My brothers and I grew up in the trailer park version of the Playboy Mansion.
Our dad, or as he likes to be called even by us- Big Poppa- was not Hugh Hefner. Not even by a long shot. He was a twisted sick and perverted old man that died as he lived, fucking everything in sight.
When he died Adam was the one to give me the call. He was dad’s favorite so that made a lot of sense.
“Kyle… I just got off the phone with Elli,” he said. (that was Dad’s latest fling, he didn’t keep women around for long)
I could tell immediately it wasn’t good news. But to be honest when I found out I was actually relieved.
According to Adam, we would all be meeting at dad’s lawyer’s office first thing in the morning to hear the reading of the will. I knew dad didn’t make much money doing porn, but I was a little excited to find out what my inheritance might be.
Scott, my middle sibling, was already there smoking a Marlboro and pacing the steps of the office.
“Impatient are we? Just like when you used to jack off,” I teased him.
“Knock it off, I didn’t even explain to my boyfriend why I came down here. Do you know how embarrassing it is when people ask me what did dad do for a living? First thing they ask… ‘Is that how you became gay?’ Bunch of pricks!” Scott asked.
Adam drove up a few minutes later and then we all strolled inside.
The lawyer was a thin gray headed man that probably had less teeth than any of us and he coughed sorely in his handkerchief as we entered his office.
“Ah… you must be the Deverson gang,” he said gesturing for us to sit.
“Sounds like you know a bit about our family history,” Adam noted.
“Your father entrusted a lot of secrets to me,” the aged lawyer said as he turned about and opened up his safe. “But nothing, he said; was more valuable than these three boxes.”
The three of us looked at the old worn out boxes and retreated to a private room to get a better look.
I opened my box and tossed the lid aside, looking down at the small unassuming key that it held inside.
Adam was next and showed off the camera that he had received. We all knew what that was. Scott was red in the face as he pulled out the sex toy that dad had entrusted to him.
I stifled a laugh and finally spoke. “What in the actual fuck?”
“I have to keep this…? Legally?” Scott asked the lawyer who had been surveying on our findings. He had gotten the worst thing of all, dad’s old sex toy. Adam was surveying the camera as the lawyer explained the terms of the arrangement.
“The trust is close to two million dollars for each of you, paid in sums over time. I’m instructed to request you produce the item at random intervals and not to give you any further payouts if you are unable to produce what’s in your box.”
We didn’t really know what to say, but all of us agreed to the terms. I actually was relieved to find out that all I got was a fucking key. I knew that Adam and Scott had no clue what it really went to.
Our dad had a lot of secrets in his lifetime. But I was the only sibling that knew about the storage unit downtown.
The first time dad had taken me there I had to be at least thirteen. He had gone to the clerk and asked for a specific unit and showed me what was inside.
That was how I learned about the birds and the bees. And despite my better judgement, now that he was gone I had to know if there was something sill lurking there inside.
The unit was on the opposite side of town, Scott was long gone to his own city and Adam only occasionally sent me messages of his interest in the contracts that dad had signed up for. I waited a good week before finally going. the only excuse I could give was that I figured that crypt of a lawyer would need some proof that I had received my actual inheritance.
Unit 1913. I opened the door slightly and used my phone to illuminate the musty air. It caught a glint of Metal.
She was still here. I opened it all the way and got a better look at the animatronic doll that our dad had used countless times as a prop to stand in for an actress, for say an anal scene when they objected.
Her metal skin was nearly rusted. One eye was missing and bits of her body looked like they had been torn off by scavenging animals. But beneath that grisly exterior I could see the life like smile that had featured on dad’s website for years.
Shawnee. She was as perfect as I remembered her being. I took her apart and boxed her up to bring home. I knew that the storage unit would be too pricey for me to keep just for a simple old sex doll.
Besides which, I wanted to use her… one last time for old time’s sake.
I won’t go into much detail about that, but once I was finished I pushed her into the basement and forgot about her.
Until yesterday that is.
I decided it was time to sweep my basement and check for rats.
Then I heard a noise from below and realized that something was moving in the basement.
I froze and looked toward the boxes I had in the room, trying to figure out the source of the noise. Than I heard a soft sensual moan echo over the basement. I knew it was the robot.
I moved toward the stairs, scared but also feeling silly. I had to be hearing things. There was no way that doll was still active after all these years.
“Kyle,” a voice said. The hair on my arm stood on edge. I saw a glowing eye look toward me in the room and then Shawnee’s head rolled across the floor and looked straight up at me.
