Ghen-ghen e don happen keep it coming Greg42 more wisdom and inspiration to you. Kate and Angie are in for it.

Missmossy:
Ghen-ghen e don happen keep it coming Greg42 more wisdom and inspiration to you. Kate and Angie are in for it.

Thanks dearie

Cc khd95 galacious1 drnoel JIYABOI girlhaley jagugu88li Tuhndhay lleigh creeza ashatoda empress101 dare2try Reuel12 iamloyalty supizino divepen1 

   She had visions of Angie wading out of the woods with a shovel, caving in his head. She‟d done something similar once before, after all, right back when all this had first began. She had beaten a man to death with a hammer. But not a police-man, Angie. You kill a police-man, and they‟ll do whatever it takes to find you. To find us.
 “Miss?”
 She opened the door. She tried to give a bright and breezy smile. She failed dismally.
 “Did you want me?” 
       he asked. She looked confused. Maybe he was a dogger after all. But surely policemen didn‟t go in for that sort of thing. Not in uniform anyway. 
“Want you?” she asked. 
“You beeped me,” he pointed out. 
“Quite insistently, the second time.”
 “Sorry,” she said.
 “I‟ve – I‟ve been sick. Look, there‟s some on my coat.” “That‟s okay,” he smiled.
 “There‟s no need to prove it.” “I just pulled over for a few minutes. I‟ve not done anything wrong, have I?"

"No, no, of course not. You‟re feeling better now, though?”
 “Yes. Much better, thanks. I‟m sorry, this is going to sound like a really strange question, but do you happen to know when sunrise is?”
      He gave her a quizzical look. She gave him a sheepish grin in return; it was all she could do, as she couldn‟t really explain the question without making herself look even stranger than she must seem now. He looked at his watch. “I‟m not sure. About an hour or so, I think.” “Thank you. Thank you.” “No problem. I‟ll follow you up the road for a few miles. Make sure you‟re okay.” He slammed the door, and went back to his car. He reversed a few yards, to allow her room to pass him by. She sat there for a few seconds, thinking. What to do? If she stayed here, it would look really suspicious. But if she drove off, leaving Angie in the middle of the woods, she would go mental. Seriously bloody mental. The police officer flashed his lights, signalling to her that he was ready to move off. She turned the key in the ignition.

   The engine came to life. She looked around. It definitely seemed lighter. She couldn‟t stay here. It would kill her if the sun came up when she was so far from home. The lights of the police car flashed again. He was impatient for her to be on her way. Lights on. Indicate. Pull away. She drove off, the police car carrying out a tight u-turn and following at a respectful distance behind her. She couldn‟t see her; it was too dark, and she had to keep her eyes on the road. But she could sense Angie watching her in silence from the cover of the brooding trees.


     She had abandoned her friend and accomplice in the middle of nowhere. Angie was not going to be happy about that at all. # The police car followed her for about ten minutes. Surely he had to keep to the Ashford area, she thought? Surely he‟d have to turn round and go back to his home town? Eventually, he did. That left Kate in a dilemma. Should she go back and face the music? Or should she drive home and worry about Angie later on........


      If it was still dark, she‟d have gone back in a shot. She hated the idea of leaving Angie in the woods on her own. But it was definitely getting lighter. Twilight, did they call it? Like that film? If she turned back now, she‟d have no chance of getting home before sunrise. She pulled over. She had to go back. She couldn‟t leave Angie back there in the woods. Her friend would have come back for her, no question. She did a three point turn – not the brightest idea on an A-road, but she didn‟t want to waste further time finding a junction. And headed back to the layby she‟d left earlier. There was no sign of Angie by the road-side when she got there. She wandered into the trees, calling her name, unwilling to lose sight of the road in case she got lost. She shouted out her name as loudly as she could. If the policeman came back now, he‟d probably have her committed. No reply. No sign of her anywhere. She went back to the road again. She sat in the car. She checked her watch. She turned the ignition on. Petrol was low. An eighth of a tank, maybe a little more. Was that enough to get home without stopping to fill up? She didn‟t want to stop. For one thing, she probably smelled of sick. But far more importantly, time was ticking by. If she was going to have any hope at all of getting home before sunrise, she would have to leave now. Maybe Angie‟s hitchhiked already, she thought. When I charge my phone back up, I‟ll probably find a message from her telling me not to worry, that she‟s on her way home already. Get yourself back home before it gets light, the message would say. I‟m fine. She had come back, after all. She‟d waited here. She‟d wandered around in the trees, calling out like an idiot, without so much as a whisper in reply. Angie must have gone home already. There was no point waiting around any longer. It was time for her to go home, too. She set off again, desperately hoping that she wouldn‟t see the police-car from earlier. She drove as quickly as she could legally drive, conscious of the fact that she still had a dead body in the boot. She spent most of her time checking how light it was getting, whilst casting the occasional worried glance at the fuel gauge. Should she stop if it went down to zero, or should she keep going? She‟d heard that you could keep going for miles on an “empty” tank, but what if she ran out of petrol? With a corpse in the back. Not something you can easily explain......


         She drove back through Canterbury. She made it as far as the road running alongside the airport on the approach back to Ramsgate.  And then the sun came up.........

Angie will kill this one before the police arrest her for the corpse at the back of the truck.

If that fuel doesn't make it home, shit hits the fan....

jagugu88li:
Angie will kill this one before the police arrest her for the corpse at the back of the truck.

If that fuel doesn't make it home, shit hits the fan....

