cornbread. Dessert would be my grandma’s homemade yellow cake with malted chocolate buttercream frosting.

I set up my MacBook in the kitchen to start streaming the Universal Horror films on Peacock. The sounds of Dr. Frankenstein’s rapture over his monster taking its first breath filled the kitchen. Even as I cooked my eyes kept flickering to the lake. Sometimes, I would see the water moving in certain spots or the hint of tentacles skimming the surface. By the time I pulled the macaroni and cheese out of the oven, Jake had his head out of the water watching me through the window. It must be so lonely for him to be the only one of his kind. From what little I knew of humanoid creatures, thanks in part to fanfiction, Jake must have been a Cecaelia. It was crazy trying to wrap my head around the idea that creatures like Jake existed. What else was out there? Was the old adage true? Every story about myths and monsters is rooted in some form of truth. Did that mean that there were really vampires stalking their victims in the dead of night? Were there werewolves running through the woods during full moons? What about witches? Were there covens powerful enough to bring the world to its knees if they willed it? It might explain the Coronavirus Pandemic.

“Doesn’t matter. One monster in my life is more than enough.”

After icing the cake, I took a quick shower and may or may not have taken a little extra time with my hair and eyeliner. It was ridiculous to feel so anxious about dinner with the sheriff, but it was nice feeling anxious about dinner with a guy again. If I grabbed a tribal tunic that hugged my curves a little more and a pair of those special leggings and ankle booties, who would know? I dug out my grandma’s Temptations collection and put on The Temptations Sing Smokey.

The sheriff arrived just before sunset. He came to the door dressed in tight jeans and a red plaid collar shirt and Timberland boots. His pretty eyes flattered me as they languidly perused my body. Sheriff Ari seemed to be pulling out all the stops bringing along a bag of my presumed turtle meat, wine, and a flower bouquet. Buttercups. Cute.

“Good evening, sheriff.”

“Miss Buttercup,” he grinned, offering me the bag, wine, and flowers.

“Please come in.” Ari pulled off his heavy coat and hung it by the door. “I hope you don’t mind, but I remember your grandma saying how much you loved her rabbit stew, so I went and picked up a pound of that, too. I picked that up from Gus’s Market. It’s on my account, but I told him you were in town, and he’s willing to send deliveries this far out.”

That was incredibly thoughtful. This house was beyond city limits making deliveries impossible. “Thank you so much, Ari! Boy, at this rate, I may never have to worry about going into town again.”

“You don’t have to thank me. All a part of being the sheriff.” It really was not, but who was I to argue with a handsome man wanting to do nice things for me?

Ari’s appearance outside of his sheriff’s uniform stunned me. He wore black leather suspenders. I never knew suspenders could look so sexy on a man. His sleeves were rolled at the elbows showing off tattoos on his forearms, and a hint of ink on his chest, exposed through the three undone buttons on his shirt.

“It smells good in here.” Ari kept his eyes on me as he said this. If I were naughty, I would think that he was talking about more than just my cooking.

“I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

His blue eyes darkened a little as he licked his lips. “My instincts have never led me astray.” But then his stomach growled, lightening the mood. “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought,” Ari laughed.

“Good! Like my mama, I tend to overcook a little so there’s plenty for seconds and thirds.” I found a vase in the kitchen for the lovely bouquet of buttercups. “There’s some wine glasses in the cabinet.” I didn’t have to say that though, because Ari was already reaching for the glasses before I could finish. Exactly how much time did Ari spend here with my grandparents? “We can eat here or in the dining room.”

“Here is fine.”

“Then have a seat.” I glanced over my shoulder and asked, “so are you a leg or a breast man?” His eyes widened a bit as he floundered for an answer. “Chicken, Ari. How do you take your chicken?”

Ari laughed, shaking his head. “Both. I’m not a picky man. How have things been here so far?”

“Pretty quiet. Just me and the chickens.” And Jake. “I thought about maybe getting a pet or even a fish tank.”

“That’s a good idea. You don’t want to get cabin fever being out here all by yourself.”

“I don’t mind the quiet so much. It’s giving me a lot of time to think.” Ari made a pleased sound when I set his plate in front of him. “And while most people here probably know who I am, they don’t seem to care about the scandal like the people where I moved from.”

Ari took a hearty bite of chicken and moaned; full-out eyes rolled in the back of his head moan. That sound and the sheer ecstasy on Ari’s face were forever cataloged in my mind. “This is amazing, Buttercup! It’s like going back in time and having your grandma cooking for your grandpa and inviting me to stay for dinner after the baseball game.”

