Hill House

by Ann O'Nonymous

  

Ding . . . ding . . . ding.

David King pulled into the old-fashioned service station, with its old-fashioned pumps and a real live person to pump gas. As the elderly attendant slowly walked over, Dave looked around nervously. He rolled down the window and shouted, "Do you have the latest local maps?"

"They're in the office. I'll get you one," was the reply.

As the man started back to the office, Dave opened the car door to follow behind, and that was when he saw the police cruiser make a turn across the highway. "Never mind," Dave shouted, as he pulled the door shut, started up the unfamiliar car and quickly re-entered the traffic flow.

"Damn, that was close – next time, Dave, steal a car in an area you know!"

This was Dave's third car in as many days – none of the owners were anxious to give up their transport, so Dave relieved them of that particular burden in life. Oh, he was as cold-blooded as they come – after all, he did spend fifteen years in prison, and that was for crimes the police knew about. As for the others -- burglary, pedophilia, rape, with a few robberies thrown in – the police "burden of proof" simply was not there. In the end, what did they get him for? Possession of a minor amount of a controlled substance and carrying a concealed weapon – a shiv – what a laugh!

The silver-gray Toyota sped up to the local limit of 55 mph and stayed there. When it came up he turned onto a entrance ramp to the superhighway, where the limit was 70 mph. Dave watched the passing scenery as he put miles between him, the city and its police, out into the mountainous area that was the city's backdrop. They weren't really that high. None of those tree-covered hills was over a thousand feet, but to city folk that was high enough.

When Dave exited the freeway in favor of a three-lane highway that wound its way through those hills, it began to rain – a light, road-slicking drizzle at first. It threatened to later become a summer downpour, a familiar sight in this area. Eventually, the highway became a two-lane roadway through the countryside. Dave rolled down the window slightly to take in some cooler air. Damn, he thought, a car with a broken AC as well.

Ehrrrr, ahrrrrrr, whaaa-whaaa-whaaa.

The sudden sound of a siren shook him, and he looked for a way off the road into the relative safety and invisibility of the surrounding forest.

As he rounded a curve, he saw a gravel road on his right, and off he went. The lightly-used road meandered lazily up and down a bit, and then made a fairly steep climb.

"Steady, steady," Dave muttered as he fought through the steadily increasing rain and the deeply rutted climbing and twisting path. Branches from bushes and low-hanging tree limbs scraped the side of the auto as he drove frantically from one side to the other in order to avoid the deeper ruts. The drizzle was now a full-blown rainsquall, and it was starting to get heavier. Even with lights on and wipers going their full-tilt whish-whish-whish, it was hard to see enough to navigate this now treacherous path.

He turned left then right and left again – the "road" nothing more than a muddy dirt path thought the woods.

"Where in the hell does this effing road go?" Dave wondered, afraid if he stopped to check his only map, he would be stuck. "I wonder if there is an exit. Maybe it's a one-way road out, and I'm going to wind up isolated at some shack of a hermit or something!"

Finally, it leveled off a bit. And the car stopped! A quick look at the gas gauge told the whole story – empty. "God Damn it all to fucking Hell," Dave shouted in anger and frustration. "I should've filled up at that effing station. Oh shit, now what!"

Dave got out into the rain, pulled his coat up over his head and started running, then, as he tired, slowed to a walk. In about twenty minutes time, a soaked David came across a house with a drive out to the highway.

Going to the front of the house, he saw the sign: "Madame Crystal Lake, Purveyor of Perfectly Proper Dolls for Particular People."

"Now that's just great – in about two miles, I could have been out on the highway again," he muttered. "Maybe I can call from here and get a station to bring out some gas."

Going up to the door, while looking for a button to get the occupants' attention, the door opened – the rather attractive tall woman who stood there was in her late forties, with brown eyes and hair. She was wearing a blue work smock, over a pair of blue jeans, with doll's arms and legs peeking out of some of the pockets.

"My car ran out of gas on the dirt road back aways! Please, can I use your phone to call for a fill?" Dave asked.

She smiled as she replied, "Come on in – I'm Ms. Lake, but you may call me Crystal. The phone is out. Been out most of the day. Should be working tomorrow though. Geez, you are really dripping wet! Why don't you get those things off. Before I go to get you a towel and some dry things, may I ask what is your name?"

Dave hesitated before answering, "I'm George Hanson. I'm an accountant in New York. I was taking a short vacation, and kinda got sidetracked. The road kinda zagged, and I done zigged." He said the last with a silly lopsided grin.

"Well, George, get those wet things off, and I'll make you some nice herb tea! That will warm you up a bit," Crystal replied as she went on her errands.

