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Being a Real Estate agent, my clients willingly grant me access to their personal space while they are away. Nevertheless, homeowners often clean up and stow away private items far under beds and deep into closets.
Oftentimes—for the sake of good stewardship only!—I happen to peruse under beds, rummage through nightstand drawers, and dig deep into closets. I believe it can be necessary. It’s important for prepping a home for sale.
One time, I shuffled forward a box that was set on the top shelf of a large closet, but I couldn’t stop the box from toppling over on me. It dropped and so did I.
Out came handcuffs, vibrators, several long dildos, a whip, a strand of anal beads, a dark shawl, and all sorts of lubes and lotions. Right then, I decided this might be the place for a little viewership. I liked the idea of soon watching some exciting romps.
In the master bedroom, I adjusted a thin camera next to a white porcelain piggy bank that had rosy cheeks and a pudgy snout. I patted its round hams, knowing Porky would protect me.
That evening, I checked the livestream feed from the camera. I saw a dark room. The couple was asleep in their king-sized bed. They slept on opposite edges, facing away from each other. I guessed they had not been in the mood that night.
I opened the livestream over the next days, hoping to see some action. Nothing. They always slept away from each other. Not even cuddling. I never saw any action, night or day. The couple only slept. I was very disappointed. Shutting off the feed, I admitted that they weren’t the clients I expected them to be.
I decided to return to the house to remove the camera before my plan blew up.
The husband, Jeff, said I could stop by Saturday. Jeff warned me though that the house was decorated for a Halloween party they were hosting that night.
“Please don’t think any less of us when you see what we have up.” Jeff chuckled, awkwardly. “Seriously. We like to go all out.”
I waved off the notion of assumptions. “I’ve been to plenty of Halloween parties. And I’ve been in plenty of homes.”
On Saturday afternoon, I unlocked the front door and stepped in. Immediately, I heard distant screeches and howls—the serious sounds from old-time horror films. I brushed them off, as good props for the party.
Then things got strange. I found a well-worn wood-handled axe leaning against the door of the foyer coat closet. The handle was covered in some dark gunk. I supposed it was imitation blood. Farther in, dark smears and splatterings of that blood stuff covered the walls. I even found that someone had tracked it into the house on the bottom of their boots. The prints went throughout the house. I touched it with the tip of my shoe. It was gooey. Nasty and a lot of cleanup.
I followed the prints all the way to the living room.
I was aghast, shocked, and angry. “Blood on the carpet! They are out of their minds. Why would they do this when they’re trying to sell their house? This stuff better come out.”
I touched the red stain. It was not going to come out easily. They would need to steam-clean all their carpets. That would cost a pretty penny. I was ready to grab that axe and make my own horror props across this place. And the props only got worse.
More smears and splatterings, body parts in jars filled with yellowed formaldehyde, a dead body in a chair slumped over the dining room table. The thing looked real as hell, but I wasn’t going to confirm it. I continued to hear the high-pitched screams and odd cackles.
Despite the ugliness, the kitchen smelled like sweet velvet cake. And I sniffed my way to a Black Forest ham cooking in the oven. I gave them credit for some kind of good taste.
The dark-red boot prints led to the stairway to the basement den. At the bottom stair, I turned red and nearly blew my top. They had put a black pentagram on the hardwood floor—the real oak flooring—a great selling point for the house. At first glance, I thought the couple had taped it on the floor. When I looked again it wasn’t tape.
From across the room, the pentagram had looked to be painted-on. But it wasn’t paint.
“They wouldn’t. No way,” I hissed. “The carpet, and now the hardwood floor!”
I rushed from the bottom stair to the center of the room. Nope, not painted. Not in the least.
I dragged my fingers over the encircled star. They had seared—I mean, think about a red-hot iron—the star into the lovely hardwood floor.
“It’s going to fucking ruin the value of the goddamn house. All for a stupid Halloween party? And they want me to sell this place! This shit-place has gone to fucking hell!”
Unexpectedly, a whoosh of air ran along my neck, fluttering my golf polo shirt. Then the leaves of a plant waved, and the arms of the ceiling fan turned, as if lightly touched. There was strange laughter far, far away. The same type of horror film sounds.