“Why don’t you love me Kyle?” she asked.
I grabbed a shovel and slammed it down against her face. Then I heard a strange groaning noise from the other boxes and the parts of the doll were skittering across the room almost like roaches, forming one amalgamation of a body with all the parts in the wrong place.
It lumbered toward me as another moan came from its voice box and I moved up the stairs, locking the door and trying to think of a way out of this mess. If I destroyed it, my inheritance was gone.
I felt it’s fingers slide under the door and touch the base of my feet.
The door flew open and I fell to the floor, certain that this was the end for me.
The disjointed headless doll moaned again pushing its anatomically correct organs toward my face and then begged me to use it again. To… make love to this possessed thing.
Sweat poured down my face. I grabbed a knife and was about to stab the thing to death.
Than I thought of the money. Did I really have a choice here? Against my better judgment I unzipped my pants and let the apparition use me until I was spent.
It pulled itself off me, a trail of blood and semen following it back to the basement stairs. What remained of Shawnee’s head was down there still and it scooped it up and took it back to the box.
“Until next time,” Shawnee’s sweet voice echoed in the darkness.
I could only cringe and cry in terror at the fate I had been dealt.
by Scott Savino
Not knowing what to say, I just looked at them. My brothers and I stood in confused silence.
Our father was dead it seemed as though he’d bequeathed to us the sexual detritus of his strange, sordid life.
Finally, my brother Kyle broke the silence: “What the–?” He mumbled. He’d thrown the lid of the shoebox, plain and brown and marked ‘KYLE,’ onto the floor before him. Kyle’s face was ambiguous.
I know my brother, and I know when he is telling lies. He said that he did not know what the key, his inheritance, the simple thing inside the box was for. I could tell he did by the look in his eyes.
“What did he get?” I asked Kyle about Adam’s inheritance.
“It’s a video camera” Kyle said.
“No” Adam corrected him “it’s the video camera.”
“Holy shit you’re right” I said then recognizing the custom handle, resembling a pistol, that I had seen before; we may have been kids, but I remembered its ostentatious carvings.
Looking into my box, they both began to snicker. Adam asked me, with a huge smile: “Scott, is that what I think it is?”
I was so shocked, the inability to speak had overtaken me. The lid of my package, scrawled with “SCOTT,” was tucked underneath the base of the box and delicately wrapped inside, amongst an inlay of tissue…
A rubber tugger.
A pocket pussy.
Our dad’s fleshlight.
Yes, you are reading that correctly: my dad left me his fucking fleshlight in his will.
I turned angrily to his lawyer, Mr. Bernstein, asking: “I have to keep this? Legally?”
“The trust is close to two million dollars for each of you, paid in sums over time. I’m instructed to request you produce the item at random intervals and not to give you any further payouts if you are unable to produce what’s in your box.”
This whole thing was ridiculous, but in the end, we agreed to it. Before we parted ways, Adam insisted we pose for Dad’s camera and recreate something from the site.
A catchphrase. I don’t remember how it goes.
They knew it. The two of them had probably clicked through the backlog of ███████████████.com more times than they could count.
I of course had managed to refrain, preferring my porn to be free of vagina.
It was cringey, but I went along with it–really just wanting to collect my first payout and get out of there.
I returned home to Bradenville, thankful that my partner would be away for another two weeks on business. In shame and hope that he wouldn’t find this thing on his return, I buried the box beneath the dirty clothes at the back of my closet. I was determined to forget it existed until I was asked by the man with the checkbook to produce it. This whole business breathed ominous vibes, and I’d have loved to distance myself from it…but how do you distance yourself from two million? The payout was justification enough.
That night I dreamt in panoramic fever dreams:
I was walking through the forest in the dark under the light of a starlit sky. Something in the midnight, in the voids between the trees was calling out to me. Following that voice, through the whipping branches of the trees, through hoots of owls, and rustlings of leaves, I went. From off to my left, a gray wolf approached, padding up to me. He raised his head in a nod as if in cue to follow and so, I followed. To a cave. Here the call grew louder and he would lead me no further, so departing from my guide; the wolf I left there behind amongst the oaks and pines. I approached the cave, the mouth of which was guarded by the placid gaze of a massive raccoon. He stepped aside allowing me to pass from beneath the light of the moon and into the cavern’s opening. Abundant spiders skittered aimlessly avoiding the mold and algae where it growed, preferring the cold, and the smooth of the gray stone walls. I wiped a cluster of web from the entrance of the second chamber and entered. This innermost cavern where I now stood was illuminated by some hidden light source. At the center of the room, sat an altar, awash in luminance. There, on the dais, singing a siren song, bathed in a pool of light was…
…Dad’s goddamned fleshlight.