Lolzzzz I guess we'll find out

For This one angie go chop kate raw

Nmaglit:
For This one angie go chop kate raw

Lolzzz the girl na evil sombori

Nmaglit:
For This one angie go chop kate raw

you sef

iykekelvins, you think I'm evil. Come......come and see these two ladies vampires, see if you won't change your mind about me

Cc creeza girlhaley jagugu88li Tuhndhay lleigh luckymay skarlett cheeybrown iykekelvins bummybummy

   It had been a long time since she had been out after sunrise. Back when she was at home, she hadn‟t had any choice; her parents had nagged her to get out and about, telling her she‟d feel less depressed if she was active (which, to be fair, was what the psychiatrists had told them). And then there were the medical appointments – the never-ending medical appointments – to attend, all of which (save for the hypnotherapy they had briefly dabbled with) had been during the working day. When she‟d been out and about during the day-time in the past, she had felt so anxious that it made her physically sick on occasions. She didn‟t want people seeing her. She was a freak, a sickly deranged freak, and the thought of people seeing her made her want to run home, bury herself under the duvet and cry her eyes out. But she couldn‟t do that; it would upset her mother, and her father wouldn‟t approve. He was like Angie in some ways; totally intolerant of any sign of weakness. Well, like it or not, she was weak. That was the problem. Since she‟d moved into the house next to Angie‟s, she hadn‟t gone out during the day. Not once. And over time, her terror of daylight had changed. Now she drank blood. That was what she feared people would see in her when the sun came up. That was why she had to shut herself away from the world, a voluntary prisoner in her own four walls, watching the world go by with noone to talk to except Angie. She‟d even cut herself off from her parents since she‟d started the blood thing. Too great a risk that they would hear or see something which would expose her for what she was. Better cut them off completely than risk them knowing the truth about her. She‟d been friendly with Trevor, Angie‟s husband, for a while. He was in a similar position to her in a way. He was wheel-chair-bound. Angie didn‟t like him going out without her, not even to the pub at the end of the road. She worried about him being out on his own, she said, but Kate was sure it was just that Angie had to be in control of everyone all the time. He was like a lifesized doll she could dress up and plan his day....


       She had worked when Kate had first moved into the road, so Trevor had been on his own all day. And even when Angie had been sacked on suspicion of stealing drugs at the hospital (nothing ever proved, of course), she‟d go out a lot on her own. Ironically, she said she got bored being at home all day. She wouldn‟t take her husband with her, as she said it was too much trouble getting him in and out of the car. He was giving her back-ache. He‟d be happier on his own at home, while she had some “me-time” of her own. So he started visiting Kate for an hour or two a day when his wife was out. All completely innocent. He just came round for some conversation, a cup of tea, and a biscuit or two. That was before she had men chained to her bed, of course. She enjoyed the company. Even then, before Angie had started to grate upon her, it was nice to have someone else to chat to once in a while. Angie hadn‟t seen it that way, though. She went mental when she found out about their “coffee-mornings”. She didn‟t actually accuse them of having an affair, but she kept coming out with things which suggested that she was thinking it. “The moment my back‟s turned,” she‟d say, “you‟re round Kate‟s, getting your busted little legs under her table.” She spoke to him like that all the time. No respect. No respect at all. Trevor had backed down straight away. Kate hadn‟t been quite so much under her friend‟s thumb at that stage, so she would have been minded to carry on seeing Trevor, even if it was just once or twice a week. But he politely refused to come round again. Angie had been good to him, he explained. He didn‟t want to do anything which might upset her. So she‟d been on her own again, increasingly dependent on Angie as her only daytime contact with the outside world. Maybe that was why Angie had kicked up such a fuss about Trevor coming round. Maybe she knew full well that there was nothing going on, but as long as they were both isolated they‟d both be emotionally dependent on her, and that was the way she liked it. Kate still went out at night, of course. She needed some respite from being at home all the time. But there were only so many places you could go during the evenings when money was tight. She tried sitting in pubs, but it was difficult to nurse a drink through an hour or two, and she kept getting chatted up by teenagers who looked too young to be drinking in the first place. Besides, she was bored. Sitting in a pub on your own was even worse than sitting indoors on your own. At least when you were at home, no-one was thinking what a sad bitch she was.......


         And then the fateful night she had first went to a night-club on her own. She‟d put it off for ages. She had to pay to get in, which meant there was even less money to spend on drinks when she got inside. And the drinks were more expensive, too. But she had been sent some birthday money by her parents, and she decided to give a club a try. She‟d asked Angie to come with her, but she wouldn‟t leave Trevor alone at night. So she‟d gone on her own. She‟d only been there half an hour, sitting on her own at a table near the dance-floor. Other people kept putting their empty glasses on the table while they went off to dance. In a way, she was glad of that. It made it look as if there had been other people sitting with her. It made her feel slightly less of a sad loser. And then Danny had chatted her up. He‟d come over, sat in one of the chairs she‟d pulled up to make people think there had been other people sitting at her table, and come up with some truly dreadful chat-up line or other. Something about her clothes looking good, but they‟d look better on his bedroom floor. She‟d laughed out of politeness. He took it as encouragement. He‟d bought her a drink. And then another one. And then several more. She couldn‟t remember much more about their time in the club together. She had danced at some stage, which was something she never did, even when she had been well. She had a vague recollection of spinning around on the dance-floor, and giving some bloke a mouthful when she saw him laughing at her. Danny had had a go at him, too. She‟d liked that. Someone to look after her for a change. They had had a slow dance at some stage. She suspected that it had not even been to a slow song. Everyone else was dancing around as the two of them smooched, Danny spooning her, his hands all over her body. It was nice to be wanted. She didn‟t want him to come back home with her, but she‟d enjoy the moment while it lasted. It had to beat sitting on her own on her sofa again. More alcohol, more bad chat-up lines, more wandering hands. And then he was leading her out of the club by the hand. She followed him without complaint. She didn‟t like him very much. But the more she drank, the less that seemed to matter. It was just one night, after all. It was company, even if not particularly pleasant company. What harm could it do? He‟d driven her home. She recalled being surprised that he was sober enough to steer in a straight line, if he‟d been matching her drink for drink. She didn‟t know whether he was drink-driving, or whether he‟d been knocking
back non-alcoholic drinks while he was getting her steadily pissed. 