Reluctantly, George removed his outer garments and his shoulder holster with the .32 short barrel Ruger, burying the weapon deep in the wet clothes. Now in boxers and "T," he awaited some dry clothes.

Crystal re-entered the room and said happily, "Well, I got a man's pair of slippers, a man's robe, but the rest -- well it's a woman's pair of PJs."

"It'll have to do," Dave interrupted.

Crystal smiled at his masculine impatience. "The forecast was on, and the report is bad – heavy rains for the rest of the day, tonight, and ending about noon tomorrow. Looks like you're stuck here for awhile!"

Dave looked over the woman smiling at him and wondered how good a lay she would be. "This place," he began his softening up, "is very nice. Do you live here alone?"

"Oh no! I've got all my little ladies to keep me company. And who would want to harm me – I live in an isolated woods, in a place that's hard to find, and I do have protection."

"From the sign outside, I take it you make dolls? What sort of dolls – big ones, little ones, babies?"

"Ohh, whatever comes along," was her smiling answer.

There was something in her smile that gave him chills. If only he knew why!

After two cups of coffee, Dave began to feel a little warmer (perhaps it was the wee drop o' Irish whiskey he saw her add), as he sat and watched the news on tv.

"George, are you one of those meat eaters or a vegan? I was going to make spaghetti, but I usually don't add any meat sauce."

"Whatever you make is fine!" Dave replied. Now this was the life, he thought, a nice warm house on a wet night, and, maybe soon, an unwilling woman under him.

The meal was wonderful, the sauce excellent, and the chocolate cake after was the perfect ending. This would be great, George mused, if she's as good a lay as she looks to be. He smiled as he thought of his plans for tonight.

"Emmm, George, do you want coffee? I usually have a herb tea, and . . ."

"Coffee is fine with me," he replied.

"Black, or cream and sugar, or . . . ," she questioned.

"Black with one teaspoon of sugar."

In a few minutes, as both were sipping on their hot brews, Crystal asked, "I don't know if you heard the news today. Seems the local police and state authorities are trying to find a fugitive from justice."

"Umm, no I don't think I heard anything – been too busy traveling. What about this person?"

Crystal bit her lips, frowned as if she was the bearer of extremely bad news, and related, "His name is David King, and he's wanted in three deaths. He's robbed a bank two states over, stole several cars, and they say he vowed never to be taken alive."

"He sounds like a really hardened criminal," David interrupted, "please go on."

"According to some sources, David King has committed more crimes than he was tried for. He's a pedophile, a rapist, and an arsonist."

What, his mind shouted, I never committed . . . . oh, right, that school – almost forgot; never did collect on that job. "Wow, he is a bad actor," "George" said, and sipped his coffee nonchalantly.

"Oh, he'll pay for his crimes – they all do, eventually. Would you like more coffee with that little extra?"

"Yes, please! Since he's gotten away for so long, what makes you think that?" David said, trying to sound like he was only interested as a spectator.

As she poured the coffee with its bonus, she stated, "Oh, George, I do know there are ways. You just would not believe how some men pay for their crimes!"

"Emm, would you have a car? Maybe I can get some gas from that," David said, quickly changing the subject.

"Car's in the shop – busted radiator, hose, AC unit belts, and fan. Was in an accident – truck backed into me on a parking lot. Can you imagine that? I have over forty thousand miles of safe driving, and now this. God, my hair and nails are a mess, and I can't get to the beauty salon."

Women, he thought, first thing they think of is: "How do I look?" Now a man takes charge – he gets all the information he needs to sue the hell out of any sucker unfortunate to run into him (or at least he did).

As Crystal did the dishes (that was women's work, David mused), he watched for any news of his recent escapades. When she was finished, she joined him and asked, "Anything good on?"

"Only cartoons. Say Crystal, there's only you and me here, so how <yawn> how about a <awwwmm> how about a <awwwwmmhh> damn, what's making me <yawn> so sleepy."

Crystal smiled. She knew why! "Gee, you do seem to be sleepy, very sleepy. Why don't you close your eyes. You could use a good night's rest, and I have a nice tea for you – I'll go and get it. It will bring, um, 'pleasant' dreams."

This woman has a tea for almost everything, thought Dave. "Thanks!" he said, frowned a bit and sipped on the hot, sweetened brew. The tea made him even more drowsier, and in minutes he was sleepwalking up to a bedroom.

Crystal helped him take off the robe and into bed. She leaned over and said, softly, "Yes, David, there are ways for a man to be severely punished, as you will find out."

- - - . - - - . . . . . - . . - . . . - . . - - .