The fucking bastard.
I couldn’t escape it in my sleep and the next day found that it had been picking at the edges of my thoughts in every moment.
If you had told me I would be using it…If you’d told me it would be that very day…I wouldn’t have believed you.
But you have to understand: it was like popping a pimple; a hair in your eye; an itch that need be scratched. I just…had to. Once I thought it, it wouldn’t go away.
I’d never known the man as well as my brothers and as strange as the idea is, I thought that maybe this would peel the layers of mystery away. I may find some secret buried. He must have left this to me for some purpose? Maybe there was something magic hidden inside? Maybe it was lucky? I knew I should have paid better attention. Did I recall mention of the inheritance meaning to fit our specific needs? I needed luck.
Maybe this thing was lucky?
Maybe that was silly.
It couldn’t hurt just to look. Could it?
At first I’d only resolved to pull the box down. To inspect.
But inspection was not quite enough.
It looked well-used and clean, but the silicon was parched and dried and cracking on places around the outside. It didn’t seem in need of disinfectant. I pressed my nose to the end and inhaled some sort of lingering antiseptic. I think that’s why I decided to do it.
I hesitate to continue at risk of you thinking I’ve gone mental, living out an imagined reversal of Oedipus, but this was not about sexual attraction. It was closer to hypnosis if I’m being honest. The pocket pussy had me bewitched. My state of mind did not attempt to reconcile the act of what I was doing with the compulsion.
I did it in the dark.
It was cold and dry. A switch on the side spun the mechanisms that laid inside to life and the vibration throbbed and rolled slowly morphing into a strange tingling; like a thousand tiny tickles moving up and down. Unexpectedly–suddenly–a crack where the lining was parched and coming apart pinched me. Pinched me hard on my scrotum.
Pinched me in the most vulnerable and of sensitive places.
I let out a yelp.
In that moment, I had also come to my senses a bit…
Why was I doing this? Disgusting. Disgusting was not nearly strong enough a word. I removed it mid stroke and as the ghost of it’s massaging mechanics at the base of my scrotum lingered, I stumbled to the closet in the darkness. Fumbling in the shadows, I found the box, tucked the thing away like my shame and buried it beneath the washing pile and shoes.
I hoped to forget this regrettable decision by morning.
The next time I slept, I was plagued once again by dark dreams:
Shadows and fog swirled before me. Pulsing, the air quivered visibly. I saw him, the man from the screen, Developing…a hallucination forming… Edges hazy, he slowly solidified. “Resist!” he shouted, “Stupid boy, you were supposed to resist Her call.” He laid his head in his hands. “Now you’ll be caught in Her thrall.”
“What kind of freak uses something like that that belonged to another man? That belonged to their dad?”
’I didn’t finish’ I thought.
“You didn’t finish?” The ghost of my father heard my thinking and shouted, “that makes no difference at all. You’re Hers now. She’ll crawl to you and pull you down into her waiting maw…hand over hand…”
He began to fade away and I woke with a start but I could still hear the fading echo of his warning:
‘waiting maw…hand over hand, over hand, over hand, over hand, over hand…’
I sprung up in bed, drenched in sweat and yet I was cold, clammy to the touch–and slowly growing wasa burn. My skin was burning. Burning with tiny pricks of pain. Every spot of me itched. I went into the bathroom, emptied the contents of my stomach in a projectile spew and started a cold shower. By the end of it my entire body was jagged red with the trenches of compulsive scratches.
I went back to bed where I didn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep the rest of that night or the next night or the night after.
I walked through life in a haze, sure that I was hearing the mysterious voice of the woman my father described. I never did see her, she always hovered just outside of my field of vision, but I knew she was there. I could hear her words of seduction, though I made a point not to understand them. The intonation and cadence invoked a vision in my mind that glistened and shined. These thoughts I rebuked along with her words. All were an attempt to weave a web like a net around me so that she could pull me in.
Allen pulled me aside at work. “You need to go home,” he said. “You don’t look well and you’ve been rambling all morning.” It was true, I didn’t and I had been. There were bags under my eyes and my skin was a pallid white. I needed rest.
I got into my car and turned the ignition, but before backing out, I stopped. There, in the windshield mirror, reflected in the back seat was my father and a young girl. She was brunette with doe-eyes and a willowy figure. I couldn’t place her.
Did I know her?