My eyes misted a little remembering grandpa patiently explaining to me the rules of baseball when we watched the Atlanta Braves play. “How much time did you spend here, Ari?”

“More than a little,” he smiled with all the charms of a child who wanted to say, I know something you don’t know. “It’s been too long since I’ve had a homecooked meal.” I was halfway through my meal, when Ari asked, “is it okay if I have a little more?”

“You sure know how to play into a woman’s ego, sheriff.” I happily swapped Ari’s empty first plate for a second. “Charles never cared for my cooking like that.”

“I would ask if he was crazy, but given the truth about his crimes,” Ari shook his head with a frown. “Could you really have gone through with marrying someone so unappreciative of you?”

I took a bite of my mac and cheese considering his question. “I would have.” I felt ashamed to admit my mistakes to Ari. “I guess I told myself that something as trivial as cooking or even my choice in hobbies didn’t matter much. When we were on campus, it was like there was something in the air that just made all those little differences that should have been big differences irrelevant. Charles was so sophisticated and worldly. He made me feel like I could have more than the small-town life I was destined to live after college.”

Ari’s sage eyes held no judgment or pity. “He let himself become everything you wanted until he knew you would never leave him.”

“You make it sound like he was abusing me, Ari,” I huffed, taking a generous swallow of wine. It did little to soothe my nerves.

“Abuse is not always violent, Buttercup.”

“No, I guess it’s not.”

Dinner ended on a more somber note than I would’ve liked. I did the only thing I could at that moment. I showed Ari to the living room and brought out two pieces of cake. David Ruffin’s soulful voice asking Who’s Lovin’ You created the perfectly relaxed atmosphere.

“I don’t know how, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ve saved room for dessert.”

Ari’s smile was big and happy. “There’s always room for dessert!” He did that happy moan again, making it harder not to squirm beside him. “This is the best meal I’ve had since your grandparents passed. God bless their souls.”

“Thank you, Ari, but you should try my mama’s cooking. Now that’s someone who should have had her own restaurant years ago.”

“Is your mother coming down? I never got the chance to meet her and, forgive me for saying, but I wish the same could be said for your father.”

The flat look in Ari’s eyes and the anger simmering in his voice surprised me. “You didn’t care for my father much, I take it.”

“It’s not in my nature to speak ill of the dead, but the only thing worse than your grandparents not being able to see you as much, was the grief your dad caused them.”

“He caused a lot of people grief.” I still remembered how for weeks after his passing my mom would cry at night when she thought I was asleep. She moved on, but she never quite stopped loving him.

“Okay, enough gloom and doom for one evening! Do you have any plans for this Sunday?”

Ari's question puzzled me. “What happens Sunday?”

“Halloween,” I could hear the ‘obviously’ in Ari’s tone.

“Oh, shit. I can’t believe I forgot.” There was too much happening around me to make me forget about Halloween. “Halloween is my favorite holiday!”

“With all that’s happened, it’s not surprising you would forget.”

I bite my lip, considering my options. While it would be nice to see all the little kids in their costumes, I didn’t really think their parents would be willing to drive them to the secluded house of a stranger just to get a few pieces of candy.

“I want to wait and give the townspeople a chance to get to know me before I even start to think about passing out Halloween candy to their kids.” That and I kind of liked the idea of spending time on the dock with Jake.

Ari nodded thoughtfully. “That’s smart. They know of you, but it’s better to wait for them to see for themselves why your grandparents loved you so much.”

There was a moment when our eyes locked, and I thought that he might kiss me. I was torn between wanting to lean into it and wanting to run from it. Was it too soon for me to want to fuck Ari? Forget about the fact that I’ve only known him for two days, there were still so many unresolved issues with Charles, and then there was this whole thing with Jake. We still, or maybe I should say I since I would be the one talking, had not had the opportunity to address what any of that could mean.

A loud clap of thunder seemed to shake the house at its foundation. I jumped, looking towards the window. Lightning splintered across the darkened sky, and in less than a minute later, rain beat heavily against the roof and windows. “Where did that come from?”

“Anywhere and everywhere. I’m sure there’s a storm coming from the tropics to make landfall.”

“That’s the one thing I didn’t miss about Florida.”

“I should get going.”

“Ari, no. It’s damn near a hurricane out there. You can’t drive in that. Please, stay here. At least until it clears up.”

