Demonology: The Churchyard

**Welcome to the world of Demonology. I hope you enjoy your time here and read more stories set here**

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Mark had been driving for days. He was making his way from North Carolina to his small Texas hometown of Creek Crossing. Driving his pickup on the interstate was always risky; there was too much chance of State Patrol pulling him over when he was on the main roads. For some reason, he needed to take that chance. He just felt rushed, as if he had to get there as quick as possible. Why he felt the need to get there right away, he didn't know. He had left that small town when he was fifteen never to return -- until this mad capped dash across state lines.

He spent his last night before making it to Creek Crossing in a small mom and pop hotel just the other side of Oklahoma City. Mark hated staying so close to an interstate, but so far, he'd had good luck following I-40. It was dark and the neighborhood was run-down, so he felt safe hitting up a local grocery store. A pound of chicken livers and a six-pack of Bud later and he holed himself back up in the hotel. He wanted to get into town late, the closer to sunset the better, but he needed a place to stash the truck.

Finally, Mark decided on an old farm that he remembered being abandoned when the cattle market took a dive in the 80s. He lay back on the bed to see if anything was decent on the four channels this dive got while he popped the chicken livers back like candy. He set the alarm for 10AM and drifted off to some B-rated movie about a bunch of sex-starved teenagers being hunted down by a monster serial killer, part of some stupid Halloween monster movie marathon.

When the alarm went off, Mark grabbed his sunglasses; the light coming in through the drawn curtains was almost unbearable. He hated moving around during the daytime, but he had to, there just wasn't time to remain under the cover of darkness. Throwing his duffel back into the truck, he checked out. Grabbing a pack of Camels from on top of the sun visor, he threw the truck into gear and set off back on I-40 heading straight towards Amarillo. He turned north on 385, finally exiting the interstate. He filled the tank and got some 'cat fish bait' at a grocery store in Amarillo. It was a shitty cover story, but his kind couldn't just swing through a drive through. He swore to whatever he was going to vomit if he spent another week living off chicken livers. There just wasn't enough time to hunt.

As the sun set, he crossed a small bridge over Ledger Creek. The abandoned farm was there, looking even crappier and dirtier than he remembered. The pole barn that he planned to hide the truck in looked more like a deathtrap, but it was his only option. He pulled in, carefully maneuvering the truck around a portion of roof that had collapsed. He covered the truck with some old tarps and blankets that had been hiding a rusted out tractor carcass. Grabbing his duffel, he set out in the last rays of the sun towards town. It was about 20 miles to Creek Crossing, but he kept walking at a normal pace, too early in the night for him to allow himself to make better time.

As midnight approached, he broke into a fast lope, he was getting hungry and the chicken livers were not holding him over anymore. He began covering ground quickly, there was still a bit of light from the moon, so he left his sunglasses on, and his hat on his head. His strides were strangely long, and his stamina seemed bottomless as he easily avoided every rut and rock in his way. He covered the distance faster than humanly possible, reaching a small hill outside of town where he could survey the situation.

The town looked smaller than when he left. The old Creek Crossing Cattleman's Bank had become a branch of the 1st National of Amarillo. The bars in town still looked closed and the 'Dry Town' sign was still up. The town appeared deserted, his gamble that no one in this god-fearing town would be out on Halloween night paid off. They'd all be holed up, worried Satan would come for them if they dared sin on this night.

He skirted the town and worked his way up to the Baptist church on the far side of town. The old minister's house was dark and there were no cars in front of it. Every year, his mother was at the all night prayer meeting Halloween night, except tonight the church was dark and deserted. He walked out behind the building, through the neglected graveyard. It had been dry the past few years here from the looks of things. No grass was growing and the few trees that had been planted were looking worse for wear.

Walking through the tombstones, he wasn't sure what he would find; then he saw her name in cold granite. Elizabeth Margaret Jacobs 1952 – 1996. His fingers slowly traced the letters and numbers. She died six years after he had left. He had hoped she'd still be alive. He didn't hope that for any emotional reason, his mother had never been warm to him. Hell, she hadn't done more than feed him and drag him off to church to be 'saved'.