She didn’t speak. She cast her gaze downward, blinking robotically. He looked different: hair was thinning and patches were missing throughout. His skin was gray. Neither spoke; Dad staring coldly at me from the back seat. The strange girl was shaking her head. I spun in my seat but both were gone. I did not see or hear either of them on the ride home.
Upon my return, I laid in bed and closed my eyes. Sleep embraced me before my head hit the pillow.
I awoke not an hour later, itching again but in only one place now. Something was wrong. Stumbling into the bathroom, the light popped to life with a flick of the switch. I felt my stomach tighten in knots because of this itch. Inside the mirror my reflection stared back emaciated and something was wrong. Terribly wrong. It–my cock–was horrid and shriveled and purple and black with bruises. How long had it looked like this? I gasped back tears. Lifting the shaft of it before the glass, I saw the wart at the base that was causing it all.
This was it. The siren, this harpy, this witch from my father’s warning had cast a horrible wart upon me. A curse upon my dick.
But warts do not writhe and quiver, nor pulse until they split. Split down the center, bursting their contents forth like a volcanic pimple. Split open at the pressure of something inside. At the pressure of something eating its way out. Split open at the pressure of a thousand baby spiders just underneath the surface of the skin: rotting it from within.
I called an ambulance.
My husband had decided to leave me when he’d learned of what I’d done. He couldn’t build an explanation to suit justification. He claimed he didn’t know who I was. That his husband wouldn’t have done something so depraved.
In the hospital, they found me in need of a major surgery. When I returned home, I was alone. It must have been days, perhaps even weeks later when I was released.
It was necrotic. They took it. But they tell me advances in restorative surgery can put it back. I don’t think my insurance would cover that, so knowing that a substantial portion of my inheritance would be gone and spent, I had to know the root of the cause.
I carefully retrieved the fleshlight, with gloves this time. I peeled back its cracked and crumbling lining. Inside was a massive spider. It’s mandibles flexing as it pulled some poor fly, wrapped and bound, head to foot. She pulled it down into her waiting maw. Here now, she bit it in half. An odd amusement seemed to gleam in her compound eyes as the rest of the fly struggled to find meaning for life; agonizing the missing parts it lacked. I could swear I heard that spider laugh: her voice grating like the sound of metal grinding against itself. As her humor filled the air, a dozen eggsacks hidden in the darkness of the closet cracked open and en masse tens of thousands of arachnids, newly hatched, came for me at last.
I ran. I had to hide.
In the depths of my mind,
I could hear a voice inside:
A grating, scratching metal grind,
As amongst the chaos
Her voice had whispered:
“Soon you will be mine.”
by Adam Davies
My idiot brothers have decided to share the ridiculous and sordid details of our fathers life and death. I tried to warn them, asked them to take down what they had written, warn them that they were opening a pandora’s box and they wouldn’t like what they found. As usual they didn’t listen. All they cared about was what happened, when they should have cared about why. Why did our father have cursed sex toys?
My story should explain it all, and put an end to their madness.
After hearing our father’s last will and testament, my brothers and I had been each given a box whose contents were promised to hold some strange significance.
Kyle received a key to a lock up, I got the impression that he knew more about that than he was letting on, now we all know why he kept quiet. Scott’s box contained, shockingly, a well-used sex toy. He seemed pleased,something you can stick your dick in, yeah that’s right up Scott’s street. That worked out well for him didn’t it?
I examined my box while Kyle & Scott joked about.
“What did he get?” Scott enquired.
“It’s a video camera” Kyle said.
“No” I corrected him “it’s the video camera.”
“Holy shit you’re right” Scott said coming over to look.
It was a top of the range hand held video camera but modified with an ostentatious mother of pearl pistol handle grafted to it. Growing up as brothers we knew unspoken that we had all seen that camera before. I was disgusted yet fascinated at the same time. The camera with its distinctive markings left no doubt as to who our father really was, and how he made his money. We had always joked that dad liked us to call him Big Poppa, we never actually suspected he was the Big Poppa.
‘Big Poppa’s Adventures in Casting’ was a wildly popular pornography site. It featured amateur girls looking to make it big in Hollywood, being slowly drawn into more and more depraved sexual acts at the direction of ‘Big Poppa’ AKA our father. The thing that made me most disgusted was that I loved that site and had beat off to it enough times to sink a cruise liner. I felt sick, I was beating off to my dad without knowing until today.
There was something else in the box, an envelope. Tearing it open there was a single card inside written on it was a web address ‘www.bigpoppacasting.com’ a login ID ‘big_poppa69’ and a password ‘Tlazolteotl’.
