SHE WAS ONLY A CLOWN is a special serialized novella presented in weekly installments every Saturday. Click here to read chapter 1, click here to read chapter 2, click here to read chapter 3, click here to read chapter 4, click here to read chapter 5, click here to read chapters 6 an 7, click here to read chapters 8 and 9, click here to read chapters 10 and 11, click here to read chapters 12 thru 14, click here to read chapters 15 and 16, click here to read chapters 17 and 18, click here to read chapters 19 thru 21, click here to read chapters 22 and 23, click here to read chapters 24 and 25, click here to read chapters 26 and 27 and click here to read chapters 28 and 29.
Believe it or not, a couple of them cops gave me their phone numbers after they interrogated me. Not their work lines. Their personal numbers. So it ain’t gonna come as much of a surprise when I say I was fucking one of them on a pretty regular basis a few months after the murders.
He was a real fuckin’ weirdo. He liked getting high with me in bed while I told him about Ryan AKA Victor raping me and Mandee and all the violent details. Really got his cock hard. Funny thing was, the story changed just about every time I told it cause wasn’t none of that shit true to begin with. He didn’t care. He just wanted to bust his pervert nut.
I even started making up stories about other dudes raping me because he got so worked up by it. Told me he wanted to do some role playing fantasy type shit where he’d break into my place when I was sleeping and I’d pretend I didn’t know him. Hell, I would lay there screaming and hollering but really I was wondering why the hell he didn’t just go out and rape some bitch for real. Seemed like a waste of time to me.
So one night while we were drifting off to sleep after he’d pried open my window and pretended to knock me out with some kind of chemical rag, I was laying there thinking about pouring laundry detergent down his throat as I fell asleep.
I actually hadn’t thought about Mandee in a while. I’d begun to fantasize about my next victims, whoever they might be. I’d check out girls at the bars as I worked on getting taken home and fucked. But instead of admiring the girls’ tits and asses and whatnot, I was thinking about which ones I could get away with killing.
Anyway, so I fell asleep and dreamed about Mandee.
I was back inside Ryan AKA Victor’s torture room only he was nowhere to be found. It was just me and Mandee. It was awesome at first. I felt like I was really there, like it was the most vivid dream I’d ever had. What do they call that shit? Lucid dreaming? Yeah, I was lucid dreaming. I crawled on top of her corpse and I rubbed my naked pussy all over her, leaving a fucking snail trail of girl cum all over her as I got off over and over again. I was having a blast.
Then the dumb bitch started talking to me.
She was dead one second and the next she was alive. Just like that. Her eyes were open and she crying and going on asking me why I killed her and that she loved me and that she thought we were best friends.
Well that wasn’t any kind of a turn on, you know? I freaked and jumped off her and just wanted the dream to end right then and there. Only it didn’t end. Not for a long while. I had to listen to that girl cry and tell me all her hopes and dreams that I’d ruined and all the family that she’d left behind.
It was just annoying at first but I’ll be damned if I wasn’t in tears by the end of the fucking dream. I even woke up crying which just made rape-cop horny all over again.
As he lay there fucking me I wondered if I was having regrets about killing my best friend. I wondered if I was human after all.
A week went by before I had the same dream. They came on slowly at first but before long I was dreaming about crying Mandee every other night. I was starting to freak. I would dread going to sleep. I would drive out to Mandee’s grave during the day and beg her not to haunt me at night. I started taking speed pills just so I didn’t have to go back to that damn dream.
I was close to a breakdown and had pretty much set my mind to killing myself when I finally dreamed about… him.
I was sitting on my couch with some random Mexican guy letting him fingerbang me, nodding in and out of consciousness. We’d done some meth earlier that night at a club and I promised him I’d eat his ass out when we got back to my place but it had been days and days since I’d slept. I couldn’t keep my eyes open even as he sucked on my tits and put fingers in both my pussy and asshole.
Just like that I was back in the Mandee dream. I screamed, throwing myself against the torture wall, grabbing an ice pick from the shelf. Before Mandee had a chance to start talking to me I stabbed her in the face over and over again. I hit her with the pick till my arms were exhausted and her entire upper body was a red smear on the mattress.
I turned the ice pick on myself and stabbed it into my own face a few times but I couldn’t feel anything. I threw the ice pick across the room and fell onto the floor, shouting at god, the devil or whoever to let me out of that awful nightmare. And then a funny thing happened. He answered me.
