Bottled Abyss Read Online Free

faster. She snarled and laughed and more tears fell. Her breathing hitched. He got harder and wanted to release.
    Lester trotted merrily past them. A few seconds later he was lapping at his water bowl in the kitchen.
    Janet continued to move her hips, but put less power into them. She reached over and plucked the Jim Beam from between the sofa cushions. Her eyes rolled back. “Oh yes,” she cooed, all the while twisting off the cap.
    Herman watched her drink from the bottle. That golden fluid, draining, draining, draining. He was still hard, still deep within her, but his interest suddenly faded. Whiskey still in hand, Janet glanced down at him quizzically.
    “Do you want some?” she asked. Light was scarce in their living room, but her sunken cheeks still bloomed red.
    Herman took the bottle and had a big sip. The charred taste wasn’t pleasant to him, never had been, but he soldiered through it. Janet watched him carefully and then accepted the whiskey back. She took another drink before starting to work her hips again. It only took a few minutes more for her body to throw itself into a frightening orgasm. He might have stopped then, but without finishing the aftermath would be awkward, her questions would be annoying and he didn’t want to go there right now.
    They switched to a position Lester may have preferred, and Herman was soon ready to explode again. He withdrew to ejaculate on her back. Just as he did, Janet looked back at him. Her face startled him with its shallow eyes and alabaster skin. She’s dying, he thought. Killing herself, one day at a time.
    Janet purred as the warm seed fell on her back. He couldn’t tell if she was pretending, but either way, it was disturbing to see a death’s head enjoying itself.
    Well beyond disturbing.

    Just off the 10 freeway in a convenience store, a pair of college-aged guys waited in line, one guy with a crew cut and desert camouflage fatigues, and the other well pierced and in full gothic-metal attire.
    Either would do.
    The Ferryman extended his hand, feeling strange to be on the other side of this transaction, but exhilarated by the notion of passing coin once more. “I think one of you dropped this?”
    The gothic guy glanced over his shoulder at the coin and his penciled eyebrows curled at the ends like black flames. “That’s not ours.”
    “I see.”
    “What’s it made of?” The guy in fatigues scratched at a scab on his pit-bull thick neck. “Well damn. I must have a hole in my jeans. That’s my lucky coin all right.”
    His painted friend folded his arms, countless bracelets clicking together in a disorder of steel. “ Devon —”
    “You sure it’s yours?” asked the Ferryman.
    “Of course it’s mine. Shut up, Phil.”
    The Ferryman handed the coin to Devon and turned down an aisle toward the exit.
    “Is that a cow skull?”
    “Naw that’s a demon,” said Devon. “Pretty freakin’ wicked.”
    “Sorta looks like a dog too. A poodle skull.”
    “Hey, don’t shit on my parade.”
    The Ferryman took his oar from where he’d propped it against the freezer with the bags of ice. Electric chimes bidding him farewell, he walked outside, a serious horserace of giddiness in his stomach.
    But his excitement immediately turned to dread.
    The Fury waited for him outside.
    The Ferryman couldn’t see the ancient creature, but the scent of the River was hanging in the air, a pleasant scent he thought he’d never smell again.
    “How did you ascend?” it asked, its sickly tone an awful nostalgia to his ears.
    “A h-h-hound,” stuttered the Ferryman. “It bled on the last place the River swelled. The cave opened and I was free.”
    “And the bottle?”
    He nodded.
    “Filled once more?”
    The Ferryman nodded again.
    “And you used the waters on the animal. Why?”
    “Quite by accident.”
    “There is no Underworld anymore. There is no cost for spiritual passage. No cost, no destination. Have you forgotten this?”
    “The waters will recede.