Time to Remember
Becky's (With The Good Hair) Story
"Are you shittin' me? Who in their ever-lovin right mind would fall for this bull-hockey?" Becky's arm was starting to get achy and tired. "Who is this numb-skull?"
Richard was leaning back on the couch with eyes closed, his head against the wall. He didn't want to talk about Jerrod but Becky was insistent. Besides, she stopped stroking his wiener every time he paused and he needed release. Jeezum, it had been a long time since a woman had touched him that way. Heck, it had been a long time since a woman had touched him in any way, so he figured he could try to concentrate on words as well. "He's an actor frie-"
Becky interrupted him, resuming the thwacking motion with renewed gusto. "ACTOR?? Yeh, that figgers. THAT explains everything. He's a moron." With a well timed flick of her wrist and a subtle application of pressure he came with a soft moan. "okay then. Just tell me what I got to do. I ain't got nothin' better goin' on. This could be fun." She nestled herself into the crook of his arm, her frizzy hair pressed deep into his neck. Richard brushed her stiff hair away from his mouth where curly tendrils were trying to poke and smiled gleefully.
"This is going to be frakkin' awesome!"
Becky layed her paintbrushes neatly in front of her as well as a couple cans of paint and a fed ex labeled box. She sat cross-legged on the floor in the basement of an old farmhouse Richard had found, illuminated by Coleman lanterns she had placed in the four corners of the room. She ripped off the packing tape and dug out the contents, tossing aside the foam peanuts. A wooden box with some kind of odd writing on it's lid and sides, and an old book. She had found them on ebay for a good price and they looked pretty gnarly. Inside the box was some sort of knife/dagger thing. She pulled it out, gingerly turning it over in her hand."I'll be damned that is fucked!'She exclaimed, running her finger along the intricately carved hilt. It had the prerequisite skulls and serpents twisting around it as well as the form of a hairy demon looking thing stretched with it's fingers outstretched reaching up the sides of the blade. "OUCH! Mother-f" She dropped the knife, blood dripping freely from the pad of her thumb. It bit me! She thought, than giggled at the absurdity of the notion, Raggedy piece of shit poked me! she rationalized. It was dripping pretty freely, spattering the front of the leather bound book in her lap. "Whoopsie daisy! Don't want to get this piece of shit messy." She got up, knees creaking, and she struggled to stand upright. She swayed, feeling lightheaded. No time fer this, she thought. She had a lot of painting to do. She grabbed a rag, wrapped it around her finger , scanned the room to map out what she was going to do.
She was a little annoyed Richard wasn't there to help her out, but he claimed the devil stuff freaked him out. She had lent him her phone and he was gonna take care of texting the casting thingie to his friend. He was pretty specific about what he wanted in the room- a large pentagram on the floor and a bunch of writing on the walls. He told her to copy the text from the book and when she asked him what part specifically, he said "Doesn't matter. It'll look real enough to scare him. Just whatever. I mean, you could make it up, but I wan't it to be real, like at Universal studios!" She wanted to tell him that it wasn't real at Universal but decided it wasn't worth the effort. Geeks. Gotta love 'em.
She grabbed a paintbrush and a small can of Spanish Red. It was dark and rich enough to look like blood in the candlelight they planned to illuminate the room with. She started with the large circle on the floor, crawling on her hands and knees, humming softly to herself. She stopped as she connected the circle sat back on her ass with a plop. A buzzing filled her ears and she felt ...floaty. Paint fumes, she thought. The room was unventilated, the air still and stale save for the acrid fumes of the paint. The buzzing grew increasingly louder until it was all she could hear, effectively drowning out her the sound of her thoughts. Her eyes started to glaze over and she blinked , trying to clear them. She squinted, scrunching up her brow , trying to will away the haze. When she opened them she was sitting at the foot of the stairs. The paint cans and brushes were gone, as well as the UPS box and the packing peanuts. In the middle of the freshly painted pentagram in the center of the room was the wooden box with the dagger laying on top of it. She looked around the walls that now held the text of the book, every square inch covered in writing.
Becky shook her head in disbelief. She had no recollection of doing any of it.
The floor beneath the pentagram seemed to shimmer, as if it were a mirage The surface of the floor appeared to be melting , swirling into an unknown abyss. Becky thought she was still tripping, aftereffects of fume inhalation.
Then the coal black arm shot out of the middle of the floor, it's bony clawed hand searching for something feeling its way around the hazy circle until it found what it was looking for.
End part 8
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