Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Ghost Story NIN

This is part 8 of a Ghost Story. Part 1 is here, and Part 2 here. Part 3 is about lesbians. Part 4 is here. Part 5.666 Part 7. Part A8E. And, the untenable itch.

Trent had been wasting his breath trying to pimp his latest shoes, selling at whatever price they would pay him. 'How nice', is the obvious joke but there was nothing 'nice' about hiking into a bloody forest located in Madison, Wisconsin.


And Emma was getting bored through 'artistic reason', so she started a conversation with Peter. "Tell me about your old gf," she said.

Peter's eyes popped out of his skull, literally. "What?" he exclaimed, turning over to Harry, to check whether the father would allow such insolence. "Nobody said she is old," said Peter desperately. He tried to lock eyes with Harry.

The father just nodded, like there was nothing else to do. "Say 'what' again, motherfucker," he said, the father, Harry.

"You really want to learn about Nadine?" asked Peter.


Emma nodded. "Do I look like I mince words?"

Peter examined the little girl, and SAW that she was not kidding around. "My relationship with this woman is kind of more complicated than some common child's fantasy," he said. "It's not like 1-2-3."

"Hah," laughed Emma. The path into the designated zone had taken a turn for the more leafy. Everywhere around them, the vegetation grew. Some of the deep trees began to bark. "This was always the section I had lamented having to watch you produce, ever since we locked eyes."

"What?" said Peter. They took a turn around the corner, and suddenly, they were there, where Bobby had been murdered by a cult. Peter noticed that he'd not had to say anything about Nadine at all. "Oh, this place," he said.

Everybody then turned their head towards him, and in the horrible zone of the pagan child sacrifice was a huge mansion instead. Decor circa 1873, windows by the ego of somebody who just named himself 'De Fenestre'.

"Now, will you not fuck me like an animal?" said Peter, his anus constricting according to the homely temperature emanating from the House.

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