Chapter 66: A Door to Another World

[Riley’s POV]

As we glide through the iron gates, Erica’s mansion looms before us like some twisted fairytale castle. My stomach does a little flip as I take in the sheer size of the estate.

‘I didn’t even know someone could own this much land in Salem.’

“Home sweet home,” Erica drawls. She catches me staring and winks. “What’s wrong, Riley? Scared of the big bad wolf?”

I roll my eyes, trying to play it cool. “In your dreams, Knight. I’ve seen scarier haunted houses at the county fair.”

But inside, my heart’s pounding like a jackhammer. This place is next-level creepy. We pull up to the back of the mansion.

The car rolls to a stop, and the driver hops out to open Erica’s door.

“Thanks, Amelia,” Erica says, stretching languidly as she steps out. She turns back to me with a predatory grin. “Coming?”

I scramble out after her, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste. ‘Smooth, Riley. Real smooth.’

“Uh, thanks,” I mutter to the driver as she opens my door. She gives me a curt nod, her face impassive.

As we head towards the mansion, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. I glance back at the driver, but she’s already nowhere to be seen.

“So, uh, nice place you got here,” I say, trying to break the tension. “Very... homey.”

Erica snorts. “Oh dude, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Just wait ’til you see what I’ve got planned for you inside.”

Erica leads me through a heavy oak door at the back of the mansion, the hinges creaking ominously as it swings open. The musty scent of old wood hits me as we step down some stairs into what appears to be some kind of storage room in her basement. Shelves lined with dusty knick-knacks and ancient-looking books stretch from floor to ceiling, casting long shadows in the dim light.

“Watch your step,” Erica warns, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. “Some of this junk’s been here since before I was born.”

I carefully pick my way through the cluttered room, following Erica’s confident stride. My eyes dart around, taking in the bizarre collection of items.

We reach the back of the room, where a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf stands against the wall. Erica runs her fingers along the spines of the books, muttering to herself. Finally, she grabs a thick, leather-bound volume labeled ‘2 Fast 2 Furious’ and pulls it partway out.

There’s a soft click, and the entire bookshelf swings inward, revealing a hidden passage beyond.

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Seriously? A secret bookshelf door? That’s, like, the most cliché hidden entrance ever. I was expecting something a little more creative from you, Knight.”

Erica whirls on me, her eyes flashing dangerously. A low growl rumbles in her throat. “Listen here, you little bitch. This house has been in my family for generations. The original architects designed this room, not me. So unless you’d like to find out firsthand how creative I can be with my fists, I suggest you keep your smart remarks to yourself.”

I swallow hard, shrinking back from her fury. "S-sorry," I stammer. “I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” Erica snaps. She grabs my arm, her grip like iron, and roughly shoves me through the hidden doorway. “Move it before I decide to leave you down here to rot.”

As we descend the narrow staircase, the darkness deepens with each step. The air grows thick and heavy, filling my lungs with the musty scent of age and secrets. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing in the confined space. Just when I think the darkness will swallow us whole, a warm glow begins to seep up from below.

We emerge into a cavernous chamber, and I gasp involuntarily at the sight before me. Hundreds of candles flicker and dance, their flames casting writhing shadows on the stone walls. The air is thick with the scent of melted wax.

In the center of the room, bathed in an eerie golden light, stands a chair. But calling it just a “chair” feels like an insult to its terrifying presence. It’s more like a throne from some nightmare realm, crafted from gnarled wood that seems to twist and move in the flickering candlelight. Thick leather straps dangling from the arms and legs, their purpose all too clear.

My eyes are drawn to the floor, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. The chair sits atop an enormous pentagram, its lines etched deep into the stone and filled with what looks unsettlingly like dried blood. Similar symbols cover every inch of the floor and walls, creating a dizzying, hypnotic pattern that makes my head spin.

“What... what is this place?” I whisper, my voice sounding small and frightened in the vast chamber.

Erica’s eyes gleam in the candlelight as she surveys the room with an air of casual indifference. “It doesn’t matter,” she says, her voice devoid of emotion. “It’s just a place for a witch to cast spells.” The sarcasm in her tone is palpable, but it does nothing to ease the chill that runs down my spine.