Ari sighs, standing with his hands on his hips. They sure as hell don’t make men like Ari in Alabama. “I guess I can stay until it clears up. I just don’t like leaving Sylvie alone when the weather’s this bad.”

“Sylvie?”

Ari grinned, taking out his phone. He thumbed through his pictures until he found one to show me. “This is Sylvie.”

Sylvie was this beautiful border collie with black and white fur. Ari was in the frame hugging Sylvie with a big, happy smile. “She’s so beautiful.”

“You have that longing look of someone who’s never had a dog before, Buttercup.”

“Because I haven’t. My mom is afraid of dogs and she’s allergic to cats. Growing up, having pets never went beyond one or two fish tanks.”

Ari sat back down beside me. “And you were an only child? Sounds like a lonely childhood.”

“It was at times, but the benefit was having a close relationship with my mother and stepfather.” Occasionally, I chatted with my half-siblings online, but there was no bond or connection there no matter how badly they seemed to wish it. “What about you? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I’m an only child, too. I think it was what made your grandparents take to me so quickly. They needed someone to help fill that void of your absence.”

The storm continued to rage outside, and I wondered if Jake was alright. A ridiculous thought really, he was more accustomed to the turbulent and unpredictable Florida weather than me. I turned back to Ari to find him already watching me. His eyes were so blue. “You’re not at all what I expected from a sheriff.”

His mustache wiggled as those blue eyes sparkled in good humor. “How so?”

“I don’t know. I guess when I think of cops, I think of artificial sincerity and arrogance. Someone full-figured or a string bean. Definitely not someone looking like they climbed off a Harley.” I wondered what other tattoos were hiding underneath his shirt.

“Close. It’s a Suzuki from the 80s.”

“Really? Did you restore it yourself?”

“I did. Working on old cars and bikes is my way of decompressing.”

That sounded important, like this was his way of saying, ‘the news pretties it up, but you civilians don’t see all of the shit we see every day.’ But all I could think about was how good Ari must look covered in grease and sweat. Maybe he does it wearing, what we used to call in 2006, wifebeaters. Or even better, maybe he does it shirtless. All those tattoos on display. That fine dusting of ginger hair teasing me through the opening of his shirt, probably covered his pecs and made a delicious trail down his stomach.

“Buttercup?”

Ari’s smile was all too knowing, and I almost wished for the wind to blow me away from the embarrassment of the moment. I stole a glance towards the window again. And blinked. And blinked again. There was something in the sky. It was large like a buzzard, but I could not remember ever seeing a bird of prey or any bird for that matter flying while it was lightning.

“I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

“It doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon, so, you can head to bed if you want, and I’ll stay down here.” For a moment, I had that small spark of stranger danger ticking in the back of my mind.

Drop-dead-gorgeous-tattooed-motorcycle-riding-sheriff or not, I really didn’t know Ari. Mama would knock the hell out of me for even thinking of leaving a strange man in my living room during a storm where help couldn’t come even if I needed it, while I slept in another room. “Um, I don’t know if that’s—”

“Hey,” Ari’s soft voice cut across mine, calling me by my real name as he took my hand. He placed it against his chest. Beneath that fine dusting of hair, that warm skin, and hard muscle, I could feel his heart beating steadily. “I promise you that I will never do anything to hurt you. When you wake up in the morning I will be gone, and I won’t come back until you ask.”

“Then I have one condition.” Ari waited expectantly. “The next time you come here, bring Sylvie. I want to meet her.” There was the skip to his heartbeat.

“She wants to meet you, too.” Ari looked down, cheeks staining a faint shade of pink. He grew shy all of a sudden. “I told her about you.”

It was still a little awkward going to my bedroom while Ari waited out the raging storm in the living room. I felt a little better and more than a little guilty turning the lock on my bedroom door. “It’s only sensible,” I told myself. I shook off my guilt of not completely trusting Ari and got ready for bed. The storm still raged by the time I lay down. The steady raindrops and rhythmic thunder rumbles lulled me to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I blinked my eyes blearily. I was lying on my stomach. The room was barely lit by the dim lamp at my bedside. The rain was still beating heavily against the window. My breathing slowed down, sensing a presence in the room with me. I turned over on my back. Ari stood at my bedside. The fear and anger I should feel never came. My eyes greedily drank in his nude form. The light dusting of ginger hair, the multiple tattoos of shapes that my tired mind didn’t have the energy to recognize, and that happy little treasure trail down Ari’s eight pack, underneath his little belly button, and straight down to the little thatch of dark red hair at the base of his cock. It was just as big and beautiful as the rest of Ari. Standing straight up and leaking. A pulsating vein adorned the underside of his cock, leading further down to his heaving balls that were about the size of a peach. Even Ari’s thighs were big and thick and rideable.

