Page 64 of Beneath Her Skin

They say most women personally knew and trusted the man who had hurt them, and that was what made it easier for the man to take advantage of them. Perhaps that man was a friend who didn’t get the hint or a close family member, or perhaps that man was a neighbor everyone else had let their guard down around. And despite this being the most common, it was also the most painful, leaving behind psychological scars that would never go away.

I was no exception despite the fact I hadn’t been targeted in the traditional sense. As I gazed at Barron’s mangled form, I couldn’t help the sadness that enveloped me as I reminisced about the fond memories I had of him. Memories of us going camping with my parents, of holiday dinners at his place, and all the playdates we could fit into a single year. They all swarmed around me in a cacophony of harmony until the sobs broke through my otherwise-stoic demeanor, and I could no longer hold everything in. The first of the tears fell, and for the first time, I mourned everything I had lost—the death of my parents and of his own, who had perished in the same fatal car crash over a year ago, as well as the end of everything I knew. Becausetonight, I had truly lost everything, and I would have to start anew.

But it had to be done. What Barron had done was unforgiveable. I wiped my tears and dried my good cheek on the back of my sleeve as I pushed myself off the ground, forcing myself to let go of the past and push forward with my new normal. Because in my story, I was both the slasher villain and the final girl. I’d killed countless men, but I had also survived my own slasher villain and earned the scars to prove it.

And my work was far from over.

Off in the distance, there was another scream, another desperate cry for help. I whipped my head towards the sound, a knowing smile gracing my lips, before pulling the hood back over my head and placing the mask back over my face, smearing the blood that caked the shallow cut on my cheek. It had been a superficial cut, as had all of my wounds. Barron hadn’t been given a chance to harm me further other than when he had been toying with me, and it worked in my favor. Because now, I could continue to do what I did best.

I stood and examined the wound on my right side. That had been the worst one, even if only the tip had gone in, and though pain still pulsed from it, the wound didn’t feel deep, almost like a gash. If it showed signs of infection tomorrow, I’d go to the doctor, but for now…

I turned and took off down the alleyway, blood-soaked chainsaw raised high into the night. It was time for me to put one last fucker into the ground.

Game on.

REAPER’S BARGAIN

BY NOVA B. QUINN

CONTENT WARNING:

This short story is not for the queasy or faint of heart. While combining the elements of taboo, spice, extreme gore/violence with the taste of the supernatural and revenge, reader discretion is heavily advised. “Reaper’s Bargain” is part of a shared world with my novella, “Sugar & Sin,” with some returning faces within these pages. If at anytime you feel you need to stop reading, please do so! Your mental health matters most!

* Violence * Sexism * Homophobia * Bullying * Abusive foster parents * On page murder * Gore * Gasoline ingestion * Death by fire * Limb removal * Sexual assault of a minor (off page) * Extreme violence * Physical abuse * Verbal abuse * Death * House fire * Mentions of drug use by parent * Body mutilation * On page brutal violence * Rage * Revenge * Foster sistertaboo * PTSD *Anxiety * The occult * Choking * Rope binds * Fist fighting * Mentions of Hell * Dismemberment by chainsaw * Stabbing * Death of a loved one * Deal with death/ devil * Cuckhold * Underage alcohol consumption

1

STRAWBERRY SUNSHINE

RILEY

Iflip to the next page of myDemonology Codexbook, my jaw dropping at the horrific artwork of the creature on the page.

“The Wendigo,” I say slowly, sounding it out. My fingers trace over the grotesque features of the demon. “Said to have once been a human that turned into what is now known as The Wendigo due to its cannibalistic nature.”

I cringe as I continue reading about the creature. It has an emaciated frame, claws, sharp teeth, and a skeletal stag-like head with massive antlers protruding from the skull.

While this being looks like something out of my worst nightmare, I can’t help but become fascinated with it. I’ve had a sick obsession with demons and the occult for as long as I can remember. Ever since I learned that The Saint, an Archdemon from Hell, plunges the world into chaos every Christmas to reap the souls of the wicked, I’ve spent as much time as humanly possible studying all of the otherworldly creatures lurking beneath us in another dimension.

A finger tapping on the page in front of me snaps me out of my whirlwind of thoughts about demons.

I flick my eyes up to focus on the center of my entire world. Willow.

She sits next to me on her twin bed in our shared bedroom, with her back leaning against the wall. Her legs are crossed with her sketchpad in her hands, like always.

“Hey, Will. What’s up?”

She taps on the picture of The Wendigo again, crinkling her cute button nose, dusted with freckles, and shaking her head.

I flash her a devious smile. “What? Too scary?”

She nods as she brings her sketchpad to her face to cover her eyes.

I skip past the next couple of pages in my book to something arguably less scary-looking but nonetheless very, very deadly. Reapers.

“It’s gone now.”

She slowly drags the pad lower, a hint of amusement in her emerald green orbs.

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