     The former would be the least worrying of the two. Maybe this wasn‟t such a good idea after all. She felt that she should make her excuses and get out of the car, but they were in the middle of nowhere, and she wasn‟t sure she could stay upright, yet alone find her way home. She‟d had difficulty remembering her address when he asked her where they were going. “You‟ll know it when you see it,” she told him, in that oh-soknowledgeable way drunks adopt when they‟re giving instructions. “Angie lives next-door.” Maybe she‟d started to sober up a little by the time they‟d got back to her house, but she had full recall of the rest of the evening. He‟d tried to push her back against the car to snog her. She didn‟t want to be pushed anywhere, especially not by him. The more he talked to her, the less she liked him. She‟d started to realise what a Arrow he was.  “Stop it,” she‟d said. “I‟m not some slapper you can take in the street.” He‟d laughed, and carried right on. “Yes you are,” he said. “Otherwise you wouldn‟t have got pissed and brought a total stranger home.” “Bleep off!” she shouted. The lights came on in Angie‟s bedroom. It gave her courage; she felt less alone knowing her friend was around. She shouted at him again, and shoved him backwards. He laughed the first time, and pressed himself up against her again, but when she pushed him a second time he snapped. He slapped her hard across the face. “You punch like a girl,” she goaded him, determined to hurt him, hoping that he would get back in his car and flounce away. This time he punched her. Hard. To her left cheek. Had she not been pressed up against the car, she would have fallen down. She screeched at him, and lashed out at him with open palms, slapping him three or four times about the head. He grabbed her wrists and held them by her sides. And then he was dragging her towards her garden. She tried to pull away from him, but couldn‟t get enough purchase on the pavement with her high-heels on. Within seconds, she was through the garden-gate and he‟d flung her down on to the damp grass. “I‟ve paid for this,” he told her coldly, as he unbuckled his black trousers. “It cost me thirty quid to get you pissed. Come on, tell me you want it.” “Bleep off!” “You said that already. Come on, admit it. Slags like you are always gagging for it. Well, you‟re gonna get it alright"

        She tried to get back up, but he launched himself on top of her, forcing her back down onto the lawn. “Bleep off!” she screamed at him again. He clamped her mouth closed with one hand, as he hitched up her skirt. He tried to pull her knickers down one-handed, but couldn‟t manage it. He took his hand away from her mouth so he could use both hands. She screamed. He punched her in the side. He pulled her knickers down mid-thigh, and clamped his palm back across her mouth again. “You‟re gonna love this,” he whispered in her ear. “You‟ll never want another bloke again afterwards, I guarantee it.” And then his face thudded into hers, cracking against her forehead and nose. For a moment, she thought he had deliberately head-butted her, but then she caught sight from the corner of her eye of someone standing above them. She panicked for an instant, not knowing what was going on. Had he arranged to meet someone here, someone who would be joining in? No, she‟d been with him the whole time since giving him directions. No-one else knew he would be here. What then? What was going on? It happened again. His head was shunted into hers. The person behind him had struck him with something. His face rested over-intimately against hers. She screamed. His eyes had gone blurred, senseless, as he stared at her from just an inch or two away. And then someone was rolling him off her. There was Angie; Angie with a claw-hammer. Angie had saved her. Angie struck him again; a vicious blow to his head. And then again. And again. Her aim was good. Not once did she go below neck level. Kate pulled up her knickers, and got unsteadily to her feet. She felt like crying, but the tears wouldn‟t come. He‟d tried to rape her. The bastard had tried to rape her. And now he was dead. Good. He deserved it. Angie struck him once more, and then gestured for her to help drag him inside. “No,” Kate shook her head. “I don‟t want him in my house.” “I‟ve battered his skull to pieces,” Angie replied. “I can‟t leave him out here. We need to work out what to do.” “Yours, then.” “Trevor wouldn‟t be terribly impressed if I bring a dead body home.” “Call the police. They can take him away"

          "You‟re not listening to me. Caving the back of someone‟s head with a claw-hammer in isn‟t generally considered to be self-defence. I‟m not going to prison for a self-servicer like that.” “They‟ll understand. You had to do it. He was - ” “I know what he was doing. And he got what was coming to him. But the police won‟t see it like that, trust me. Not when they see the state I‟ve left him in. Now come on, someone might see us. You take his wrists, I‟ll take his ankles.” Kate did as she was told. They carried him the three yards or so to her front door (she had been so close to sanctuary when it happened). She fumbled the key in the lock, but Angie snatched it off her, and the door was open in seconds. They pulled him inside, and slammed the door after them once Angie had retrieved her hammer from the blood-soaked grass. “We should phone the police,” Kate persisted. “I don‟t want him in here.” Angie shook her head. “No way. We‟d both be locked up. No doubt about it.” “But I didn‟t do anything!” Kate protested. “He was on top of me. I didn‟t kill him!” Angie looked at her as if she had betrayed her. “Thanks for that, mate.” “I didn‟t mean – I wasn‟t saying – ” The tears came. Angie wrapped a meaty arm around her waist, and pulled her towards her, giving her a motherly kiss on the forehead. “It‟s okay. I know what you meant. It‟s not my fault. It‟s not your fault. It‟s this dirty little bastard staining your hall-carpet. He‟s the one who should be apologising.” Kate looked at him. There was no doubt about it; he was dead all right. Angie was stronger than she looked. Part of his skull had caved in, with brain protruding from the gaping wound. He was covered with blood, as was Angie. Her carpet was stained red. She looked down at her own clothes. They were bloodied too, where his head had rubbed against her as she was carrying his corpse inside.  She felt a sudden surge of anger towards him. He would have raped her if Angie hadn‟t come to her assistance. He‟d called her a slag, a slapper, told her he‟d bought her, like some old LovePeddler. He‟d punched her. And now he‟d bled all over her carpet. She liked her house clean, pristine, but he had violated it, just as he had intended to violate her. It was the final straw

Angie is a transgender I swear, no woman is capable of such....unless she owns land on that mmmm.....what is the channel again....where wives murder their husband, stalkers, neighbours killing each other, marrying a fugitive....yeah, that channel. Or she owns the channel sef

jagugu88li:
Angie is a transgender I swear, no woman is capable of such....unless she owns land on that mmmm.....what is the channel again....where wives murder their husband, stalkers, neighbours killing each other, marrying a fugitive....yeah, that channel. Or she owns the channel sef

Lolzzzzzz

jagugu88li:
Angie is a transgender I swear, no woman is capable of such....unless she owns land on that mmmm.....what is the channel again....where wives murder their husband, stalkers, neighbours killing each other, marrying a fugitive....yeah, that channel. Or she owns the channel sef

Lolzzzzzz call girlhaley

greg42:


Lolzzzzzz call girlhaley

Girlhaley, if you don't bring yourself right at this moment, I swear a stray bullet might mistake you for the owner. Make you no say I no talk am.