Mark used to be the shy boy in the back of the class. Sure, everyone always whispered about him. Everyone in town knew his mom wasn't right in the head. She managed to make enough money for them to survive by waitressing at one of the bars before they closed, and as a young Mark soon learned, rumor had it she did more to make money than waitress. As the strange quiet boy whose mom was a whore, he was normally left to his own.

No one ever spoke of his father. The only time he ever heard reference to his daddy was when his mom was dragging him off to be healed, blessed, or exorcised or whatever her thought of the day was. He never thought that she meant it when she called him a demon child though. After the town went dry and she decided she was 'born again', she thought everyone was going to Hell or influenced by Satan. Sure, he looked a little different. He was paler than other kids and the sun hurt his eyes more. It wasn't until he started to hit puberty that the real differences started to occur.

By the time Mark knew there had to be something unusual with his father, he couldn't stay in this town much longer and had left without getting the answers he was searching for now. People had been starting to talk about how Satan was infiltrating the town and they always looked at Mark when they said it. Somewhere in this town had to be the answer for why the gold specks in his eyes changed to make his eyes pure gold, and why he grew horns on his head, and why his teeth were so sharp and he ... well, why he just wasn't human.

He sat on his mother's grave, facing the stone, which held no answers for him. He pulled off his hat, setting it down on the dry ground next to him. He ran his pale hand though the dark brown hair covering his horns. The haircut was a mess, he had been cutting his own hair since he was thirteen and the first sensitive nubs of horns had appeared. Now that he had actual horns, he was always hiding them under a hat anyways, so the messy hair didn't matter. "Damn it mama, why couldn't you have told me anything." Since talking to a tombstone wasn't going to get him any answers, and her being dead cut his ideas of how to get answers from one to none, he just laid back looking up at the stars and tried to think.

He didn't even have a name to go off of, by the time the thought that grabbing a copy of his birth certificate seemed like a good idea, the risk of getting it seemed too high. Breaking into the county records department seemed too dangerous. That was when it occurred to him -- the church records.

He stood up and put his hat back on. There was now a single light on in an upstairs window of the minister's house and a small car in the drive, but no sign of anyone actually leaving the house. He casually walked over to the church, his duffle still over his shoulder. Hiding in the shadows to avoid being seen, he reached the side door to the church. A quick upward shove of the handle and he gained access. He slipped carefully inside, but he knew there wouldn't be any sort of an alarm, not here in this place.

He found the back office and was soon digging through the old records. He flipped through the files, quickly realizing that they ended abruptly five years ago. Mark closed the drawer and looked around for any sign of more records. After ransacking the office, he couldn't turn up anything older than five years.

Mark stepped back to the door he came in through, there was still a light on at the house the minister lived in, but it was an upstairs room. Slipping through the shadows, he made his way to the house. Peering through the curtains of the first floor rooms, he located what looked like an office. It was directly under the room with the light.

Moving quieter than should be possible, he dropped his duffle and climbed up a railing to reach the porch roof. From there, Mark was able to crawl quietly over to the open window. Sliding silently along the roof, he paused as the light went off. He slid under the window. He didn't want to hurt anyone to get the records that should be in the office, but having someone awake in the house was an unexpected complication.

He heard footsteps enter the room as the light turned off. The warm summer breeze carried the scent of perfume. A few seconds later the bed springs creaked and he heard the rustle of the blankets. He waited a few more minutes. If she fell asleep, he could probably sneak in and find what he was looking for without hurting anyone.

Over the sounds of the soft breeze, he started to hear something from the room. It started as a soft indistinct noise, but slowly became louder. Instead of her breathing becoming slow and regular, it picked up its pace. He carefully raised his head above the windowsill to see what was happening inside. The lone occupant of the room wiggled on top of the covers. She was wearing only a Texas Tech T-shirt. The girl's eyes were closed as she gingerly rubbed a finger along her sex, softly massaging the most sensitive areas. Her finger disappeared between the soft curls of blonde hair, pressing over and over as her breath became faster.

She bent her knee, moving her hips a little, as she explored the soft blonde curls. Her teeth pressed against her lower lip, cutting off a moan just as it started. Her chest rose and fell, as her breathing got faster and shallower. The red T-shirt was stretched against her breasts, each breath highlighting her firm nipples protruding from under the school logo.

