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WARNING: My freebies are intended for mature audiences only. These fictions contain sex, nudity, language, and sometimes violence. You know, all the good stuff *grins*

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Currently I have Tempting Sin & Rated M Author bookies!! So, if you’d like one free of charge, please email me at: aj_hampton@hotmail.com with your snail mail address. In a few days you’ll receive a colorfully stickered envelope from yours truly. And yes, I will ship international

A free Horror vignette - Grave Weight © AJ Hampton 2008

Like a grave weight, complete and total darkness pressed on Madilyn Duval’s tightly closed lids. Motionless, the darkness seemed to break the acuity of time. Stiff, smooth leather cushioned her unconscious body as a troubled moan parted from chapped lips. She laid, one lifeless hand crooked towards the beige floor, the other curled between her breasts. Long, bare legs curled in towards her belly and knees that barely touched, stuck off the edge of the two-person couch.

She moaned in unease, shifting her head from one side to the other. Pain. Caught on the cusp of sleep and wakefulness, she was conscious of the first agonizing throb that resonated through her skull. Groggily she pushed at the air, trying to thrust away the darkness surrounding her. For a moment, she felt as if she were trying to claw her way from a coffin.

That pain, slow and pulsing, intensified at the first flutter of her heavy eyelids. Confusion joined the curling sensation of nausea in the pit of her stomach. Slowly, she moved the hand on her chest upwards, trailing a balmy palm over her face until she could rub the sleep from her eyes.

She blinked, one heart beat at a time. The vague darkness broke away to leave blind confusion in its wake. Where in the hell was she?

Above her she heard, before she saw, the soft whirl of a ceiling fan.

Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.

Dusty brown and beige blades cut through the stagnant air in a monotonous rhythm that threatened to lull her back to sleep. With each pass, the dry air stirred and her nose wrinkled at the scent.

Death. Blood. Decay.

The air stunk of something rancid. It smelled like the dead possums her and Jordan, her older brother, used to find curled in the garage at their father’s house in the sweltering humidity of a Missouri summer. The darkness was overwhelmed with that scent. As she woke fully nausea tightened her stomach. The air was so full of the rotting stench she could practically taste it. It was too much. Choking, she tried to ignore the wretched acidic taste in her mouth as her back peeled off the sofa with her coughing attempt not to puke.

Along the front wall of the room, an echoing click sounded. Startled, she shrieked and jumped into a sitting position as she struggled to make out her surroundings. Heat, like a blow dryer, blew into the room. She felt it like a slap in the face.

Pain tightened like a vice against her temples. Each time her racing heart beat, the throb in her head grew worse. She reached out with a steadying hand and grasped the arm of the couch. Her feet fell to the carpet. Sticky with perspiration, her legs stuck to the tan leather sofa beneath her.

A bead of sweat fell from her hairline before tickling down the curve of her cheek. Stifling, the hot, pungent air suffocated her. The stench only got worse with each breath. The ceiling fan swooshing above her did nothing to alleviate the hot press of air. No. It made it worse. Each time it circled above her, the heat and the acidity of the air was forced along her barely clothed body.

Not sure what was better, the heat or the smell, she closed her eyes and tried to ignore them both. It was impossible. They seemed to go hand in hand. The hotter it got, the worse the smell became. Something was cooking. Her gut told her she didn’t want to figure out what that something was.

With slouched shoulders, she leaned back against the couch and pushed her face into the palms of her hands. She blinked away the haze and cast her pale eyes toward the floor. Her toes, painted in a soft cotton candy pink, wiggled into the tan shag of the carpet.

It was familiar: the feel of her toes against the carpet, the press of leather under her back and thighs.

Long moments passed as she tried to sort the facts. The longer she thought about it, the more confused she got. Why in the hell was it taking her so long to figure out what was on the tip of her tongue? She took in a deep breath. Her stomach curled in disgust.

She gazed around the room, cautious of the pain that drummed in her head. When her eyes adjusted to the lack of light she recognized the sofa she sat on and the dark ceiling fan above her. Along the walls, ornate portraits hung. Between the paintings were holiday decorations she vaguely remembered hanging. Paper skeleton’s and fake cobwebs reminded her that yesterday was Halloween. That was, if she’d only been asleep a few hours.