Cc. Girlhaley jagugu88li xamster ashatoda remiseyi alexblazzzer18 missmossy lleigh luckymay skarlett cheeybrown iykekelvins bummybummy creeza


     She grabbed the hammer from Angie and took a swing at his head. There was the sound of splintering bone, and a geyser of blood and brain matter erupted from his skull. She struck him a second time and a third. She collapsed on her knees beside him, huge sobs wracking her body. Angie knelt down beside her and put a motherly arm around her shoulders. “No police,” she cooed. “It would be a bit tricky explaining to them why his brains are splattered all over your garden and your hallway as well.” “No police,” repeated Kate through her tears. And in that moment, she was lost......


           And now she was in the car, driving past the airport, the sun poking mischievously over the distant horizon through the chain-link fence to her left. And she felt as if she was going into nuclear meltdown. Pain stabbed through her head, as lights flashed across her field of vision. Her stomach cramped, released and cramped again, as if some unseen hand was trying to squeeze the juice from it. Waves of nausea hit her. For a moment, she thought she would need to pull over so that she could be sick in the road, but she didn‟t want to stop, not even for an instant. She just needed to get home as soon as she possibly could. Despite the urgency, she braked. She could hardly see, and if she kept on doing seventy she‟d end up off the road. She dropped down to forty miles per hour. The driver behind didn‟t like it; he beeped her, scolding her for what he considered to be driving which was far inferior to his own. Well, he could just Bleep right off. She was ill. It was as much as she could do to drive in a straight line. She felt her limbs starting to tighten, as another wave of nausea swept over her. This was ridiculous. She‟d been sick before when she‟d been out in the daylight, years ago when she was still at her parents, but never like this. And the sun had only been up for a minute or two. Surely her symptoms couldn‟t come on so quickly? It must be all in her mind. But it didn‟t feel that way. If it was all in her mind, no-one had explained that to the rest of her body. She felt the need to vomit again, stronger this time. No time to stop (and if she tried she‟d end up with the tailgater right up her arse). She threw up on the passenger seat, as quickly as she could so she could get her eyes back on the road. She looked up after just a second or two. Just in time; she was veering off the road towards the chain-link fence. 

       Ironically, there was a no-stopping sign attached to it. She steered back on to the tarmac again. The car behind overtook her, the driver‟s hand held down on the horn to show her quite how bad her driving was. Maybe he had a point this time, but he was still pissing her off big-time. She floored the accelerator, until she was driving just a few yards behind him. If he was going to have a go at her driving, she would give the self-servicer something to complain about. He sped up. She sped up too. There was a roundabout up ahead. He drove across it. She followed him, without bothering to slow down to see what was coming. Fortunately, the roundabout was clear. She deserved a little luck after all she had been through tonight. And then she remembered the body in her boot. She braked sharply, letting the car ahead get away. He‟d learnt his lesson. She‟d drive home as fast as she could, but without being reckless. No point in getting arrested now, not when she was so close to sanctuary. She made it back to her own house without further incident. The final roundabouts and traffic lights were equally kind to her as the first had been. She threw up once more, this time slowing down to a crawl opposite the St Lawrence Tavern before retching. She could barely see at all by the time she pulled up outside her house. She parked the car a good two feet away from the pavement. It would have to do. She wasn‟t about to try again. She rushed indoors, and slammed the door behind her. For a second, she thought of going back out again. Would the police knock on her door if the car was parked quite so badly? Or worse still, on Angie‟s door? Would they find Clive if they did? It didn‟t matter. She wasn‟t going out there again, whatever the consequences. It would kill her. She wondered again if she‟d gone mad. Her symptoms were so extreme. So immediate. It had never been this bad before, nothing like it. Was it some sort of chemical reaction, or was she just a desperate hypochondriac in need of a good talking to? There had to be a genuine physical reason for all this, surely? Even her mind couldn‟t do this much damage to her, however much it might want to punish her for what she had become. The symptoms were like those from the Craving; her craving for blood. Only even worse. And at least the Craving came on gradually, insidiously, one painful day at a time. This time, out in the daylight, it had hit her like a truck. The moment the sun had peeped over on the horizon, she had been toast.......

intruging! So this is how all the homicidal train took off. No wonder she doesn't joke with angie. Angie is so tactful, energetic and uneasy to predict.
Am loving this.

xamster:
intruging! So this is how all the homicidal train took off. No wonder she doesn't joke with angie. Angie is so tactful, energetic and uneasy to predict.
Am loving this.

Thanks my bro......

Xamster ashatoda remiseyi alexblazzzer18 Tuhndhay horlorlardaey girlhaley jagugu88li beey supizino yemibams






Maybe blood would help her, as it did with the Craving. Maybe it was her equivalent of morphine. But she had none in the house, and Clive was decomposing in the boot. Did corpses bleed? She wasn‟t sure. She‟d never tried to tap them once they were dead. Not except the first one, that is. Danny. The man who‟d tried to rape her in her own front garden. That made her think of Angie again. Was she home yet? She wouldn‟t like it when she saw that she‟d vomited over her upholstery. She should phone her; check she was okay. 

          But not yet. She was still too ill for that. Compose herself, phone her friend, take her bollocking and then go to bed for the rest of the week. It took her an hour to calm down enough to make the call. She put her mobile on charge, and waited for her breathing to return to something resembling normal pace. Just as she was psyching herself up to phone Angie, the phone rang. She hesitated before answering it. She was frightened. What if she was still in the woods in Ashford? What if she insisted on her driving back to collect her? How furious would she be when she refused to come out until darkness fell again? She took the call. “Hello?” Relief. It was someone asking her to complete some survey or other. She hung up without giving them any explanation. She couldn‟t deal with cold-callers at a time like this. 