Mark froze where he was on the porch roof, unable to move away from the scene in front of him. The perfume in the air was now tinted with the smell of her sex. Her legs stretched, showing off her well-shaped thighs and calves. The pace of her finger increased. Her slim finger, partially enshrouded by the now moist blonde hair, entranced Mark. The rhythmic motions of her trembling thighs held him captive. Watching her, he felt his cock hardening. His heart started racing, a strong pounding in his chest and groin. He was not going to be able to leave here without having her.

She rolled onto her side, her breathing silent as she held her breath, gripping her pillow tight. Her back arched as she finally gasped for air. With one final moan, she relaxed; her hand dropping limply to the bed from her sensitive sex. Her muscles slowly relaxed as her breathing slowed. Mark watched as she moved slowly and stretched a bit to get comfortable, not bothering to pull the blankets over her despite the late October chill.

Mark carefully looked around the room. There was no sign of anyone else. The room looked mostly empty except for a suitcase with an intro to psychology textbook on it. She seemed to be asleep as he carefully crawled though the window. He walked over to her, smelling the perfume mixed with the smell of her warm sex. He reached the foot of her bed pausing to take in the sight of her.

He knew who she had to be. When he left town those years ago she had been just a young girl soaking in the words of sin and damnation her daddy preached. Now she was a woman. She was stretched out on top the covers; body barely covered by the red T-shirt. Her blonde hair was fanned out behind her on the bed, her arms still wrapped around the pillow. Part of him knew he should just leave now and find the papers he needed, the other part of him – that part was hungry.

Mark leaned down, bringing his mouth to just above her thighs. The aroma of her was dizzying. He knew he had to take advantage of this. Careful not to wake her yet, he softly blew across her still moist sex. She responded with a soft moan. As he blew again, the moan became slightly louder. Gently he brushed the moist curls with his lower lip. Her response this time was to stretch out her legs more. Her breathing was still deep as she slumbered. Standing up, he smiled.

He leaned over her sleeping form, breathing deeply as she exhaled. Licking one finger, he brought his hand down to her sex. Deftly he brushed the moistened finger across her, barely touching her tender clit as his finger ran through the damp curls. Mark placed his damp finger above her clit, softly rubbing the sensitive flesh. As he learned in towards her, his lips hovered barely above hers. He breathed in as she exhaled. In a swift move, he brought his lips to her, softly kissing her sleeping lips.

She jerked awake bringing her hands up to try to push him away. Her fingers raked against his face, ripping the sunglasses from his eyes. She froze as she stared into his eyes. The look of terror spread, she was unable to move her gaze from his face. Where he should have had eyes – there was just gold. Two metallic pools stared back at her in the pale moonlight, catching what little light trickled through the open window.

His voice was deep and low, "You're dreaming." Mark was kicking himself for being this stupid; he should have just gotten what he needed from the office and not risked everything. He held her wrists in one hand, not breaking eye contact. He took his hat off with the other hand, shaking his hair a bit to make sure his horns were not obscured. If only she hadn't looked so beautiful masturbating. He brought his lips back down to kiss her, pressing his lips firmly against hers.

She seemed confused, neither fighting him off nor accepting his kiss. He released one of her hands, testing what she would do. He gently sucked on her lower lip as he brought his free hand back down to rub against her sensitive nub. Her body trembled slightly as he touched the warm, moist flesh. He smiled as he brought his lips to her mouth again, tracing the line between her lips with his tongue. As she brought her free hand up to his head, letting her fingers run along one of his horns, her lips parted slightly.

Mark knew he should be more careful, but right now, it didn't matter to him. His body tensed as she gripped his sensitive horn in her hand, the thin warm fingers around the hard bone caused the last thoughts of caution to leave. He kissed her harder, his tongue driving into her mouth as she returned his kiss. He moved his lips to her neck, licking and kissing over the warm flesh. "It's all just a dream." His finger moved down slightly, just barely playing at her wet cunt.

She moaned as his finger barely slipped into her wet sex. The fingers on his horn tightened, "A dream." She moaned, her other hand moving in his grasp to hold his hand, not fighting as it was pressed farther into her pillow. Her hips moved under him slightly, bringing his finger a little deeper into the warm wetness.