Dave spent a restless night, with a prickling all over, like thousands of little needles were traveling all over him; that was followed by a wrenching of his stomach, a speeding up of his heartbeat, then the absolute quiet. Next, he had a feeling of being lifted and moved, then the needles returned again.

There was a strange feeling of shrinking, then a sharp pain in the groin, as if someone was pulling on it. That was followed by rigidity in the limbs – a feeling like he lost all ability to move his joints. Then the dream started:

Rock-a-bye baby in the treetop, no longer will you be chased by a cop. Oh yes, she's such a pretty little girl – I just can't wait to get my prick in you! There'll be two in the front, and one in the back – not one little love hole will you lack.

Yes, my sweet little thing! You'll have a new daddy to take real good care of his pumpkin. I'll show you how to really please your dada. Just take it in your mouth sweetie, you'll soon love it!

Now remember, you do what daddy wants you to do, and you'll get a nice big lollypop to suck on. Oh, such a pretty baby – what's her name?

Morning came, and with it a "Good Morning, George, or should I say David?" from a voice off to one side.

David tried to say something but nothing came out. Both his arms and legs wouldn't move, and there was an odd stiffness in his entire body. David looked up as a much bigger Crystal loomed over him. She was now twice his size – but how.

From what little he could see, he appeared to be in some kind of barred bed – a baby's crib. The walls were painted in soft pastel colours, decorated with fairies and angels. In his narrow line of sight there was a mobile of different shaped and coloured objects hanging over the crib.

"Oh David, if only you could see yourself now!" she stated, "But I'll show you, my little doll." She let out a very sinister laugh as she held a mirror over his immobile face.

"Oh, my god! What the hell did that fucking bitch do to me! You put me back the way I was, you damn bitch," David wanted to say if he could open his mouth.

She moved the mirror all over the new naked three-foot-plus little girl doll.

Letting out another laugh, she told him, "Yes, my sweet thing. You are an anatomically correct, in all detail, five-year-old girl doll. That pretty mouth of yours will expand to accommodate the largest male, and your arse will also fit another. I'm sure that one or two will also use you in front, and then again, maybe you'll be taking on three at a time – now won't that be fun!"

If Dave could've screamed, run away, or fight, he would – but he was a helpless little inert doll.

She continued: "Yes, my dear, you can't move your head, arms or legs a bit – that's for your dada or mama to do. If you are real, real nice, maybe they'll buy you some pretty satin and lace dresses, frilly panties, and nylon slips. Now, won't that be wonderful? Little girl clothes will fit you, I'm quite sure of that.

"Yes, David King, I knew about you just as soon as I saw you! You are a danger to society at large and must be removed. You will feel and know everything that happens to you! You will be a living doll, unable to do a thing about what happens, but you will experience every tiny exquisite pain of a little girl being forced to do her pervert of a father's wishes. Oh, and if you think my dolls can be broken, well I offer a guarantee of one hundred years on each one I sell. Just think, you could still be pleasing men well into . . . oh I guess, the twenty-third century. Ha ha ha."

While she started in dressing him in pink rumba panties, a nylon/satin petticoat and white party dress, she rambled on: "Just think, each day you'll be wearing such pretty silky, lacey things your mommy or daddy will dress you in. Oh, I can just see it now – you and your pretty seven-, eight- or nine-year-old mommy in bed, and you can't do a thing to her! Such an exquisite punishment – don't you think? Or, maybe your dada will want his friends to experience the pleasures you can give. You'll have a man to take care of all those urges you used women for! And your retribution won't be for some crummy fifteen years! Oh no, my sweet little pumpkin," she added sarcastically, "it's for centuries, David. Just think on that!"

She finished up the dressing with white lace-top anklets and a pair of Mary Janes. Now dressed, s/he was taken out of the crib, down the stairs and seated beside Crystal as she made the call to seal his fate: "Hello, is this Mr. Thomas Slade? This is Crystal Lake calling. I have a doll available for you; a special one that will fit your particular needs. (pause) Yes, it has those qualities. She's about five, has blonde hair and the most adorable blue eyes with real, long eyelashes. (pause) A very sweet white party dress and the cutest rumba panties. (pause) The name is entirely up to you! Only seven hundred and fifty dollars, payable on delivery. That includes two complete changes of clothing – can't have my little dear running around naked, now can we? (pause) Monday it is, bye bye."

"Oh, my little darling," she started, "I do so hate to part with my creations, but I do have to make a living! As for Mr. Slade, let's put it this way: you'll never lack for sex! Ha ha ha."

That's all, from Annie O – pleasant dreams!

  

  

  

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