           Eventually, she phoned Angie‟s house. It seemed the safer option. If Angie answered, she was back home again. If she didn‟t, Kate would have more time to steel herself before phoning her on her mobile. The phone rang just once. Trevor answered. He sounded worried. “Kate, is that you?” “Is Angie there?” “I was hoping she was with you! She didn‟t come home last night. I‟ve phoned the hospitals, the police…” “Please. Don‟t phone the police. She wouldn‟t want you to.” “I‟ve phoned them already. I didn‟t know where she was. Have you seen her?” “Yes. We were – we were – we went out last night.” “All night? She would have told me.” He sounded upset. It occurred to her that Angie‟s absence must look suspicious to him. Maybe he thought she was having an affair. No chance of that, of course. She really didn‟t like men very much at all, and she was never very complimentary about lesbians either (even though Kate had caught her giving her some very dodgy looks at times, when Angie thought she wasn‟t looking). Not that she could say any of this to Trevor, of course. Don‟t worry, Trevor, your wife‟s not having an affair, because she has a pathological hatred of men and she hasn‟t come out of the Lesbian Closet yet. “Do you know when she‟ll be back?” he asked. 


        He sounded like a child whose mother had left him home alone. She felt sorry for him, almost sorry enough to invite him round. Almost. She didn‟t need any more questions which she didn‟t know how to answer. She needed sleep. And if Angie would be cross now, how much worse would she be if she came back to find her and Trevor together? “Soon,” she told him. “Any minute now, I expect.” “She didn‟t come back with you then?” How could she answer that? She wasn‟t feeling up to inventing stories, not that she could think of a story which would explain why they had stayed out all night and then come home separately. Unless one of them had pulled. Maybe that was what she should say? Not Angie, of course; she couldn‟t tell Trevor his wife had pulled. She‟d say that she had. “I‟ve pulled.” “Sorry?” “I‟ve pulled. A man. He‟s upstairs waiting for me. Gotta go. I can hear him calling me.” “Bye, then. Let me know if you hear anything before I do.” He sounded so sad. He was looking for support from her, but she had none to give him. “I‟ve thrown up in your car. I‟m really sorry. Ask her to call me when she gets in. It‟ll be alright; she‟ll be back soon.” She put the phone down. She winced. “I‟ve thrown up in your car”. What a stupid thing to say, especially at a time like this!  She started feeling nauseous again. She put the latch up on the door to stop Angie letting herself in uninvited when she got home, and made her way upstairs. She needed to sleep, to sleep until she felt better. She might be in bed for a very long time. # She stayed in bed until Thursday, only getting up when she had to. She ate little; she couldn‟t keep it down. She craved blood. She craved blood like she never had before..


The symptoms from her sunlight exposure were similar to those from the Craving she usually had, only worse. They had reduced to almost manageable proportions by the end of that first day, but then got worse again as the week wore on. Her desire for fresh blood became stronger and stronger. It kept her awake. Her sheets were soaked in sweat as she tossed and turned all day and night. She needed blood to make the pain go away, but could hardly make it out of bed, yet alone go in search of victims. Not that she would pull in this state anyway; it would be hard to attract men when she couldn‟t stop shivering. There was one man who would come round after just one telephone call, of course. But that wasn‟t a call she was willing to make yet. Trevor phoned during the afternoon she first took to her bed. Angie was home. She was fuming. No, she didn‟t want to speak to Kate. And she‟d be sending her the bill to have her car valeted. And that was it. She‟d taken the door off the latch to encourage Angie to come round to see her. Even a bollocking had to be better than this withering silence. But she heard nothing more from Angie until the Thursday. And when she did, she realised that withering silence would actually have been far preferable after all. She was woken by noises from downstairs. Someone was moving around down there. She listened for a full minute, not knowing what else to do. Could she phone Angie? Probably not a good move. The Police? No, worse idea still. She‟d had enough contact with the police recently to last her a lifetime. It was time to keep her head down for a while. And not Mike either. She‟d been ducking his calls all week. She couldn‟t trust herself with him at the moment. Not with the Craving this bad. If he came round now, Angie would be on him like a shot, and she was worried that she‟d have neither the strength nor the will-power to save him from her. The front door closed. Someone leaving? Or maybe someone else was coming in? She was tempted to stay in bed, hide under the covers and hope everything would be okay when she resurfaced. But she had to do something. Better to catch them unawares if they were still in the house. Maybe she could frighten them off that way. She didn‟t want them to find her in her bedroom. It might give them ideas. She‟d already narrowly survived being raped in her own front garden by the hideous Danny, and she wasn‟t about to risk a repeat performance up here in her own bed. Especially not without Angie around to save her this time round.....

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Maybe Angie had seen them come in? Would she help if she had, or would she leave them to it? She‟d help; surely she‟d help. It doesn‟t matter how pissed off you are with your friends; you wouldn‟t leave them to face something like this on their own. Not even Angie would do that.  She got of bed, and pulled on her dressing-gown. She opened the door. She listened. No noise down there now. It gave her encouragement. Any more banging and she would have been straight back into bed, whatever the consequences. Hopefully, whoever it was had gone away. Down the stairs to the first floor. Past the room she kept for her special visitors (no-one in there now, worse luck). She stopped again at the top of the steps leading down to the ground floor. Still nothing. The front door was open a few inches, though. There had definitely been someone here. She hurried down the stairs, and closed the front door as quietly as she could. She prayed she was locking the intruders out rather than shutting them in. She took a deep breath and poked her head round the door to the living room. The armchair had been moved so its back was to her. There was someone sitting in it; she could see the back of his head. She stifled a scream, and raced upstairs again. She got as far as her bedroom door before she realised that he wasn‟t following her. What now? She couldn‟t stay up here forever. If whoever it was wanted to hurt her, he could have come up here while she was asleep. He wouldn‟t just be taking a nap in her armchair. But normal people didn‟t let themselves in to other people‟s homes and make themselves comfortable while they were sleeping upstairs. Besides, no normal person had the key to her house. She ventured back down to the first floor again. More listening. Still no sound at all from downstairs. She took the last flight one step at a time, ready to hare back up to her bedroom if the intruder reappeared. She approached the living room door.

        She reached out for the handle. She could hear her own breathing, loud and laboured, whether from fear or from running up and down the stairs, it was difficult to say. What if he was standing on the other side of the door when she opened it, ready to grab her, pull her into the room, do whatever it was to her he‟d come to do? She needed an escape route. She should open the front door, so she had somewhere to flee. The door was just a foot or two to her left. She turned round to open it. As she did so, someone rapped upon it. Her heart jumped, as if trying to leap free of her body. She could have cried with fear........




