Erotica Harem

Title: Demeter Project
Chapter: 4
Author: Max Griffin

Plot: We are introduced to a new character who lives homeless at the SHIRE. He used to be a security guard and he’s looney now. No plot flaws but you’ve stuck the reader in the head of another character. Will have to see where you go with this fellow.

Style & Voice: 3rd person Aston. No flaws. Secondary characters were brief. 2 guys and a girl. 1 guy and the girl left the scene. The remaining guy stayed and was killed.

Referencing: Everything felt in order to me.

Scene/Setting: Roasting rabbit near the SHIRE, Building 3 where a homeless guy lives. He has a tent of black tarp, a fire and an empty shotgun. There’s a storm brewing.

Characters:
Aston, homeless former guard. Scares the crap out of me but I kind of feel sorry for him being picked on by the teens.

Teens didn’t feel integral, but maybe they will later on.

Grammar: Clean. I marked where I’d put commas if it were mine. Use at your own risk. I left you some notes in the line by line.

Just My Personal Opinion:
I felt scared for this guy and later of him. He doesn’t feel strong enough to be the main villain but he could certainly be villainous if need be. Obviously he knows secrets about this place since he used to work there and I think you’ve put us in his head to reveal those secrets.

Line by Line:

Aston Minock poked at his campfire and dreamed of better times. Catchy beginning.

The plastic sheets of his shelter rustled in the night breeze comma and an owl sang a distant dirge. The moon and stars hid behind low, scudding clouds. A trickle of grease dribbled from the rabbit roasting on a spit over his fire, and sparks flickered into the darkness. The stench of his unwashed body and his grimy clothes seemed almost homey against the pungent aromas of burned meat and rotting vegetation that wafted across the darkness. A chill shivered through his bones comma and he clutched at his tattered jacket.

He contemplated the shattered windows and boarded-up doors of Building Three. The firelight flickered through fifty feet of dense woods to cast a ruddy glow on the walls. He could just make out the words "Shire Station" <since it’s not dialogue you shouldn’t use quotes. I suggest either italics or all caps. in faded, crimson lettering over the entrance of the ramshackle structure. Memories of when he had reigned there as a guard, controlling the lives of patients and workers alike, brought a tight smile to his lips. But then the fire crackled and returned him to the present. rep: Now his kingdom consisted only of the abandoned facility and the surrounding bramble. Now he held dominion only over rabbits and squirrels and the other creatures of the wild.

I’m scared of this guy already.

A chill breeze swept through the weald comma and a whisper of dried leaves rustled against the tangled thicket surrounding him. From afar, laughter danced with the night and inchoate voices skittered into the silence. Adrenalin sent a chill tingling down Aston's spine, and he stroked the empty shotgun that rested by his side. Memories burned at him, and cold fear sucked strength from his limbs.

Last spring, a laughing gaggle of teenagers had invaded his kingdom. They terrorized him and his friends, a bedraggled group of homeless people who had squatted here in the old Shire Station. He'd tried to scare the bullies off with his empty shotgun, but they just taunted him. They snatched away his gun and tossed him from one set of youthful arms to another. He rubbed his knuckles comma and a hoarse chuckle bubbled in this throat. He remembered the satisfying crunch missing word ‘his’ fist had made when it smashed into one of the smirking faces. But then his chuckle turned to a cough, and old pain gripped his ribs. They had pushed him to the ground and kicked him. When they grew bored, they had left him bleeding and broken, to be tended by his homeless friends. Later, the police came comma and he'd hidden in the tunnels under Building Three. The cops had handcuffed the other squatters and taken them away in cattle trucks. He sighed. Now he was alone in his Shire. Just as well. People were trouble.

The rabbit sizzled over the flame comma and his stomach growled. But then the laughter sounded again, louder now. The murmur of indistinct voices broke the peace of the night comma and the fear he'd felt that earlier day returned.

He stood and reached for a cracked plastic container that read "Meadow Gold Ice Cream." Again suggest no quote just italics. It held only brackish rainwater tonight, and he used that to douse his fire. Steam sputtered and the fire smoked as he extinguished it. He crouched low next to glowing embers and tipped his head to listen.

Footfalls crunched through the woods. A male voice, full of bravado, called out. "I can see the buildings. That's where the boogeyman is supposed to hang out." He made mocking "ooOOoo" sounds and broke into giggles.

A female voice responded. "Stop it, Clark. That's not funny." Her contralto shook with a faint tremor. "So now we've seen it. Let's go."

"Don't be such a fraidy-cat. I want to see what's inside."

Another male voice broke in. "Hey, if Cindy wants to go, we should go. We agreed that we'd leave when she said."

Clark's tenor took a mocking tone. "What's the matter, Jimmy? You scared, like a girl?"

"Stop it, Clark." Cindy's voice snapped now and was sharper, shriller. Thunder rolled across the sky comma and a chill wind swirled through the branches of the trees. "It's going to rain. We're leaving. You can do what you want."

"Go ahead. I didn't come this far just to run away like some faggot."

Aston gripped his shotgun and wished he had ammunition.

"Come on, Jimmy. Let's go," Cindy commanded. The tremor in her voice had vanished.

"Chickens." Clark clucked like a drunken hen. "Go ahead. Wait for me at the cars. Scaredy-cats."

Cindy snorted. "Whatever. I'll give you fifteen minutes and then I'm going with Jimmy. If I'm not home by midnight, my parents will freak."

"Let'em < suggest a space between those. freak." The croak of a frog and the chitter of crickets filled a moment of silence before Clark spoke again. "Don't get lost in the woods, little girls."