“Is this a dream?” I whispered, feeling like I was in that dreadful state of suspended sleep.

“It could be.” Ari gripped the sheets in his large fist, drawing the covers back. “Is that what you want?” he lifted a knee to climb onto the bed. I could feel the heat of his skin against my bare legs. Was this a dream?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Ari’s hands cupped my thighs, spreading them apart. “While you think about it,” he leaned forward, his towering frame blotted out the dim light. “Let me see if I can help you decide.”

I woke with a start. The storm had passed, and my bedroom was awash with sunlight. Pushing the covers back, I looked down at myself. I was still dressed the same as when I went to bed. The door was still locked. There was no way Ari could have been in my room. It was a dream. But it felt so real. Even taking a cursory glance around the house, softly calling, “Ari?” only to be met with silence, did not shake those thoughts that last night might have been more than a dream.

In the shower, I kept thinking about how soft Ari’s lips felt against my skin. That soft contrast to the rough scratch of his beard.

Dream Ari set one of my legs over his shoulder, kissing my ankle, and moving up my calf. The feeling of his lips and beard against the inside of my thigh had me choking on a laughing moan. Ari moved closer and closer to my center.

“You smell so fucking good!” he groaned, mouthing at the damp gusset of my panties.

“Please,” I whimpered, twisting, and turning to get as close to his mouth as physically possible.

“Not yet.” Ari pulled back, switching to my other leg, giving it the same treatment. “Will you let me taste you, sweetheart?”

“Please, please!”

I tried to shake away that dream, feeling the steady pulse in my center. There was too much for me to do to be thinking about fucking Sheriff Ari Levinson.

But even as I sat in my kitchen, having my small breakfast of grits and eggs, thoughts of Ari between my legs assailed me.

He tore the panties off my body with a flick of his wrist. I couldn’t even be angry when he stuffed them in my mouth.

He dove in, licking and sucking on my hard nub with a passionate hunger that I’ve never experienced. I sat up a little, careful not to disrupt Ari, and yanked my shirt off. I fell back, cupping my breasts, pinching, and rolling my nipples.

“Ari!” I moaned, feeling him work one of his thick fingers inside my leaking hole and then another until the sounds of my wetness competed with the raging storm outside my window.

“That’s it,” Ari groaned as my channel began tightening around his fingers. “That’s it, be a good girl and come on my fingers.”

My body was his to command as I fell over the edge with a muffled cry, giving him exactly what he wanted. The dream blurred together as I went from laying in my bed to being down on my knees, deep throating Ari as he grunted and groaned above me.

Was I imagining the phantom ache in my jaw from swallowing down Ari’s thick cock? His taste was like nothing I had ever experienced. He was salty and sweet. The scent of his skin was so soothing. Cedar, grass, and strawberries.

“Fuck, sweetheart! Just like that,” Ari growled, pulling back to let his come spread all over my tongue.

The dream changed again. Ari was still hard. His large body took up all my bed. His eyes were so dark as his big hands cupped and fondled my breasts, letting me ride him.

“Going from letting a mythical sea creature get me off to fantasizing about having semi-somnophilia sex with the hot sheriff, god, I need to get laid.”

Sitting on the dock with a blanket on my legs and a pillow underneath me, I talked poor Jake’s ears off. “People already think that I’m weird, so what difference will it make if I raid Walmart and Target on November 1 for their half-off Halloween decorations? It won’t be all tombstones and skeletons in the yard. I think I just want to keep bales of hay out here and some of those huge wax pumpkins. Would it offend you if I put some lanterns on the lake?” I printed out some pictures so Jake could see exactly what I meant. “It would look like this. Maybe not as many, but some.”

Jake's tentacle, that seemed to love wrapping itself around my ankle squeezed twice.

"Good, I'll order the lanterns tonight." I put the pictures aside and picked up my book again. I had started reading to Jake from Alvin Schwartz Scary Stories To Tell in the Dark. It was a hardback treasury of all three books in the series. He particularly enjoyed The Haunted House and Room For One More. "So, this one is called The Drum.