I can’t tear my eyes away from the intricate symbols etched into every surface. They seem to pulse and writhe in the flickering light as if alive and hungry. The air feels thick, almost oppressive, charged with an energy that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

The scent of burning wax mingles with something darker, earthier herbs perhaps, or maybe something I don’t want to think about.

“Take a seat,” Erica commands, gesturing to the nightmarish throne.

I nervously nod, my legs shaking as I approach the chair. The wood seems to creak and groan as I lower myself onto it.

Erica walks over, her movements fluid and predatory in the flickering light. She grabs one of the leather straps and secures it around my wrist, pulling it a little too tight. I wince as it bites into my skin.

“Is this necessary?” I ask, hating how small and frightened my voice sounds.

“It’s for your safety,” Erica says, her voice dripping with mock concern as she tightens the strap around my other wrist. The leather creaks ominously, biting into my flesh. “We wouldn’t want you falling out during the ritual, now would we?”

She moves to my legs, securing each ankle with practiced efficiency. The straps feel like icy tendrils wrapping around my limbs, holding me in place with an unyielding grip. I test them gently, feeling the unforgiving resistance.

“This feels like an execution,” I mutter, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.

Erica rolls her eyes, the candlelight dancing in their icy depths. She walks behind me, out of my line of sight. All I can see now is the sea of flickering candles before me, their flames casting writhing shadows across the intricate symbols etched into the floor.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the overwhelming sensory assault. Behind me, I can hear Erica rummaging for something. The sounds echo ominously in the cavernous chamber, the clink of glass, the rustle of paper, and the soft thud of heavy objects being moved. Each noise sends a fresh wave of anxiety coursing through me.

As I sit there, bound and helpless, a strange thought suddenly strikes me. Despite the fear coursing through my veins, despite the eeriness of this entire situation, I’m overcome with an unexpected feeling of gratitude. Erica is going to extraordinary lengths to send me home. The elaborate setup, the obvious preparation it speaks to a level of commitment I hadn’t anticipated.

I’m still trembling, but also feeling thankful now. Erica’s tough exterior, her intimidating presence, all of it seems to masks a depth of care and dedication that I hadn’t given her credit for.

I can’t help but imagine what it must have been like for her, growing up in this chilling mansion filled with shadows and secrets. Maybe beneath that hardened shell is a woman who had to fight every step of the way to carve out a place for herself in a world that demanded toughness and resilience. The weight of her protectiveness over Jason suddenly feels less like a threat and more like a shield she’s worn for so long it’s become an extension of herself.

I open my eyes, feeling a profound sense of appreciation wash over me. The flickering candlelight seems softer now, less menacing. Even the symbols etched into the floor take on a different quality, like ancient wisdom waiting to be unlocked rather than dark warnings.

“Erica,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.

“Yes?” she coos from behind me, the sounds of her footsteps getting closer.

With her out of sight, I continue, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I just... I really wanted to say thank you. For you to go to such lengths to help me, to send me back to Jason... I can’t even begin to express how much it means to me—”

Suddenly, I’m interrupted. A searing throb explodes in my abdomen. From behind me, Erica has one arm on my shoulder. I look down in shock to see a dagger protruding from my stomach, Erica’s hand still gripping the hilt.

I blink, uncomprehending. The pain hasn’t fully registered yet, my mind struggling to catch up with what my eyes are seeing. “What?” I gasp.

The gratitude that had been flooding through me moments ago turns to icey fear in my veins. The flickering shadows on the walls seem to laugh at my naivety, mocking the trust I had so foolishly placed in this woman. As the first waves of agony begin to ripple through my body, I realize with horrifying clarity just how terribly, catastrophically wrong I had been.

Erica pushes on the blade, digging it deeper into my flesh. The pain is indescribable, a white-hot agony that radiates outward from the wound. I can feel the cold metal inside me, an alien presence tearing through muscle and tissue. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps as I struggle against the leather restraints.

She walks over to the front, carefully keeping her hand on the blade. Her blue eyes were wild with a manic gleam. Her lips twitch, fighting to contain the laughter bubbling up inside her. When she speaks, her voice trembles with barely suppressed glee.