         Her first urge was to run back upstairs again, but there was only so many times she could do that without being ridiculous. She ran to the back door instead. The key was missing from the lock. She cursed it and kicked it, but there was no way out there.  Back to the front door. There was another knock. Someone was waiting for her out there. Or waiting for the other man to let him in. She had no option but to open it, before the other man came out and cornered her. At least if she opened the front-door herself, she might have time for a scream before he was inside. Someone might hear, might come to her rescue. But then it was a very quiet road. She could be screaming for an hour before anyone thought to come to help her. Still, it was her only chance. She wanted to open the door slowly, an inch at a time, fearing what was on the other side, but there was only one way to do this. Rip it open, like taking off a plaster. Get the bad stuff out of the way quickly, rather than prolonging the agony. And then scream, before the intruder forced his way in and did whatever it was he‟d come to do to her. She opened the door, her hands shaking on the door handle. There was a man outside, a man of about sixty. A man in a wheelchair. He gave her a friendly smile. “Hello Kate,” he said. It was Trevor. Angie‟s husband.  “Can I come in?” She stared at him, not knowing what to say. She felt a little better having him here, but she didn‟t want him inside. She felt that whoever was in her living room had something to do with her special hobby. 


       She couldn‟t risk him finding out about that. And if it was an intruder, it would hardly be a fair fight between the two of them, not with him being in the wheelchair. She needed Angie here. Angie would know what to do; she always did. “Where‟s Angie?” “That‟s what I‟ve come to talk to you about. Can I come in? I‟m freezing my nuts off out here.” He grinned, and waited for her to speak. She stared at him, not knowing what to say. “Could you wait there, a sec,” she eventually requested. “There‟s something I have to do first.” She left the front-door open, and stepped into the living room. “Milk and two sugars,” she could hear Trevor calling after her from outside. “If you‟re offering"



     The man was still in the armchair; the back of his head was still very much where she had left it. It was leaning to one side a little, as if he was sleeping or deep in thought. “Hello?” she called out. “Hello!” Trevor called out from outside. “Not you, Trevor.” She took a few more steps towards the armchair. She could reach out and touch his head now, if she felt like it. But she didn‟t feel like it. Not at all. “Hello?” she said again, quieter this time, so Trevor wouldn‟t hear her. “What are you doing in my house?” No reply. She walked around the armchair, one step at a time, keeping two or three feet from it at all times to give her space enough to run if he leapt up at her. He didn‟t move a muscle. It was almost as if he – She put a hand to her mouth. As if he was dead. It was Clive. Poor, dead Clive. There was a length of string round his neck which had been threaded through a hole in the corner of an A4 sheet of paper, like some bizarre necklace. Angie had scribbled a message on it, untidy but just about decipherable. “Give me Mike,” it said. The living room door started to open. Bleep! Trevor had let himself in. She shot across the room, and tried to close the door on him. It struck hard against the side of his wheel chair. He was halfway through the door. She stood in front of him, barring the way. “You can‟t come in,” she said. “Problem?” “I have a man in here,” she told him, saying the first thing to come into her head.  “And? Is he shy?” Trevor asked. “Naked.” “In your living room?” Trevor asked in surprise. “The things you young people get up to! Are there any naked men in your kitchen, too?” “No. No, the kitchen‟s a nudity free-zone on Thursdays.” “I‟ll go in there, then. For that drink you promised me. Tell your young man that I‟d love to meet him when he‟s put his pants back on.” He started wheeling himself backwards out of the room. “Watch out for carpet-burns,” he chuckled as he reversed into the hallway. “Don‟t look so surprised. I was young once, you know

Angie has gone lunny I tell you. So she's back but probably hasn't gone home yet....?

Trevor doesn't know how blood thirsty her wife is.....something there.

I'll watch this

jagugu88li:
Angie has gone lunny I tell you. So she's back but probably hasn't gone home yet....?

Trevor doesn't know how blood thirsty her wife is.....something there.

I'll watch this

Loving your consistency sweet

Wow. Following..... BTW... Is Kate a vampire?

Luckymay:
Wow. Following.....
BTW... Is Kate a vampire?

Yes dear a rare type

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       Kate closed the door after him. She raced back through the living room into the dining room, and closed the door which led through to the kitchen. What to do now? There was nothing much she could do, really. If she started trying to haul Clive‟s corpse up the stairs, it might look ever so slightly suspicious. She left the room through the living room door, not risking the dining room in case Trevor glanced through the door and caught sight of the dead body in the armchair. She put the kettle on, and took a seat opposite Trevor. She tried to smile at him, but it didn‟t quite work. “What‟s up? It‟s been a long time since you‟ve been allowed round here.” “I‟d have come round more often if I knew all the fun you were having,” he joked. He lapsed into silence, which was most unlike him. “How‟s Angie?” she asked. It was then that Trevor started crying..



          It took a minute or two for Trevor to pull himself together. When he did, he was very apologetic. He hadn‟t meant to cry like a big girl, he told her. Or a small girl, come to that. It was just that – that – he was so worried about his wife. You have every cause to be, Kate thought. Had it been any other man in her kitchen this far into her Craving, she would have been worried for him. But Trevor was safe. He had been her friend for a long time. And Angie was hardly going to come around and jab him with a syringe. If anything, the Craving wasn‟t so strong now he was around. It was there okay, but damped down. Maybe it was all in her mind after all. “She‟s been acting strangely for the last year or so,” he said. “We have separate bedrooms of course, but sometimes I can hear her moving round the house at night. I don‟t sleep all that well; my back keeps me awake. So when she turns the light on in her room and starts banging round the house, it wakes me up. I hear her go out. One, two o‟clock in the morning. And then come back an hour or two later. I don‟t know whether she‟s seeing someone, someone here on the estate. I wouldn‟t blame her. There‟s only so much I can do, if you get my drift. Sorry. Too much information, I see. But I just need to tell someone what it‟s like; why I‟m worried. Then there was what happened a few days ago. She was out all night, and most of the day after. She‟s never done that before. I can do most things for myself, but there‟s some stuff I need help with. 