I was confused now. They had done up their party well. They were no joke. Then I realized the party was too weird to remove the camera from the place.
I quickly moved it from the dead bedroom to this ruined den. The perfect spot was on a shelf between two classic novels—Frankenstein and Dracula.
When setting up the camera, I hated to even look at the burn on the oak hardwood. It was sickening. More sickening than the dead body.
I locked up the house. Outside, the afternoon seemed brighter than usual. Happier. It was warmer than when I had arrived. The sky was baby blue with cotton-like cumulous clouds. Birds were chirping. I smelled lilacs.
In my car, I texted Jeff.
“Just left. House is locked. Going to scare people tonight. Concerned about stains on carpets, burns on floor.”
Jeff texted back quickly. “No worries about carpet or floors. All fine by Sunday.”
That evening, I connected to the livestream camera. I relaxed on my couch with a glass of Angel’s Envy—my go-to bourbon.
The downstairs den was empty. Seeing burned hardwood floor still infuriated me—made my body shiver. I had to close my eyes and just exhale my pent-up anger. Their stupidity in burning the floor, dropping the value of the house, would affect my commission and the sale of a home like this. No one would buy a house seared with a satanic symbol.
“These two are idiotic! I’m losing money.” I slammed my fist on the end table. The bowler slipped off its coaster and ice in the glass clinked in the bourbon. A small cross under the lamp toppled to its side. I reset it, but it fell over again. It wouldn’t stand up right, so I just left it.
I had the same thought running through my mind. “How am I going to sell a house with a fucking pentagram on the floor? They’ll just have to replace the hardwood floors, completely. All of it. There’s no other way around it. Cost them $7,000, maybe $10,000 at least. And there’s the carpet too. Need to get a carpet cleaner.”
Then, Donna, Jeff’s wife, passed briefly through the camera lens. Sexy as she was, I paid more attention to the live feed. She passed through again a few minutes later with Jeff. A third time passing through, both were dressed in dark, hooded robes that dragged on the hardwood floor.
I tried to guess the party costumes. Star Wars Jedi? Medieval knights? Monks?
Soon, more people passed back and forth in view of the camera. These new guests had on plain outfits—jeans, T-shirts, skirts. But eventually they reappeared, one by one, in the same dark robes that Jeff and Donna wore. This was … yes, it was. Unbelievable.
An hour later, the people congregated in the center of the den around that pentagram. Each one had a candle burning before them.
My heart was weighted down, and I was a little nauseous at seeing something so weird.
They held hands and lifted their locked hands. Their capes swirled and twisted. A whirling cloud-like thing appeared in their midst from nowhere. Unless it was another scary trick of Jeff and Donna.
I had to lean in closer to my computer screen to believe I was seeing things right. Then I leaned back, in case my eyes were playing tricks on me. I initially assumed the camera had a glitch or a feed problem because things were abnormal at the party. But the feed continued streaming.
The cloud darkened and, listen to this, morphed into a tall form. It had a spine that was bent like a very old man and a pair of what I could only imagine to be horns or spikes on its head. This thing that I thought should not be became more discernible among the cloud. It further morphed. Its back straightened and the horn-things smoothed out into a cropped hairstyle. Its shoulders broadened and torso narrowed to a trim waist. A man, if I could call it that.
The twirling mist lowered to the man’s feet and then—whoosh!—it was gone. Only the man was left.
I rubbed my fists into my eyes. When I looked again, it—he—was there.
I could not not notice a very large appendage hanging low from between his legs. The girls, who were on one side of the circle, now knelt before this man. They pulled back their hoods and shuffled forward on their knees. Their hands reached to that appendage. Each one grabbed for it, and they struggled amongst themselves to get a hold of it, like zombies in the movies. The appendage quickly lengthened and then erected into a gigantic dick. These women wanted their mouths on it, or at least, close to it. Some kissed the majestic dick’s head while others ran their tongues along the white length. One woman put her face between his legs, likely bumping her nose against his balls, kissing and sucking.
I could only think they were calmly insane. How else to explain it?