‘Once there were two sisters. Dolores was seven, and Sandra was five. They lived in a small house in the country with their mother and their baby brother, Arthur. Their father was a seaman and was away on a long voyage.

‘One day Dolores and Sandra were running across a field near their house when they met a g*psy girl playing a drum. Her family was camping in the field for a few days.

‘As the girl played, a little mechanical man and woman came out of the drum and danced. Dolores and Sandra had never seen such a drum, and they begged the girl to give it to them.

‘She looked at them and laughed. “I will give it to you,” she said, “but only if you are really bad. Come back tomorrow and tell me how bad you were, and I will see.”

Before I could read the next part, I heard the phone in the kitchen start to ring. I sighed, disappointed. I loved these stories and once I got into them, it was hard to put them down.

“Let me grab that right quick.” I tried to stand, but Jake squeezed my ankle twice. “Jake? What’s wrong?” he did it again. His expression never changed, but there seemed to be a sense of panic around him as eight of his tentacles, the most he had ever revealed to me, writhed, and twitched on the dock. “Hey, it’s okay. I promise I will be back.” I leaned forward, brushing my lips over his, distracting and shocking him enough to loosen his grip for me to scamper away. He made that odd whale cry that almost made me turn back around. “It’s going to be okay, Jake,” I said lowly, knowing he could hear me. “Everything is going to be okay.”

I jogged back to the house, going straight through the back door to the kitchen. Maybe one of these days, I would remember to install a phone in the bedroom.

“Hel—?”

“Listen to me very carefully,” my mother said, cutting me off. “Lock the doors and call the police!”

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

“INTERPOL was wrong. Charles didn’t die in that riot!” my heart dropped into my stomach as everything I believed deep down was suddenly confirmed. “Did you hear me, baby? He’s not dead!”

But my mother’s frantic voice no longer registered. All I could hear was the music playing in the front room. “I love you, mama.” I hung up the phone so that I couldn’t hear her cry.

Forever my darling our love will be true

Always and forever I’ll love just you

My hands trembled at my sides as I left the kitchen. I refused to grant him the satisfaction of chasing me down.

Just promise me darling your love in return

May this fire in my soul dear forever burn

Too soon I found myself standing in the living room with Johnny Ace continuing to croon his love and devotion.

And across from me, gazing out of the window with his hands clasped behind his back…was Charles. He turned around to face me. He looked nothing like the man I fell in love with. He shaved off his facial hair and grew out his hair. Gone were the soft sweaters I used to love stealing. No more casual jeans and John Lennon reading glasses I now know that he only wore for show. Or maybe it was camouflage. He stood in a crisp black suit; expensive-looking rings adored his pinky fingers. He even leaned on a silver wolf’s head cane. Professor Charles Stanford was gone and, in his place, stood Charles Blackwood, the Venice Ladykiller. The flat look in his eyes and the slow smile curling his lips made something in me ache to run away.

“Charles. Or should I call you something else?”

“I’ve always been partial to you calling me daddy.” My nostrils flared and it took me digging my nails into the palms of my hands to keep from losing it. “I know that it has been a while since we were together, but I don’t believe we have been apart long enough for you to forget your manners.” He cocked his head towards my granddad’s alcohol. Keeping Charles in my sight, I poured a glass of cognac. Charles’s fingers wrapped around mine for a moment before he took the glass out of my hand. “You were right before. About my name. I’ve changed it so many times over the years that I can hardly remember what my mother named me.”

“How long have you been here?” I ask as calmly as I can.

“Long enough to know that rather than grieving my reported demise, my little wife is content to open her bed to the good sheriff.”

“Charles, I—”

“Sshh,” he pressed his fingers against my lips, silencing me. “I won’t tell you I’m not angry, because I’m incredibly angry, but most of this is my fault. I found you and somewhere along the line I grew sloppy.” Charles pressed his forehead against mine, his hands digging harshly into my waist. He swayed us to the music with his eyes closed. “I took my first victim at the tender age of thirteen, and in all that time, you were the first woman I met that I didn’t want to kill. Now that’s not to say that there weren’t times I thought of just wrapping my hands around your throat and squeezing until I watched you take your last breath. But those were fleeting thoughts.”

“Until they weren’t.” I ignored the tears pooling in my eyes and spilling down my cheeks.

“Until they weren’t.”

“Did you ever love me, Charles?” on some levels I had to be a masochist. Why else would I ask the painful question I already knew the answer to?