I turned the camera on and it powered up. “Guys” I said pointing it at my brothers. I thought a little light relief might be just what we all needed after such a mind-blowing and unsettling morning.
Dad, I mean Big Poppa, (I still cannot believe that guy was my dad), had a famous catchphrase that marked the transition in all his videos from an innocent interview into a porn casting. He would point the camera pistol style, with its extravagant gun handle, at the soon to be defiled, wide-eyed little starlet and say to her “Beg me sweetie, beg me to make you famous.” Without fail those poor misguided souls begged, and worse.
To make light of the crazy situation we now found ourselves in I adopted Big Poppas wide legged stance, pointed the camera, and said the words. “Beg me guys, beg me to make you famous.” Scott & Kyle played along.
“Make us famous Big Poppa, please we beg you.” they said blowing kisses to the camera and fawning over each other.
After the Insanity of the morning I went back to my apartment, my head was spinning. I made some coffee, fired up my laptop and took out the card. I wanted answers and as much as the thought of my once favourite site now appalled me, that was where I was most likely to find them. I went to the site and tapped the details. It didn’t work first time and I had to read the password carefully ‘Tlazolteotl’ what was that word, it some Mexican city or something? I tried again, and correcting my typo, my finger hovered over the enter key. What Pandora’s Box was I about to open?
The site looked normal, but there were two extra options on the navigation bar, ‘unseen footage’ and ‘admin tools’.
I closed the laptop and walked away, this was simply wrong. As I sat I couldn’t stop the thoughts whirring round in my head. What the fuck was going on? Quickly before my resolve broke I opened the laptop and went straight to unseen footage. It looked similar the main page, thumbnail images of the various unsuspecting girls, fully clothed looking everything from nervous too excited. There were hundreds of them, Jesus my dad had been busy!
I spotted her at once my favourite girl, Shawnee a cute little brunette with doe-eyes and a willowy figure. Others came and went, but Shawnee was my go-to girl and had received her fair share of my……attention. It felt so wrong to see her now filthy, and shameful. Still I needed answers, I clicked the link started to play. I am ashamed that my cock stiffened immediately, as
it eagerly anticipated what it thought was to come.
The video was unsettling, not because of any sordid sexual conduct or taboo breaking that went on in the video, rather it was just Shawnee and my father talking. She really was just a sweet little girl with grand plans and wild dreams, duped into a terrible life choice that would haunt her from that day onwards by my scheming and wicked father. I felt sordid, unclean, my perception about pornography turned on its head in an instant. The girls were just tits and a pretty face to me; nerves and naivety part of their sexual appeal. I had never thought about them as real people with real lives, and what the impact of a casting like this might be on them.
I went for a shower try to wash away some of my regret and self-loathing.
After a shower and a sandwich, I went back to the laptop to check out the admin tools. There were two folders titled ‘Contracts’ and ‘Girls’.
I went to the folder marked ‘Girls’, and clicked one of the files, Shawnee’s of course. Inside were various notes & vlogs my father had made and newspaper & film clips. Calling it a tragic tale does not do it justice. Following her casting Shawnee’s life spiralled into drugs, pornography, and prostitution. She was on the set of her 4th porn shoot when it happened. Towards the end of the scene her male partner was kneeling on top of her, she had taken him in her mouth. He suffered a massive heart attack and died instantly collapsing on top of her. He was a huge muscle bound, bodybuilder type, when he died his weight pressed down on her, lodging him deep in her throat. Only the cameraman was on site, and by the time he realised this wasn’t just the climax of the scene it was too late, she had already asphyxiated.
I felt sick to the pit of my stomach.
I read and watched a grim litany that afternoon. Promise-filled lives extinguished by tragic death. Lives derailed after their interview with my father, and some form of sexual misadventure causing or contributing to each girl’s death. An autoerotic asphyxiation session gone wrong, a bondage collar and gag applied too tightly, a stabbing from an enraged and jealous partner. There were newspaper and TV news clips for each death. It seems like their begging had worked, our father had made them famous after all. Some happened within a month of the casting, some a year but they all happened.
What the fuck was going on here? How did it connect to our inheritance gifts?
Sickened I went to the ‘Contracts’ folder keen to see how father made his money and conducted his affairs. The folder divided in to various subfolders. Whatever his faults as a husband, father, and pornographer, damn his filing was meticulous. I spent a couple of hours reading various files understanding the deals he had done how the money flows. Some looked to be legitimate and others seemed to lead to a cesspool of dodgy dealings and unsavoury characters.