Slowly everything clicked into place. Without having to look, she knew that dark cherry wood bookshelves that reached to the ceiling mirrored a large bay window with dark brown curtains. On both the left and the right of those bookshelves, on the second shelf from the top, were pumpkins that she’d carved.

In front of the book cases would be an oversized desk. A big, black leather chair that was ten times more comfortable than it looked would be tucked in nicely. On the desk would be a silver lamp with no light shade, just a burnt out bulb that looked more gray than white. Next to the useless lamp was a phone, black and littered with too many buttons. Next to that, if she could turn her head, was a cup holder. It was black to match the phone, but it would be oddly empty of any pens or pencils. The cup’s purpose was ornamental, like so many other things that one would find in the drawers.

This was his, William Deveroux’s - her lover and her worst enemy - domain. Madilyn knew she was in his study, his very private sanctuary. If she was here, where was he?

Unsteady on her feet she got up. Her fingers clutched the arm of the couch as she teetered precariously. When she stood, the blood drained too quickly from her head. The effect made fuzzy blobs of nothingness float before her eyes. She had an insane urge to swat at those gnat-like fuzzies, but she knew they wouldn’t be there.

“Will?” she called out. The hoarse sound of her voice made her realize how scratchy and dry her throat was.

The first inkling of fear crept deep inside of her. What in the hell was going on? Was this some sick Halloween trick? Lock Madilyn in a furnace and see how long it takes before the stench is just too much and she passes out?

“William?” she called out again. Her eyebrows furrowed when she was met with an odd silence.

The fan whirled above her and the heater hummed from the wall, but there was nothing else. It was too quiet. There were no maids bustling around down stairs. There was no clinking of pans from the kitchen. Nothing.

Stumbling towards the open door, her nose followed the pungent odor like a dog being pulled on a leash. Each step was measured and careful.

Something was wrong, very wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Hadn’t she gone to sleep in her own bed, in her own two-bedroom apartment? Hadn’t she fallen asleep wrapped against Will’s pale, sweaty chest after they’d gotten back from a ghoulish party? She could almost taste it, the memory of him. Closing her eyes, she was able to feel his lips against the back of her neck as he snuggled behind her. She could still feel the warmth of his breath moistening the spot just below her ear as he whispered how much he loved her.

They had been in her bed, warm air from the overhead vent easing the chill of the brisk upstate New York autumn night. She was one hundred percent positive she had gone to sleep in her bed, in her house, with her lover spooned behind her. That throb, that delicious ache deep inside of her confirmed her memory. William had ravished her in a jealous frenzy after a drunken mishap at the party. Sore and sated, they’d fallen asleep together as the sun started to bath the room in sunlight. That should have been earlier that morning.

So why, now, was she waking up on the couch in his study, feeling like she’d drank too much? Why was her head ready to explode? No light peered in from the windows and she knew it was night once more.

She staggered down the hallway, fingers digging into the wooden railing. She tried not to look over the mahogany banister, tried to not to look at the foyer that was floored in hard shinning granite. From the ceiling, large white ghosts hung, floating from clear fishing wire to make the ghouls appear like true apparitions. On the table, next to vase of deep red roses, was a crystal bowl of candy that held a single empty wrapper.

If she fell, Madilyn mused, it wouldn’t be good. Inch-by-inch she crept, nails clutching against the railing as she fought through the fog of pain and dizziness.

Heat like an oven nipped at her heels and with each step she took, she felt the sweat bead along her skin. It dripped down her back and down the valley between her breasts in tickling little rivulets. Her thighs, calves, feet, all felt sticky with perspiration.

From her cherished summers with her father, she knew it had to be a hundred plus degrees. The air was so damn thick with heat.

Limp, wheat-colored strands of her now stringy hair clung to her forehead and cheeks. The nape of her neck was wet; the strands dark with moisture. The silk that barely covered her clung like a second skin against her flesh.

