The Slumber Party of Evil Doom

“Shit! The bible bashers are right, the Lord does move in mysterious fucking ways.”

The girl did not stir; Jeb could only tell she was alive from the gentle rise and fall of the loose hay she had made into a bed. Like most farmers, especially on the few remaining small farms, he had been up very early even on that cold winter morning. He hadn’t noticed if the padlock was off the barn door when he first passed, but smashed from the door on his return it most certainly was. Irritated that his dogs hadn’t been barking like crazy at the intruder – he’d found them lazily hiding under the kitchen table and unwilling to come out – Jeb collected his old but trusty shotgun and investigated.

His expectations had amounted to finding some drifter scumbag trying to keep out of the freezing night, or maybe just vandalism. They certainly hadn’t included a teenage girl with just the cutest little freckles amidst the dried mud splattered across her face and matting her hair. Jeb whistled. It had been six months since Bobbi, cunning Bobbi, had managed to cut her own throat on a forgotten nail and bleed out in the last season’s hay. Six months since he’d last had a girl to raise a family with, though Bobbi hadn’t gotten with child. They were always Bobbi, Jeb’s girls, and they soon learned it.

‘Must’ve had an argument with her folks,’ Jeb thought, ‘or maybe some guy got too fresh and... No, that don’t make sense. All girls are sluts, even after you make them a wife! She must be the new Bobbi.’

“Wake up! I say, WAKE UP!” Jeb’s shout echoed around the barn, barely deadened by the bales.

The girl stirred, sitting up amidst the hay. Jeb’s eyes narrowed at the sight of one uncovered breast, young and firm, visible clearly beneath her almost entirely shredded t-shirt. He could just about make out the remains of a bra, too. He wondered if it was the latest town fashion; instead of paying for pre-ripped jeans they bought pre-ripped everything. She yawned, slightly too widely, and blearily focused on Jeb. He thought he recognized the signs of almost complete exhaustion in those eyes; he guessed the hay had made a less comfortable bed than the new Bobbi had hoped.

“Well, now, look at you Bobbi. That ain’t no way for a girl to be dressed. I shall find you a pretty gingham frock.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just needed somewhere to sleep, man. Running all night… It…”

Jeb’s lip curled. Bobbi didn’t have the correct level of respect in her tone. Didn’t she know she ought to call him Sir? Then again, she did seem very confused, trailing off in her speech, as if she was recalling something pretty unpleasant. A shudder rocked her filthy body, shaking off more loose hay.

“Well, don’t you worry about that. You’re home now. You came right back to your bed like a wandering mare, won’t ever need to leave again. Not ever.”

She seemed unhappy at that,

“I… I just had the worse night of my entire life, worse than if I’d had to go to a Miley concert. I’m not in the mood this, asshole.”

‘Incredible! She’s growing more disrespectful,’ he thought, shifting his weight. The gun barrel rose directly towards her face. Jeb knew looking up that long, dark tube was enough reduce girls, hell, most guys too, to a remorseful, pleading mess. Damn, but there wasn’t an inch of her clothing wasn’t as badly shredded or worse as that T-shirt. He’d seen mud wrestling with cleaner girls than this Bobbi.

“I will punish you severely if you talk to me in that tone, Bobbi. That is not the correct tone for a woman to address her man. I will punish you if you fight me, or insult me, or otherwise belittle me. Now, Bobbi, do you understand?”

The girl drew in a long, deep, breath through her nose. She held it for a moment; head cocked to one side, and then released it. Jeb especially enjoyed the movement of her one visible breast as she took in the air so deeply.  Then she spoke, quietly, with something approaching understanding,

“There were four girls here, one boy. The smells people leave when they are terrified and dying last for a very long time. I must have left a similar trail last night, every moment after jumping through that window I expected to hear those wings beating the air behind me. The size of those wings…  So maybe she really was coming behind me; maybe she drove me here for a reason… You, asshole.”

Jeb was caught off guard when the girl told him with quiet authority just how many he’d kept in the hay barn. His shock was enough to dampen his surge of anger as she basically called him a faggot to his face, but, damn it that, long-haired make-up wearing, boy had looked like a girl. Jeb hadn’t even realized ‘til after he’d got his cock sucked. He didn’t like what she knew, but, hell, maybe she was a reject from the psychic hotline. He twisted the shotgun, ready to club her down with the butt,

“No! Not Asshole! You will call me Sir, and you can scream it when I fuck you, Bobbi!”

Incredibly for her size, she stopped the swung shotgun with one hand. He couldn’t believe there was such strength in a girl. Jeb’s narrowed eyes widened as her dirty fingernails lengthened before his very eyes. Fur sprouted over her changing flesh as she snarled back,

“Not Bobbi. My name’s Kate, asshole, and you can gurgle it as you die!”

The shotgun discharged once, firing harmlessly into baled hay, before the werewolf’s teeth found Jeb’s throat and tore grizzled flesh like toilet paper. Six months since blood had last spilled on hay, and maybe somewhere his victims were satisfied that a kind of justice had come.

A/N: Story written for AFF forum weekly prompt 24 - Hay.

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