One folder I had not noticed originally leapt out at me ‘Tlazolteotl’ the password I received in my father’s will. I opened the folder, there were four video clips. I do not know how I was able to watch all four, the pain and nausea the first created was close to unbearable. The video was my father on his knees, naked in his casting studio. He knelt, dripping with sweat, his body wracked with sobs. Spit and snot caked his face.
“I gave you the girl” his voice a sobbing whisper.
I don’t know that I have the words to articulate what happened. A reply came back to him, but it was no mortal voice. It was the screeching grind of metal and hatred, my father flinched and cowered at the sound, then curled foetal on the floor.
“How many more?” he asked.
That same voice blasted an unholy, shrieking, grinding reply.
All the videos featured that abhorrent voice. In one our father stood naked and fully aroused, raw lacerations covering his body, seeping blood. At the sound of the voice new cuts appeared engraving their horror on our father’s blood drenched skin. In another he pleasured himself into a pile of his own excrement, then feasted on it while he wept and begged. Sometimes he begged for more, sometimes for mercy, sometimes for death.
I was profoundly disturbed, the videos I had seen stole into my sleep and haunted my nightmares with that foul, grinding voice. The voice promised, demand, threatened, and by morning I belonged to Her, a willing servant. I woke to a blood splattered pillow, and to my horror realised I had bled from my ears, nose, and gums during the night.
I needed a way out of this nightmare. Buried deep in the subfolders were three files that I was not expecting to see, each named after one of us three brothers Scott, Kyle, and Adam.
I at once opened the file with my name inside, a single .AVI file I press play and saw my father’s face.
“Adam, son. It’s likely you are confused by the events have led you to be watching this video. I have been a lot of terrible things but the only thing I truly regret is being such a poor father to you and your brothers. I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have left you each such vile and corrupted inheritances. The millions of dollars you each have received will be scant recompense for the tragedy these items will bring you. The gifts each represent your own unique qualities.”
“Scott is a simpleton and a degenerate, he craves the pleasures of the flesh so much as he has no brain power to speak of. His gift will bring him the pleasures he seeks.”
“Kyle is a lonely and lovesick social outcast. His toxic personality and foul body odour meaning he will never find love with a real woman hence my gift to him.”
“You were always the handsome, gifted, intelligent one. Unfortunately, that means I must entrust to you my most powerful yet most cursed gift.”
“I made a bad deal Adam, a very bad deal. The type of contract you sign in fear and blood. The type of contract that must be fulfilled, even from beyond the grave. I am dead now, yet that will not satisfy Her. She must have her monthly sacrifice and so now the choice is yours. Let Her take your soul, or do as I did, and carry on the family business.”
“I don’t expect forgiveness or even understanding, I just want you to know why I did the things that I did. At the heart they were to protect you, your brothers, and your mother. Those poor girls are the price. I would like to tell you I am sorry, that I regret what I did, that I beg the forgiveness of those tragic girls, but unfortunately that is not the case. I am sadly an utterly deplorable human being and as I have watched you grow up from afar Adam I’ve come to the conclusion that so are you. That is the other reason I chose you to receive this camera as your birthright. The choice is now yours.”
Just a couple of days have passed since I opened that file. She sits before me now, pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. I have been interviewing her for forty minutes and It’s make your mind up time. I have been through the script of questions my father used to use, I have felt the change in her as the conversations have strayed into increasingly personal and risqué topics.
I pause to contemplate if I can go through with this and lower the camera. She looks so different to the naked eye, younger, more nervous, and apprehensive. I hear Her voice in the back of my mind, and the camera wills itself back up to my face and she is adventurous, eager and willing again. She knows why she is here, the camera never lies.
I stand up and point the camera at her.
“Beg me sweetie, beg me to make you famous.”
She does, and I laugh, “Why should I, you’re nothing special, you need to really prove yourself for me to make you famous. There are five other girls in the next room who I have interviewed today who have begged for the same thing. I can make all of you famous, as long as you can follow instructions.”
My father was right about so many things. He was right that I am a piece of shit, just like him. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. He was right that my brothers were both useless, it was easy enough to let Her take them. No fucking way I’m sharing $6m with those losers.
I invited them both round earlier today. Scott was weak from the spider bite, the poison acted quickly on him. Kyle put up more of a struggle.
The only thing our father was wrong about was making the sacrifices one girl at a time. I open the door to the room, all five of them are there, smiling but nervous.
Lights, camera, action!