Allison Vandemore: A Short Story

Allison Vandemore looked back one last time at the dilapidated weekly rental as she pulled a dark strand of hair behind her round ear. How it looked even less livable than what it had ten short months before, she wasn’t sure. Still, she was certain a small part of her would cherish the time spent in the duplex style apartment. Although she was ecstatic this chapter of her life was finally over. The rotten siding, broken window panes, as well as the sagging roof with patches of missing shingles, felt like home. It’s the only real home I’ve known, she thought pressing her lips thin and nodding to herself.

It wasn’t that she hated the homes she lived in while a ward of Children’s Services. Many of the families that took her between the ages of

Then her adrenaline waned and Allison fought to keep her eyelids from closing. Her mind felt numb as she took the first exit off of I-30 E and pulled into the dim parking lot of a truck stop. Satisfied with her progress, Allison turned off the engine. She snaked her way through the front seats and climbed into the welcoming cot where sleep soon found her.

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The intense smell was the first thing that caused Allison to toss in her sleep. Then a strong hand covered her mouth and caused her eyes to dart open as four cold, sharp points pressed into her throat. Her heart raced as the hazy outline of a deformed face loomed over her.

“Try to scream and you’re dead,” he said with a deep, coarse voice that sounded more animalistic than human. “Are you alone?”

Allison nodded as tears swelled in her eyes.

“Good.” The lump and scarred filled flesh of his face lowered and breathed deep her scent. “You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

Please dear God, don’t rape me. She silently pleaded as the man-thing gave a hoarse

“Please forgive my poor hygiene. One doesn’t have access to toiletries when decaying in a sewer. Here are the five rules my pet. Rule number one we’ve already covered, you scream and you die. Rule number two, think about running and I’ll know. I’ll saw off both your legs at the knee, slow roast them on an open fire, and feed them to you. Rule number three, think of signaling some Dudely Do-Right for help I kill them. Then I split those pretty little cheeks of yours back to your ears. I'll rip off your lower jaw and stuff your tongue down your gaping throat. Rule number four, do exactly as you’re told. Each time you disobey I bite off a digit, starting with your little toe. And rule number five — this one is the easiest — no questions, and you speak only when spoken to. I’d hate for you to lose your tongue for waggling it freely, wouldn’t you? Any