She wore next to nothing, only a thin cream-colored silk camisole and a pair of matching boy cut panties that accented the feminine curve of where her thigh met her ass. Against the paleness of her skin, the silk gave the facade that she wore nothing at all. When she’d gone to sleep, she had been wearing nothing.

What seemed like minutes were only actually a few seconds until she reached the partially opened door of the master bedroom. Pressing against it, the soft creak of the hinges was familiar. There was a time, long ago, when she dreaded the rasp of that door, of what that sound meant to her morals.

Any morals she’d spent acquiring in her twenty-nine years of life had disappeared the minute she’d stepped into this bedroom nearly five years ago. Now, the groan of the door was thrilling, like so many other things in her life that had to do with William Deveroux.

She walked in, her head clearing with each second that passed. Her blue eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with red from too much sleep - or maybe not enough - settled on the large king sized four-poster bed that took center stage in the fiery heat of the room.

It took her a moment, her brain muddled as she absorbed the scene before her. The image, the horrendous picture, was like looking at a scene from a horror flick. What she saw looked like everything and nothing all rolled into one.

It wasn’t instantaneous. No, it took her a few seconds to figure out what she was seeing. It was the smell, above the image, that hit her first. Like a fist in her stomach she doubled over from it.

The stench of death was strong, so overwhelming that the nausea rose in her stomach. This time, no amount of coughing would keep it back. Helpless to stop it, she fell to the ground. Her knees burnt against the rug as she coughed and sputtered. Retching, she contorted as vomit burned her throat. Tears leaked down her sweat-slicked cheeks.

Stomach empty and the beige carpet soiled, her watery eyes helplessly peered at the bed once more. She didn’t want to look. She was compelled to. Unable to turn and leave, she stared at the trails of dark red blood splattering the carpet as if there had been an explosion of flesh and bone. The lines reminded her of a dotted trail leading to the ‘X’ on a treasure map. Morbidly she followed those crimson tracks. What she found, though, was far from treasure. What she found was Ella Deveroux, Williams’s wife – her nude broken body hanging half way off the bed in a grisly display.

One arm hung at an unnatural angle, obviously broken, until it touched the floor. Bent fingers rested in a pool of blood that had gone stagnant and dark with age. The other arm lay lifeless on an unmoving chest. Ella’s neck, the long graceful throat that she had been so envious of, was slit from ear to ear. It gapped open to expose the gore beneath.

Shiny, beautiful white-blonde hair was now stained red and caked with dried blood. There was so much blood. The sheets. The bed. The floor. The walls. Everywhere she looked, there was blood. Some was a rich crimson and some was dark maroon, so dark it was almost brown. It looked like mud. She knew it wasn’t.

Her watery eyes moved back to the wound on Ella’s neck that lay parted. It was so deep she could see what she guessed was the esophagus and the other innards no one was meant to see. The wound no longer oozed blood, but she could see the trail where it had spilled over the white satin sheets to pool on the floor.

The worst part, more disgusting then the fatal lesion or the stench of her rotting corpse, were her eyes. Striking, cerulean eyes were wide open and cast up at the ceiling. In those cloudy depths, she could see the scream that matched the shape of her snarled mouth.

Madilyn shrieked, loud and piercing as her fingers clutched at the carpet. Her voice cracked, burned. She continued to scream as tears ran down her face in a never ending stream.

A shadow moved across the room, the darkness separating from the wall and she caught it in her peripheral vision. The sound in her lungs stopped as if her scream had been cut off with a flick of a switch. Fear like she’d never known grew in her stomach. Tremors of true terror ran down her spine. No time to react. No time to speak or to think. The shape took form as it emerged from the corner of the room. It was too late to run.

Thwack.

Like a hard crashing wave that breaks your body in half, she felt the blunt force against her head. Fighting in the drowning haze, she struggled against the undertow of darkness. Falling, face first, she hit the carpet and rolled onto her side with a choking sob that resounded through the room. A trickle of blood ran from the wound at her temple. Its warmth against her skin was the only thing that kept her from melting into oblivion.