             She didn‟t tell me she was staying out, and she wouldn‟t tell me where she‟d been when she got back. And she was fuming. I‟ve never seen her so cross, and I‟ve seen her go into rages pretty regularly over the last fifteen years or so, I can tell you.” “Has she calmed down now?” Kate asked, attempting to sound as casual as possible. Trevor shrugged. “I don‟t know. I‟ve hardly seen her. She‟s acting really strange, to be honest. Even more so than usual. Just now, she insisted I go in my bedroom for half an hour, because she had something to do. And then when she let me out, she told me to come round here and see how you are. She‟s never been happy about me visiting you, not for a long time. But this morning, she was positively insisting on it.” “I bet she was.” Trevor caught the undertone in her voice. He looked at her quizzically. “What‟s going on, Kate? If anyone knows, you do.” Kate shrugged. “I don‟t know. Really I don‟t.” “Kate, please. I need to know. If she‟s having an affair, I can live with it. I won‟t say you told me. I just need to know how involved they are. I don‟t want her to leave me.” “She‟d never leave you, Trevor! She loves you. And she‟s not having an affair either. I swear to you. I‟d know if she was. I don‟t think she likes men very much. Apart from you. She‟d never see anyone else.” “Are you sure? Maybe I should check her for carpet-burns. Where should I look? You know about these things.” She smiled. “I‟m afraid the man I have in there isn‟t energetic enough to give anyone carpet-burns right now.” “The more fool him.”


       She realised the kettle had been boiling for some time. She poured them each a cup of tea. She gave herself an extra sugar. She needed the energy. “Something else,” Trevor ventured, as she settled back down again. “She‟s making something in the cellar.” “Making something? What?” “I‟ve got no idea. I just hear her banging away down there. She‟s taken the tool-box with her, and I haven‟t seen it since. She was hammering away for three hours yesterday. She‟s awful at DIY. Maybe she‟s just trying to work out how to put up a shelf.” “That is quite strange. It‟s empty, isn‟t it?"


        "There‟s just the gardening stuff we couldn‟t fit in the shed. Heaven knows what she‟s up to. She‟s not herself anymore. She‟s cold. Distant. Not my old Angie anymore.” He took a thoughtful swig of tea. He glanced at his watch. “Gotta go,” he told her. “She‟ll get moody if I‟m round here too long. Twenty minutes, she said. Don‟t want to push my luck.” He wheeled himself to the front door. She followed along behind him. She was worried. If Angie started losing it, all three of them would be in serious trouble. She gave him a peck on the cheek at the door.  “It was good to talk,” he told her. “What with Angie being so distant lately, I hardly get to speak to anyone anymore. Even the postman‟s avoiding me because I keep him chatting when he wants to get on with his round. I guess we all get lonely sometimes.” “You know you‟re welcome here. Whenever you like,” she said. “Just phone first, okay?” “In case of shy naked men in your living room?” he asked. “Exactly.” He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself before returning to his wife. And then he was gone, leaving her to the company of the dead-man in the armchair.

greg42:

Yes dear a rare type

OK.

Ok, so for the first time I actually have nothing to say............on second thought , Kate is dead.

Kate you are dead!

Greg, Kate is sooooooo dead!

jagugu88li:
Ok, so for the first time I actually have nothing to say............on second thought , Kate is dead.

Kate you are dead!

Greg, Kate is sooooooo dead!

I have a feeling angie is up to something

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 Angie stood on the landing outside Kate‟s room, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, making absolutely sure she was asleep before venturing inside. She had done this many times before. She liked watching her friend when she was sleeping. It was the one time her face looked relaxed and care-free. It had been harder this week. Kate wasn‟t sleeping properly. A couple of times, she had turned over just as Angie was creeping into the room, and she had had to sidle out again, one agonisingly slow step after another. But this time, her breathing pattern was regular. She was sound asleep all right. 

She walked into the room, and stood by the bed. There was just enough light coming through the venetian blinds for her to see around the room, now her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. She leant over Kate. She hoped that she wouldn‟t wake up. It would give her the fright of her life if she saw Angie looming over when she opened her eyes. And she might change the locks, which would never do. She had a pretty face. Really pretty. Her mouth was half open, in a little pout like models have in the glossy magazines, but her Kate didn‟t have to work at it like they did. Those lips. Made to be kissed. It was such a shame that Kate was straight. She was wasted on men. They didn‟t even come close to deserving her. Not that she was a lesbian herself, of course; the thought of women with women made her feel quite ill. It was just Kate she wanted. There was one of Kate‟s men downstairs, of course. A dead one, with a message hung round his neck.

   She had been stupid bringing him round yesterday morning; anyone could have seen her. But she had been seething all week, and when she thought of the message she could send, she just had to do it straight away rather than waiting for night to fall. So she‟d sent Trevor to his room, and had retrieved the corpse from the boot of her car. Theirs was a quiet road, so no-one had seen her as far as she was aware. There had been no inquisitive police-men at her door since she‟d done it, either. She was pretty sure she had got away with it, but it wouldn‟t do to risk it a second time, however much of a kick she would get out of a repeat performance. She‟d take him back to hers after dark. But not until Kate had promised her Mike in his place. She took hold of the top corner of the duvet, and slowly, ever so slowly pulled it up to reveal the top half of Kate‟s nude body. She drank it all in: her graceful shoulders; the curve of her shapely breasts; her flat stomach (a little too flat, it had to be said; she was shedding weight again now the Craving had set in). She could only see down to waist level, though. She wanted to see rather more. If she lifted the duvet up just a few inches higher, she would have it all. Kate shivered in her sleep.

       Angie gently lowered the duvet, covering her up again. Best not to wake her up. She would have a lot of explaining to do if she was caught peeking under the covers. She didn‟t want her friend to think ill of her, to accuse her of ogling her in her sleep; she just wanted her to do as she was told for once. She deserved a look, though, after all Kate had put her through this week. It had taken her ten hours to get home. Ten hours! She‟d seen Kate talking to the police-man in the woods, and had prayed that she would keep calm. Angie knew how to keep a secret, but Kate was always so guilty, so wracked with self-loathing, that there was always a risk that she would confess everything just to get it all over with. The police man had got back in his car, apparently satisfied, and just as she was breathing a huge sigh of relief, Kate had turned her headlights on and driven off, the police car following her down the road. She had driven away. In Angie‟s car! Leaving her stranded in the middle of nowhere. She would never have done that before she‟d met Mike. That man had changed her. She waited for a while for her friend to come back, but there was no sign of her after nearly a quarter of an hour. She flagged down a car. It was going to Ashford. Wrong direction, but at least she‟d be back in civilisation.   