“Did you really think I was a witch, you fucking moron?” she sneers, her face inches from mine.

I stare at her in horror, my mind reeling. The symbols on the floor, the candles, the entire elaborate setup it was all a sick joke.

My eyes drift down to the wound in my abdomen. Blood seeps out around the blade, staining my shirt a deep crimson. The sight of it makes me dizzy. I watch, mesmerized and terrified, as the blood spreads, soaking into the fabric of my clothes.

Thoughts race through my mind at a dizzying pace. How long had Erica been planning this? And for what? To make it look like I’d simply run away?

The realization hits me like a second blade to the gut. No one will come looking for me. My disappearance will be written off as just another troubled teen who couldn’t hack it.

Tears begin to stream down my face, hot and salty. They blur my vision, turning Erica’s triumphant grin into a nightmarish smear of teeth and malice. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my eyes, but the tears keep coming.

I stare at Erica, my mind struggling to process what’s happening. The pain in my abdomen is a constant, throbbing agony that threatens to consume me entirely.

“I... I don’t understand,” I mutter, my words barely coming out as more than a whisper. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, uncooperative.

Erica’s eyes gleam with a manic light as she twists the knife, sending a fresh wave of agony coursing through my body while I scream. I can feel the blade shifting inside me, tearing through flesh and muscle.

“It’s simple, you stupid bitch,” Erica hisses, her face inches from mine. Her breath is hot against my cheek, smelling faintly of cigarettes. “You’ve already seduced one Jason.”

She pauses, her grip tightening on the knife handle. I can see the muscles in her arm tensing, preparing for something. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat sending a fresh pulse of blood oozing from my wound.

“I’m not about to chance you seducing mine.”

With the word “mine,” Erica drives the knife into a new spot on my stomach. The pain is too much to bear. I scream, the sound torn from my throat against my will. I can feel the blood seeping from me, warm and sticky, as it soaks through my clothes.

“Our... our Jasons are different,” I gasp out, each word a struggle. “This doesn’t make sense.”

Erica’s smile widens, a cruel, predatory grin that sends chills down my spine despite the fiery pain radiating from my abdomen. Her blue eyes gleam with a manic light.

“Oh, child,” she purrs, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “I’m not taking any chances anymore. You see, I’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much to let some little tramp from another world waltz in and ruin everything.”

With a swift, practiced motion, she yanks the knife out of my stomach. The blade makes a sickening squelch as it exits my flesh, and a fresh wave of torment washes over me. I can feel the warm gush of blood flowing from the wound, joining the steady stream from the first injury. The metallic scent of blood fills the air, mingling with the smoky aroma of the candles.

My vision swims, the room tilting and swaying around me. I blink hard, trying to focus, but the effort only makes me more lightheaded.

Erica leans in close. “And honestly,” she whispers, her breath hot against my skin, “if I ever got the chance, I’d kill your Jason on sight. He sounds like a disgusting skin-walker pretending to be my man.”

Her words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. I struggle to comprehend the depth of her hatred, the sheer malice behind her actions. The pain in my gut is a constant, throbbing agony, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my heart as I realize the full extent of Erica’s madness.

“You... you’re insane,” I gasp out, each word a monumental effort. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. “They’re not... even the same person.”

“Insane?” she whispers, her voice low and dangerous. “No, Riley. I’m just a devoted lover.”

The word hangs heavy in the air between us, a chilling reminder of the twisted reality Erica has created for herself. As I struggle to comprehend the sheer magnitude of her delusion, I can feel my consciousness slipping away, the edges of my vision growing dark.

But Erica’s not done yet. With a sudden burst of strength, she raises the knife high above her head, her features contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.

“Only my Jason is real!” she screams, her voice reverberating off the cold stone walls. “He is the one true Jason, and all others are mere shadows! And you, Riley... you’re just a pathetic trout floating in the wake of a Megalodon.”

With that, she brings the knife crashing down again and again, each thrust accompanied by a gurgling scream of fury. The pain is unbearable, a deep, searing torture that threatens to consume me whole. I can feel my life force ebbing away, each beat of my heart growing weaker and weaker.