Mandee’s corpse stood up. What was left of her head and neck slowly formed a sort of makeshift face that looked like what it would look like if you smeared bloody boogers around to form a smiley face on a piece of paper only way worse than I’m describing it.
When the smiley face spoke, it wasn’t Mandee’s voice anymore. It was a deep, echoey voice that didn’t sound like it was coming from the dream. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere far, far away, but so loud that it hurt my ears.
But worse than all of that were the words he spoke. I knew he was the devil because he knew every fucked up thing I’d ever done in my life. Hell, he knew every fucked up thing I’d ever THOUGHT about doing and believe me I ain’t even scratched the surface telling you about all the fucked up fantasies that go through my head on the daily.
He stood there in Mandee’s mangled body and he made me feel like the worthless piece of shit my mother always told me I was. By the time he finished I was begging him to kill me, but he wouldn’t do it.
He raised up out of Mandee’s corpse and let her fall to a heap on the bloody mattress. He was long and thin and black. So fucking black. Blacker than anything I’d ever seen with a triangle head and these green strobing patterns that ran along his body. And here I’d always thought the devil was dog dick red.
Standing there, like that, looking like the most beautiful and the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen, I would have done anything he asked.
And so I did.
When I woke up from the devil’s dream the Mexican dude was balls deep in my ass. He was so fucked up, I don’t even think he’d realized I had passed out. Or maybe I’d only been out for a second. It had felt like an eternity.
I let him fuck me for a while, getting off several times as his short but fat cock hit all the right places in my butthole. Then, when I was satisfied, I reached under the couch and grabbed a kitchen knife I had stashed under there in case I had to deal with the real creep fuckers who wouldn’t take no for an answer on them nights I wasn’t in the mood to get fucked by dudes who don’t take no for an answer.
The Mexican had a shitty tattoo of a dancing girl right in the center of his chest. When he took his shirt off and flexed his pecs, she’d dance. That’s how he picked up girls from the bars, I guess. He’d take his shirt off and show them how ripped and muscled he was and tell them he could make a girl dance just as good as them, then make em laugh by bouncing his tits up and down.
Well, that shitty pickup line might have got him a lot of ass but when his doomed ass came home with me, it got him killed. Right in mid stroke as he was howling in Spanish to some Mexican god probably about how tight my ass was, I turned my upper body around and I stabbed him right in the dancing girl tattoo’s butt which happened to be right over his heart.
Get this: As he froze there, eyes wide in shock, chest wound spurting blood all over my back, dancing girl tattoo twitching and hopping around like she was the one stabbed, the motherfucker came! He actually nutted inside me as he fell over on top of me and died. So weird.
Not one to waste a hard dick, I rocked back and kept fucking him till I got off on his dead dick. Can you believe it stayed hard the whole time?
I wanted to stay there and keep fucking the dead Mexican just to see if I could make his dead body cum, but the devil had other plans for me. Scooping a big handful of the Mexican’s blood, I climbed up on the couch and drew in great big letters “They’re all laughing at you!” across the wall.
Then I smeared the remainder of the blood all over my body, went into my bathroom and dumped out my makeup kit into the sink.
I fetched a wig from the bedroom then using a combination of makeup and Mexican blood, I transformed myself head to toe into the sexiest, scariest clown I could come up with. Why a clown? Fuck if I know. That’s what the devil told me to do. I walked out the door still naked, now a clown girl only the devil could love.
I drove straight down to a small highway service road in some little ass town called Medora. There I parked my car behind some big trees and then… Then I guess I passed out cause I don’t remember shit else except waking back up in this motherfucking hell of a dream.
He told me if I did exactly what he said I’d never have to come back here! I did it! I did it all. I killed the Mexican. I wrote the words on the wall exactly like he said. I dressed up like a stupid fucking clown for him and he still sent me back here! He lied to me! The fuckin’ devil! Of course he did! Of course he lied and now I’m in goddamn hell and I’ll never get out! I’ll never stop seeing Mandee’s motherfucking dead face!
Just fucking kill me, mister! Please just fucking end it! Please!
PLEASE GOD PLEASE KILL ME!
Be back here next Saturday, January 6th, for chapter 33!