“Darling, love is the fairytales we tell children before bed in the hopes that they won’t wake up one day to be the shitty people who deserve to have their throats slit from ear to ear. No, what I felt for you was not love. It was a profound desire to keep you from ever becoming one of my victims.”

“And now? You have to know this is the first place the police are going to check.”

“I’m aware.” Charles opened his eyes, looking down at me with a gaze so dark, it made me wonder if that was the last thing all those poor women he murdered saw. “What did you do with your wedding dress? I did have time to stop by your mother’s house while she slept, and I know you didn’t leave it there.”

I couldn’t begin to try to answer his question as the implications of what could have happened to my mom festered in my mind. Charles’s hands gripped me a little harder, making me wince. “I don’t have it.”

“You destroyed it,” Charles said, lips thinning in anger. “Don’t look so surprised. You always were a slave to your emotions. Be thankful that I didn’t get here in time to see you do it because if I had, I would’ve spanked your ass bloody before you even lit the match.” Charles took a deep breath to compose himself, working his neck back and forth. There was a time when I would have urge him to sit down so that I could work out those kinks and pains. “Open the bag.”

Charles had a garment bag on the couch. My heart dropped to my stomach already guessing what was inside. He took another sip of his cognac, watching for any signs that I would run. The wedding dress was not as beautiful or as elaborate as my old one.

“It’s not great, I know,” Charles made a face of displeasure. “But it will serve its purpose. Put it on. Right now.”

I didn’t think twice about arguing with Charles. He had nothing left to lose and that made him all the more dangerous to me. He leaned against the wall, sipping from his glass as he watched me strip down to my underwear.

“Stockings, too.”

I held my tongue and slipped on the unnecessary thigh-high stockings. The dress itself had a lace spaghetti top and tulle skirt that would brush the floor if I wore heels. He gestured impatiently to the white veil still in the bag. Once it was clipped to my hair, Charles swallowed the last of his cognac and prowled towards me. He circled me, taking in every angle of my body in the dress.

“Oh, yes. Not ideal, but it will do.”

“Do for what, Charles?” I found the courage to utter. “What are you trying to do?”

His smile that was once so beautiful and open now had the most sinister and foreboding aura. “I’m going to give us both what was stolen from us.” Charles grabbed my arm in a harsh grip, uncaring of my cries of pain. He forcibly dragged me from the room and out the door. He led me to the dock, and I was finally seeing the horrible conclusion to his plans. He pulled a gun from his jacket, enjoying the shocked fear etched in my expression. “I know, guns are so primitive, so impersonal, but when you’re in a pinch…” Charles dragged me midways the dock, forcing me to face him.

“So, that’s it? You’re just going to shoot me.”

“Shoot us, darling, shoot us! Our deaths here today will not be the end. Do you know that movies aside, there is a belief amongst the Japanese that if a person dies violently, it causes a deep, festering rage that gives that person the power to go on living beyond their death?” Charles ranted, looking more unhinged than I had ever seen him. “And believe me, my darling, these past months alone have filled me to the brim with incessant and uncontrollable rage.”

“By that logic, all of your victim’s spirits have lived on beyond their murders.”

“Then they should be thanking me for granting them life eternal.” He reached in his breast pocket taking out two gold rings, one of which he forced onto my finger. “With this ring, I thee wed, and all my worldly goods I thee endow.” I could only listen in undisguised horror as Charles recited his wedding vows to me. “In sickness and in health, in poverty or in wealth, ‘til death do us part.” He pressed the cold metal barrel against my temple, forcing me to put the ring on his finger. “Say the words.”

The heavy fog grew denser around our feet and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees at once. “With this ring,” I could hear faint splashes towards the end of the dock. “I thee wed, and all my worldly goods I thee endow.” There was a distinct crack of a branch being stepped on from the trees behind me. “In sickness and in health, in poverty or in wealth—”

A loud roar sounded behind me. I had only a moment to glance over my shoulder to see a huge bear bounding towards us. I screamed, immediately throwing myself to the side as Charles swore and began firing bullets towards the charging beast. I was too scared to look up, but I don’t think he hit it, because Charles was the one crying out as a spray of hot blood covered my face and chest. Another burst shook the dock, soaking the three of us with freezing cold lake water. This time I did look, and shi—

Jake was holding out on me. He didn’t have two legs like a regular man. His entire lower half that tapered off like the bottom end of a Dorito chip formed a dozen tentacles that were not only as thick as both of Ari’s thighs put together, but long like the monster drawings of the fabled Kraken’s attacking pirate ships. It was no wonder he stayed in the lake; he needed every inch of it.