As the darkness closes in, I can’t help but think of Jason... my Jason. I wonder if he’s out there somewhere, searching for me. ‘I really hope he misses me.’

And with that final, fleeting thought, I succumb to the darkness, my consciousness slipping away like a whisper in the wind. The last thing I hear is Erica’s manic laughter, the sound of her madness echoing through the empty halls of the Knight Mansion.

*****

[Erica’s POV]

I stare down at Riley’s mutilated and lifeless form, my chest heaving with exertion and exhilaration. Blood pools beneath the chair, spreading outward in a crimson halo.

A wild laugh bubbles up from deep in my chest, echoing off the stone walls. I’ve never felt so alive, so powerful. Every nerve ending in my body is singing, crackling with electric energy. My hands shake as I run them through my hair, smearing warm blood across my face.

“I did it,” I whisper, my voice trembling with barely contained glee. “I really fucking did it.”

I pace around Riley’s corpse, unable to tear my eyes away from my handiwork. The knife wounds glisten wetly in the flickering light, each one a testament to my devotion. My love.

“You hear that, Jason?” I call out to the empty chamber. “I protected you. I kept you safe from this disgusting whore.”

As I circle the chair, I become acutely aware of a throbbing heat between my legs. My cunt is soaking wet, desire coursing through me with an intensity I’ve never experienced before. The metallic scent of blood mingles with my own musky arousal, creating an intoxicating perfume.

My mind races, thoughts tumbling over each other in a frenzied cascade. I need Jason. Now. I need to feel him beneath me, to claim him, to mark him as mine in every way possible and show him how good of a protector I am.

“Jason,” I moan. “My sweet, perfect boy. Mommy’s coming for you.”

With a Herculean effort, I tear myself away from Riley’s corpse and stumble towards the narrow staircase. My legs are shaky, my whole body trembling with adrenaline and lust. As I climb the stairs, taking them two at a time, my mind conjures vivid images of what I’ll do to Jason.

I’ll burst into our room, still covered in blood. He’ll look up at me with those big, innocent eyes, confusion giving way to arousal as I pounce on him. I’ll tear his clothes off, marking his pale skin with bloody handprints. Then I’ll ride him until he’s sobbing so cutely with love for me, begging me for more.

‘Wait I have to shower first.’ I sigh but still feel mostly undeterred.

As I push past the bookcase door, my heart racing with anticipation, I freeze. There, curled up in a tight ball on the floor, is Jason. His eyes are wide with terror and overflowing with tears. His body trembling visibly. In an instant, I realize he must have witnessed everything. My brutal slaughter of Riley and my manic ravings afterward. A chill runs down my spine, mingling with the heat of my arousal.

My face goes slack, all emotion draining away as I stare at him. “Jason,” I say flatly, my voice devoid of warmth, “I told you to stay upstairs.”

He looks up at me, and I see a depth of fear in his eyes that I’ve never witnessed before. It’s raw, instinctual, the look of prey caught in the gaze of a predator. My cunt throbs at the sight, desire pulsing through me with renewed intensity.

‘So cute!’

I move towards him slowly, deliberately. He flinches but doesn’t try to escape as I reach for his arms. My blood-stained hands leave smears on his pale skin as I grip him tightly.

Jason’s eyes meet mine, a complex mix of emotions swirling in their depths. As he slowly uncurls from his protective ball, I can’t help but notice the prominent bulge straining against the fabric of his pants. My breath catches in my throat as I see the new heights of what he’s capable of. In all our time together, I’ve never seen him this aroused before.

I reach out, cupping his face gently. As my touch lingers, something in Jason’s gaze shifts. The raw fear is still there, but now it’s mingled with a desperate need for me.

Even now, even after witnessing the depths of my madness, he wants me. ‘My beautiful, perfect boy.’

“Come on,” I say, my voice laced with desire. “Let’s go to the bedroom. It’s too dusty to make love here.”

‘I don’t want him to get sick after all.’

Jason nods mutely, allowing me to help him to his feet. His body trembles against mine, a delicious mixture of fear and arousal. I grab his shoulder firmly, marveling at how the crimson handprint I leave behind seems to brand him as mine even more.

“Stay close, honey,” I say as my juices start to overflow.