Footsteps crunched, this time retreating away from where Aston cowered by his shelter. The black plastic fluttered in a sudden gust of wind, and he silenced it with a hasty fist. Overhead, dark clouds raced across the sky. Thunder grumbled in the distance.

Clark muttered, "Fucking pansies."

His voice rang louder. He must be closer now. Aston pointed his empty shotgun in the direction of the footfalls. His hands shook.

A shadow drifted between him and the entrance to Building Three. He narrowed his eyes and the form coalesced into a human shape. It must be Clark. The figure stopped and, when he looked back, the moonlight gleamed in his eyes. He turned again and hesitated before he edged forward. The stairs leading to the entrance creaked under his weight, and then the door rattled against the chains and padlock holding it closed. Clark turned again, and Aston cowered deeper in the shadows. Clark muttered, "Fifteen fucking minutes. What losers. Faggots, that's what they are." The chains clanked as he tested the door one more time. "Fuck this." He kicked the entrance, and then turned and retreated.

He stopped and turned full circle. "Shit. Where's the trail?"

Aston held his breath. The empty shotgun hung heavy in his hands. He sucked at his lower lip.

Clark took a step forward, directly toward Aston. He stopped and knelt to touch the soil. Aston knew he'd find the broken shards of a sidewalk that would lead directly here, to this hiding place. Clammy sweat chilled his torso comma and his fingers tightened on the stock of the rifle.

Clark stood and pulled out his cell phone. His rugged features and spiked hair glowed in the light of the screen while he dialed. A jeweled stud glimmered in his left earlobe.

Aston waited. Lightning flickered, closer now. His legs ached from crouching comma and he shifted his weight. A twig snapped.

Clark's head jerked up, but then he spoke into his phone. "Hey, are you faggots at the car yet?" His words held an edge of worry now, perhaps even fear. He paused, listening. "Nah, it was locked." He waited a beat longer. "Look, I got turned around and I'm not sure which one of these fuckin' trails leads back to the car. Can you start Google Latitude on your phone? I'll use your location to figure out which way to go." Another moment of silence. "Ha ha. Very funny. I'll see you in a few."

The screen lit his face again, and he held his phone in front of him like a compass while he rotated about. His motion seemed jerky as lightning flashed in the clouds and illuminated the scene like strobe lights. In a moment, he faced back toward Aston and started walking along the crumbled remains of the walkway.

Aston's breath clogged his throat and he scuttled back, deeper in the shadows. He wanted to scream as a sudden cramp gripped his calf. He tried to shift his weight, but the leg gave way and he crashed to the ground. His arm disturbed a log sticking out from the remains of his fire, and sparks flew skyward.

Clark's voice held an edge of panic now. "Who's there? What the fuck's that?" He stopped and his head tipped forward. "Cindy? Jimmy? You guys better not be fuckin' with me." He held his phone like a flashlight and panned it across the underbrush. He inched forward, and his breath husked into the night. "Who's there?"

He was less than ten feet away when Aston's shelter flapped in a sudden gust of wind. Clark whirled and his gaze fell first on the plastic whipping in the wind, then on the ruddy glow of the coals from the fire, and finally on Aston. "What the fuck, question mark?" he whispered. "You're that old hermit." He stepped forward and his voice rose. "You hit me in the nose, you asshole." He towered over Aston now, and kicked him in the shin. "You fucker," he screamed. "You think you're funny, scarin' me like that? I'll teach you to fuck with me." His rose shrieked *voice?, octaves higher than before.

Aston rolled backwards. His shotgun thudded to the ground, and his fingers crawled across the sandy loam seeking something, anything for defense. They found one of the heavy logs protruding from his fire. He tugged it free and used it to lever to his feet.

Clark crouched with his arms in a double-arc. He circled like a champion wrestler, confident and certain of victory, looking for weakness in his opponent. A beam of moonlight lit his features. A grin slashed across his face. He bared his teeth and they glowed as though lit by neon.

Aston gripped the log with both hands. The rough bark bit into his fingers, and the acrid scent of smoke burned his nostrils. He swung it like a lumberjack chopping wood. The heavy weight dragged against his muscles comma and his tendons screamed as torque stretched his torso.

Time slowed. Clark's eyes widened until they seemed to be nothing but whites. He dodged, but he was too late. The log smashed into his skull with a satisfying crack, and he collapsed as though his bones turned to water.

Aston's heart pummeled his chest comma and his breath tore his throat. He swung the log once more, and something warm and wet splattered on his face. He licked his lips and savored the salty taste of Clark's brains. He swung the club again, and yet again. It had been too long since he'd killed, since he'd exulted in death. His arms pounded like a flywheel comma and his chest heaved like a piston. Again and again the club thudded. He beat Clark into the earth, turning muscle to pulp and bone to splinters. At last, he stopped and dropped his weapon. He knelt and ran his fingers through the gore of the smashed body. An ecstatic croon passed his lips while organs slithered through his grip. He ran the entrails over his body and shuddered as he mixed Clark's blood with the warm wetness that had jetted into his crotch. Okay I’m gonna vomit now.

Heavy drops of rain splatted onto his head and dribbled down his cheeks like tears. The wind whipped at his shelter and it tumbled into a tangle of briars and ragged sumac. Lightning sparkled from cloud to cloud, and thunder crashed. He tugged at his jacket and decided to head back into the tunnels.

First, though, he'd have to hide the remains. He knew just the place. There were already dozens of bodies there. One more wouldn't make any difference.




Anastasia Rabiyah
http://RabiyahBooks.com
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