The shadow loomed above her, a mass of black cloth that she struggled to comprehend. Blinking dizzily, her eyes went wide with shock when William, her lover, peeled back the hood that covered his face. Dark, green eyes shone. Horrified, she stared. Her lover looked the same as always, except for the set of scratch marks that dug into his once flawless flesh from the corner of his eye to his jaw. His chiseled features were splattered with blood. Some of it was his, but most of it, she knew, was Ella’s.

Thin, pale lips curved into a loving smile. He bent, trailing a blood stained finger over her cheek. Gently, he moved the strand of hair that covered her face, as if he wanted to make sure she could see him clearly. She struggled, fought against him but he was too strong.

“No,” she gasped, carpet abrading her skin as she tried to scramble away.

Tight, he gathered her wrists in one hand, pinning them to the floor after he drew them over her head. Soft fingers soothed the growing bruise where he’d struck her. From her temple to her cheek, he stroked his hand lower and she suddenly felt like she was an offering to the devil. She shuddered as he pressed his lips against her cheek.

“Don’t cry baby,” he purred, cupping her cheek in his palm. He nuzzled his nose against her face. “Everything is going to be okay.”

His voice was tender, almost soothing as he stretched her arms high above her head. The jangling of metal sounded through the room. A scream bubbled to the surface when her dear lover pulled a pair of silver handcuffs from his pocket. His knee shot into her stomach as she fought. The pain froze her, made it hard to breathe.

Tight, the ratcheting of the metal echoed through the room as he cuffed her to the bed post. Blood lined the floor around her, and through the thin silk of her shirt, she felt the coolness of it. Hot tears ran from her eyes, over the hand that cupped her chin as she tried to shake her head back and forth.

William bent forward and the fabric that pooled at his wrists lapped against her arm like water. Hard, grasping, his fingers bit into her skin. He grazed his lips tenderly against hers. Salty, rancid, she could taste the remnants of blood along his mouth as he kissed her lovingly, kissed her as if he would save her. Shuddering in revulsion she kicked her legs out. Desperately, she pulled against the metal holding her captive.

Growing brighter, William’s eyes glowed with glee as he looked down at her like a kid in a candy store. Goose bumps tightened her skin. Terror mounted. Slightly abrasive, his hands wandered down her body. Tweaking her nipples through the thin, see-through shirt she wore, she caught the icy chill of his smile and trembled.

Hot, her cheek pressed against the bloody shag carpet as she turned her head away from that gaze. “Don’t do this William, please.”

He struck her again, the sound ringing out almost as loudly as the bells she heard in her head. Pain blossomed. His lips, so gentle and soft, pressed against the spot that he’d just struck. A slow gleam filled his eyes when he pulled away and looked into her eyes.

“I’ve dreamed about this for so long.” His words were seductive and low. She trembled as his mouth came down hard, almost as hard as his fist, against her lips.

His tongue thrust inside, invading her mouth. It made it hard to breathe through the fear when he forced his kiss deeper. Black faded along her consciousness as she bucked against him, desperate to get away and unable to find oxygen through the heavy press of his body against hers. The cotton of his robe was soft, so unlike the rough denim that she felt chafing her thighs. He jerked away, hand fisted in her hair to keep her head in line with his. Panting in excitement, she felt every single breath pulsing against her bruised lips. The aroused length of his cock throbbed against her center as he loomed above her like a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.

There was a moment when she felt nothing except the weight of his body. It would have been a welcomed relief if she hadn’t caught the flash of sliver that he pulled from his robe. Thrashing harder, her skin tore as she pulled against the handcuffs.

“I’m going to make you scream, baby. It’s gonna hurt… so. bad.” The harsh words fell from his lips like it was a coo.

Slowly, he slid the knife in his hand down the side of her throat. Cold, the blade was such a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the room. Gulping hard, the scream she fought to keep trapped inside pierced the room. White, hot pain moved in a searing line down her breastbone with the cutting edge of the knife.

The shimmering look of pleasure in his eyes was the last thing she would know before the pain digging into her gut took over. His laughed echoed through the room as she fell into darkness. This time, she’d be unable to claw her way back into the light.

The End.

Like my style? Want more? Try Bending to Break or Tempting Sin