One woman shed her dark robe and tossed it aside. It was Donna. She was naked. Her breasts were small but perky. The rest of her body was petite. She had not lost her sexiness. She lay on her back. Her arms were splayed over her blond hair that was flat on the hardwood floor. The creature moved through the other women to rest over the willing, naked Donna. Her legs widened until the heels of her feet were pointed at my camera. I knew she felt his cock enter her because her back arched and her head twisted toward me. There was harshness in her face. Her eyes were closed, and she bit her forefinger. The great beast fucked her until she was exhausted and didn’t—or couldn’t—move.
As she was being fucked, the other ladies shed their robes. They continued to touch the beast while the beast fucked their friend, kissing his shoulders and rubbing his back. They obviously were encouraging it and the woman to fulfilment.
Another of the women had a pudgy belly and thick thighs. While on her back, she had to scooped together her giant, baggy tits to keep them from nearly touching the floor on either side of her. As the beast fucked her, one of the women fit her lips around the huge nipples atop her massive boobs. The beast brought this woman to her climax quickly. Soon each of the ladies were laid out, nude and lifeless. They looked to be contentedly sleepy, like happy little girls after a long playdate.
That wasn’t all that I witnessed though.
In the pentagram, another swirl formed and arose high. This time, beautiful white wings appeared—or that’s what it looked like.
I felt like I was going insane by seeing all of this.
As the swirling lowered, I saw a fair-skinned blonde, with more so golden hair than blond, that flowed to the middle of her back. Her blue eyes were fierce, queenly, royal. The creature looked like what could have been an ancient Viking goddess.
Her breasts were large and drooped beautifully low against her lean torso. Large, oval areolas suited her breasts. The breasts fell low, but they were not sagging because of age. Quite the opposite. How do I explain it? I can only describe these tits by saying they would—maybe had in an ancient time—nourished, or satisfied, the needs of all mankind for thousands of generations. The description sounds stupid, but that’s all I could think in staring at them.
The men fawned over this tall, graceful woman. With no denial or slapping away hands, she let the men reach between her legs and behind her and to her large hands. They struggled, like their wives had with the cock of their beast, to put their mouths against her tits and suck and pull and pinch.
In a few moments, the woman willingly knelt before the circle of men. She sucked their dicks, bobbing her head back and forth, her golden strands swaying. Her hands fondled the men’s balls and stroked dicks. She let each man cum on her. Soon her face was covered with slippery goo. The cum drooled down from her forehead, hung off her narrow nose and dangled from her round lips and chin.
One of the men who sucked on her tits was soon pushed onto his back. I watched as this woman moved above him. She touched his length—which looked to be a stump in comparison to the beast. His body jolted at the tiniest touch. He erected again—odd, since he had just shot onto her moments ago. She moved over his small body, adjusted herself above his cock and let it enter her. She rode him, like a queen on her royal horse. Her tits whooshed in all directions.
When she had exhausted that man, she laid down to allow another of the naked men to climb onto her. He thrusted hard into her and against her. Other men sucked her breasts at the same time. One rammed his cock into her mouth. Like the women, soon all the men were spent. They were on the floor, unmoving. One man was snoring.
After a long orgy, the beast finally stood over all the women who were laid flat on the floor, not moving. The queen too rose from among the bleary men.
The swirl appeared in the pentagram. The angel’s wings reformed. The beast’s back arched. The swirl of clouds rose from the ring of the pentagram, and in a moment, the beast and the angel were gone.
I could not close my mouth. I sat at home, unable to move. I only heard the tiny tick of my clock, which was in my bedroom next to my bed.
I didn’t want to return to that house and planned to give it to another Real Estate agent to sell. One who knew nothing about this horror. I was willing to forego the standard referral commission.
But, because of my camera, I forced myself to go back. I decided to get in and out as quickly as possible. I had one thing to get.
I unlocked the front door and stepped in. I squinted to believe my eyes. The walls were glistening clean, bloodless. The carpets were clean. No boot prints. Most astoundingly, I could not find any semblance of a pentagram seared into the hardwood oak floors in the den.
“How in hell? I know there was a pentagram burned on the floor! I touched it.”
The front door opened. I screamed and ran up the stairs and passed Donna.
“Clark, how …” Donna began to say.
But I didn’t care. I dashed out, leaving the camera between Frankenstein and Dracula. If they found it, they found it. They would never see me again.
She called out her apology from across the front lawn.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
But I never looked back. Never!
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