“How the hell did he get all of that inside my house?” I muttered, feeling only half hysterical. Jake’s monstrous tentacle held Charles in place while the bear charged. “Fuck, are they working together?” I squeezed my eyes shut and tried covering my ears to block out the sounds of Charles’s screaming. But then the screams turned to wet garbles and choking sounds. Then there was nothing but silence. The dock shook underneath me as razor-sharp claws clicked along the wood. Oh no. Hot snuffling breaths blew against my face as the bear turned its attention to me. Oh, fuck. I was next. A big, wet, and even hotter tongue licked along my face. “Goddammit, killing machine or not, that’s fucking gross!” I opened my eyes to give that damn bear one last glare before he tore me to shreds, only to see it huff and sit down in front of me. Its blue eyes seemed bright with humor despite the blood matting its fur and staining its snout.

Wait.

Blue eyes?

To my amazement, the bear shrunk in size, the fur retreating inside its follicles. The snout retracting back into a nose, followed by the claws on its hands and feet. It was like watching a reverse Rick Baker transformation.

“Hey, Buttercup,” Ari waved awkwardly in all his naked glory.

“Ari??? What the hell—?” but then one of Jake’s monster tentacles, grabbed my ankles, dragging me down towards the end of the docks. “Jake! What are you doing?” he had tentacles holding both my arms and legs spread-eagled. He used another set of tentacles to tear the wedding dress off me along with my bra and panties, leaving me wearing only the thigh highs and veil.

“You scared him, sweetheart. All you had to do was stay out here and keep chatting with him and I would’ve taken care of that insane piece of shit for you.”

“You knew he was here? In town? You asshole!” I shrieked, knowing if I had my hands free, I would have taken a shot at that pretty face.

“Don’t be like that,” Ari purred, lowering himself by my head so he could nuzzle my nose. “I would have never let him hurt you.”

I wanted to argue more, but Jake brought my attention back to him when he unsheathed his cock from behind his tentacles. “J—J—Jake, I don’t think I can—”

“You can, and you will,” Ari said firmly. He was kind enough to spit on his fingers and reach between me and Jake. I tried to stay mad, but Ari’s fingers worked me open too good to be mad about anything. “There you go,” he cooed, kissing my forehead as he pushed three fingers inside me. Jake’s long bifid tongue poked and prodded at my mouth until I opened up, letting him lick all over.

Jake, seeming to have lost some of his own anger, pushed inside me carefully. He felt about as big as Ari and that was still almost too big. I was careful not to bite down on Jake’s tongue as I wiggled as much as I could to meet his deep, hard thrusts. His smaller tentacles with those sucking cups, teased my breasts, leaving my nipples hard and aching.

Ari, feeling left out, angled his hips upwards, sliding his cock inside my mouth beside Jake’s tongue. Jake’s unchanging expression seemed annoyed, especially when Ari shot him a roguish wink, but Jake didn’t pull back and even helped me by wrapping the split tips of his tongue around Ari’s cock.

Between the adrenaline of the fight and almost dying at the hands of my insane ex, the sex between us grew faster and harsher. Jake, Ari, and I made our own soundtrack of wet slaps and heavy moans, and guttural groans and clicks. My toes started curling as my legs shook. My back bowed as much as I was able and I came with a cry, gushing around Jake’s cock. He followed behind me with his high whale’s song, tightening his tongue, dragging Ari over the edge who shot his release down my throat.

We lay in a pile, tangled around each other, catching our breaths. If it weren’t for the freezing cold, I could’ve drifted off to sleep without a care in the world, surrounded by my two monsters.

“Jake?” I whispered, stroking the back of his neck, liking the way it made his gills wiggle. “I need to get warm or else I’ll end up catching pneumonia.” The pout in his eyes was cute. I leaned up, pressing my lips against his for only the second time. “I’ll come back out tomorrow.”

Jake drew his tentacles back, allowing the rest of his body to submerge back in the water. Ari helped me stand, looking free and at ease being completely naked beside me.

“Before you two came charging out, did you hear the last thing Charles said to me?”

“I don’t know about this one,” Ari gestured to Jake. “But I was more focused on making sure he didn’t shoot you before we could stop him.” Ari’s hands fell lightly atop my shoulders, rubbing them. “What did he say?”