    She hadn‟t quite finished burying the bodies, but if Kate was fucking off home, then she didn‟t see why she should hang around doing her dirty work for her. Again! She had her phone on her. She would phone Kate; demand she come back and collect her. But the call went straight to voicemail, and she remembered that Kate‟s battery was flat. Maybe she should have told her about the torch earlier.  She could have phoned Trevor. But she didn‟t want to tell him where she was. It was no business of his anyway. It had been a long time since she had felt any real feelings for him at all; he was more of a hindrance than anything. A hobby, at best. So no call for him. She would go in to Ashford, and call a taxi. She tried to call Kate‟s home phone number, to leave a message for her, telling her what a bitch she‟d been for leaving her best friend – her only friend, in fact - alone in the woods. But she‟d run out of credit. Great. That was all she needed. She hadn‟t brought her purse. She hadn‟t anticipated needing money to bury bodies in the woods. So she was stuck out here, with no obvious way to get home again. It didn‟t help when she got into a row with the person who‟d stopped to pick her up. She‟d got into conversation with him. A bloke in his forties. An estate agent. She didn‟t have a very high opinion of estate agents. She told him why. He‟d laughed it off at first, but she kept going, and in the end he pulled over and invited her to walk. She wasn‟t going to stay in his car after he‟d treated her like that. Not if he‟d begged her. If she‟d had her syringe on her, he‟d have been rather more polite, she was sure of that! Maybe she‟d track him down later and ask him to come value Kate‟s house. She‟d walked into Ashford. She wasn‟t used to walking; she was a little on the large side, she had to admit, and it made her thighs chafe as they rubbed together. In Ashford, she‟d tried to hitch a lift home, but no-one would stop for her. 

       A couple of drivers waved at her, and one shouted “get a job” out of his car window, which was hardly original. She went to the railway station to explain her situation and try to arrange a train-ride home, but they weren‟t having any of it either. They wouldn‟t even let her use their phone. There were taxis all over the place. She could easily have flagged one down and gone back home. But she‟d started to fret about how much that would cost. It cost a fortune to get to Margate by taxi, so the fare for taking the forty or fifty mile journey from Ashford to Ramsgate would be extortionate. Why should she pay all that money when it wasn‟t even her fault she was here? Maybe it would be better if it took her hours to get home anyway. Then she could tell Kate how much trouble she had put her to. Make her feel guilty. Make her feel guilty enough, and she might even hand over Window-boy to make it up to her. She would get him one way or another, whatever it took. He was getting between her and her friend, and she wasn‟t having that. She sat on the pavement outside Boots, resting her legs and trying to work out what to do. If she wasn‟t going to take a taxi, and she couldn‟t get the train, that only left hitching or walking. And there was no way she was going to walk. She‟d have another go at hitching, but tell Kate she‟d walked it. Get the best of both worlds. Someone threw some change on the floor by her feet. They thought she was begging. “I‟m not fucking homeless!” she screamed at them. “I bet I‟ve got a better home than you, you Arrow!” They apologised and hurried on. Despite her outburst, she pocketed the coins. At least she had the money for a phone call now. But not Trevor. And not Kate. She wasn‟t going to let her feel better about herself by letting her come to her rescue. Besides, she‟d moan all the way back about having to come out in the sunlight, and she wasn‟t sure she could cope with much of that before her patience imploded. Who did that leave, then? Not many people, actually. She didn‟t really have any friends as such. Only Kate. Other people found her too pushy, too controlling. Well, it was their own fault if they allowed her to boss them about. How was it her fault that none of them had enough backbone to stand up to her?  She tried hitch-hiking again, but driver after driver sped by without so much as a glance in her direction. After half an hour, it started raining. After another ten minutes, she gave up. All the Good Samaritans had died and gone to heaven. All those left were complete wankers. Not one of them stopped, not one of them. Even the women ignored her. 

    The men would have stopped for Kate, she felt sure of that. Just because she was a little older, a little tubbier, it was no reason for them to leave her shivering on the pavement, wet through, miles from home. Men were such pigs. Eventually, she gave up, and phoned Trevor. The man was worse than useless, though. He told her to take a taxi. No, she insisted, it would cost too much. Where are you, he wanted to know. None of your fucking business, she told him. It was best that he knew his place. She hung up on him. The one time she‟d turned to him, and he had nothing to give. Selfish. Hopeless. Waste of space. Just when she was giving up hope, she‟d been offered a lift by a mother of three. There was a five year old in the front seat, so Angie had to squeeze between two toddlers in car-seats in the back. There was no room to move, but at least the woman was heading for Broadstairs, which was a lot closer to home than this God-forsaken shit-hole! She started to tell the lady that she didn‟t think a five year old should be in the front seat, that she thought it was against the law, but she remembered just in time that she had been thrown out of the last car for being quarrelsome, and – for once – opted to bite her tongue, however difficult that might be. It proved to be even more of a challenge when one of the toddlers kept rubbing his greasy little hand on her coat. Needy little bastard. And now here she was in Kate‟s bedroom. She decided to sneak another look beneath the duvet. The least she deserved was a flash of gash after all Kate had put her through. But, almost as if she had read her mind, Kate groaned and turned over on to her left side, presenting her back to her. She could see the top couple of inches of her bottom now, but it wasn‟t really what she‟d come here for. For a moment, she considered going round to the other side of the bed for another try, but she decided that she‟d pushed her luck already. If Kate was getting restless, it was time to go. There would be plenty of other nights she could come and visit her.  Besides, she wanted to get back home and finish off the dungeon in her cellar before Trevor woke up. Kate would love it so much that she might even give her a voluntary flash of fanny out of gratitude. Now it was finished, it would add a whole new dimension to the games they could play with the men she brought home. And Mike would be first to try it out, whether Kate liked it or not....

I know Angie is deranged, but this........

jagugu88li:
I know Angie is deranged, but this........

Lolzzzzzz

Our author will post maybe on Monday latest. Please be patient, hey

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He lost his devices (with his work) to robbers.