Mark didn't know why convincing people was always so easy, they must just want to believe the lies. Either that or he just knew what lied to tell them. "Sin tonight and the devil will get you." His boots hit the carpeted floor with a dull thunk as he kicked them off. He lifted her partway off the bed, pulling her T-shirt off. As he laid her back on the bed, he couldn't help smiling. Her breasts were perfect. Some guys would call them small, but they were firm, and topped with erect, pink nipples. He leaned down and gently wrapped his lips around a nipple. Gently sucking and tugging at it, he brought a second finger to her warm sex.

She trembled as his fingers worked her clit, going from rubbing the sensitive nub, to just playing at the entrance to her womb. The scent of her sweat and sex filled the room, a heady mix of endorphins. He sat up, balancing on his knees as he looked down at her. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, but her lips remained slightly parted and she made no move to cover herself up.

He reached down and pulled off his T-shirt, tossing it to the floor. She reached up with one hand, brushing her hand across his slightly metallic skin. Her finger traced some of the scars that marred the muscles of his abs as she looked up into the unreadable gold eyes staring back at her. He smiled down at her, not caring if she saw his too sharp teeth. Mark put one hand on her hip, holding her in place. The other hand he brought to her cunt, quickly inserting three moistened fingers. She gasped at the sudden penetration. Before he had a chance to fuck her with his fingers, he froze.

Blood. He smelt blood. He smelt fresh blood. Mark looked down at his hand; he hadn't thought he hurt her. His breathing got faster responding to the smell of blood as it masked the smell of her sex. Bright red liquid covered his fingers. Slowly he brought his red fingers to his mouth, licking them. Fresh, virginal blood. Greedily he licked the sticky fluid from his fingers. Caution left him as his instinctive need for blood took over. Mark quickly dropped down to her wet cunt, lapping up the virgin blood before any of the precious liquid dried. Without any regard for her, he licked and sucked the blood away. His tongue and lips pressing into the sensitive lips of her cunt and her over stimulated clit.

Her back arched and her hands gripped at the bed as his assault on her sex intensified. He held her legs apart, only concentrating on licking the blood from her ruptured virginity. Her breath became quicker as she tensed her legs, loud moans coming from her throat. His tongue probed her hot, wet cunt as he searched for any remaining drops of blood. The muscles of her thighs clenched as he held her legs apart. As he sucked the last few drops, his mouth pressed into her receptive sex, probing the entrance with his tongue. She gasped loudly as her pussy pulsed against his tongue. Her hands holding him to her orgasming cunt for a moment before she collapsed back onto the bed.

Mark unzipped his jeans and stripped down the rest of the way, he was too hard not to have her now. He roughly grabbed her legs, pulling her onto his hard shaft. His cock drove into her, reckless of her recently lost virginity. Her warm, wet cunt was tight around him, gripping him has he fucked her. She pushed against his shoulders, shaking her head, but her legs gripped him, pulling him deeper. Her panting and whimpering only drove him to take her harder and deeper. Her back arched again as her pussy muscles clamped on him as she approached another orgasm.

All pretenses of quiet were gone from her as she screamed out as she came. She quivered and moaned in his grasp, as his pounding didn't let up. He could hear her pulse throbbing as her heart raced. He couldn't help himself. He scraped a sharp fingernail across her shoulder and watched the blood start to flow from the cut. His mouth sucked at the freshly flowing blood as he kept pounding her with his cock. Between the fresh blood and the richness of her sex, Mark's breathing turned to panting. It was getting to be too much. Finally, he felt it. He pulled her hard, all the way onto his cock as his fucking became almost frantic. Wave after wave of come shot into her.

The fog of desperation slowly cleared from his mind as he caught his breath. He looked down at the passed out woman he was still penetrating. He pulled out, and got up off the bed. She looked like hell now. His hands had left marks on her arms, a drying trail of blood ran down her shoulder, and her sex was plastered in their fluids. Her breathing was shallow as she slept, her pale skin showing the blood-loss and the bruises forming on her emphasized Mark's loss of control. As he pulled on his clothes, he thought for a moment about cleaning her up, if the minister came home and found his daughter like this the police would get involved. The clock was showing almost 4AM, time was running out. He needed to hurry; there wasn't time to get rid of evidence. Mark threw a blanket over her and went downstairs to the office.