“The short of it is that he thinks being killed and filled with rage at the point of dying gives you some sort of ability to live beyond death.” Jake and Ari exchanged a look. “What? Oh, don’t tell me Charles is actually going to be haunting my lake for eternity?”

“If he wants to share the lake with Jake, just so he can rip him apart over and over, so be it. But I doubt that’s possible for him. The rage and violent way he died does not trump the violent way he lived. He has a lot to answer for on the other side. He’s not going to be hanging around here in spirit form or anything else.”

I stared at the gold ring around my finger. Not so long ago, I would have given anything to become Charles’s bride. Now, the thought of rings and weddings and dresses made me want to vomit. I pulled the ring off my finger, giving it one final glance before casting it into the water, watching it sink into the darkness.

“Til death do us part.” Ari kissed my forehead, bringing me back to the topic. “And if you’re wrong?” I was genuinely concerned about my lake.

“Then I know a little lady who will perform an exorcism in exchange for ingredients to brew her potions.”

“What little lady?”

“You know her, or I should say know of her. She has a very distinct height and tone of voice.”

I thought about it and shook my head. “Bullshit. There is no way Tangina Barrons is a real person.”

“I swear that she is, Buttercup. Zelda Rubinstein shadowed her for six weeks when Tobe Hooper tapped her for Poltergeist.”

“My god,” I rubbed my temples. “Cecealias, werebears, witches, what’s next?”

“You saw Larry,” Ari offered.

“Larry?”

“Yes, Larry the Lightning Bird.” Ari’s boyish grin simultaneously charmed and unnerved me. “I needed an excuse to stay the night. I tried to be patient but knowing that you had already had Jake just pissed me off.”

“I thought I was having some kind of kinky dream! You’re an asshole, Ari Levinson.”

Ari’s smile fell. “You’re right. I am an asshole. I’m making a joke out of something serious, but it’s because I didn’t want to tell you that I asked Larry to make that storm because when I arrived at your house for dinner, I could see your ex watching your house from the woods.”

I shuddered, not fighting Ari’s hug. If Charles had managed to hide a little better, he could have killed me that night.

“I’m sorry for not telling you, sweetheart.”

“I’m still mad with you Ari, and no amount of pouting is going to change that, so don’t even start.” I was more annoyed than angry that I was half asleep, half hypnotized during my first time having sex with Ari.

“Fine.” Ari took my wrists in his hands. His hands were so big they looked like shackles around my wrists. It made sense that he was a bear. “What can I do?”

“Bring Sylvie tomorrow.”

“Done.” Ari kissed my knuckles. I was not going to forgive him.

“And you are going to cook for me.”

“I can do that. What else?” Ari’s eyes raked over my body, reminding me that I was only standing in thigh-high stockings and the veil that somehow survived Jake dragging me across the docks.

“After I’ve slept for the next twenty years, I want you to answer all my questions about yours and Jake’s world. I want to know what else is out there and why you all seemed to be drawn to my land.” Ari opened his mouth as if to answer. “I said, later. Not now.” As we walked back to the house, it finally felt like everything was going to work out.

Ari pressed his hand between my thighs, casually scooping up Jake’s spend dribbling out of me. He held eye contact as he pushed the soiled digits into his mouth, sucking them clean. Fuck. This man was going to be nothing but trouble.

“Your phone’s ringing, Buttercup.”

“Shit!” I took off running to the house not even thinking about Jake and Ari both getting an eyeful of my naked ass. “I forgot to call mama back!”

AN: And that's all she wrote!! I hope you guys had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. Send me your thoughts below, and tell me who you like more Cecaelia!Jake or Werebear!Ari. Happy Spooky Season!!

tags: @georgiapeach30513 @autumnrose40 @gotnofucks @jobean12-blog @luxeavenger @specialk-18 @maroonsunrise83 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @honeyloverogers @stargazingfangirl18 @caffiend-queen @geminixevans @angrythingstarlight @avintagekiss24 @indyluckycharlie @the-iceni-bitch @slothspaghettiwrites @giorno-plays-piano @foxgloveprincess @navybrat817 @river-soul @wayward-blonde @boxofbonesfic @xxindiglow @sweetlyscared @lotusss-flowerbomb

#sheriff!ari levinson x black!reader #cecaelia!jake jensen x black!reader #past charles blackwood x black!reader #ari levinson x reader #jake jensen x reader #charles blackwood x reader #ari levinson #jake jensen #charles blackwood #SoundCloud

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