Deviant

Chapter 18

Rowen

The Harvest Festival—the most important night of the year for our small town.

After tonight, the fate of the Harvest Dozen will be revealed, and starting tomorrow, everyone in Blackwater Falls can begin to grieve their loss.

No matter how unbearable the suspense may be, tradition dictates that we must all patiently wait for the stroke of midnight when Mayor Davenport announces this year’s Harvest Dozen. Surprisingly enough, not even he knows the names of those selected and must wait like the rest of us for the big reveal.

I only know this because my father—when we were on better terms—loved to talk shop. He once told me that the film canister containing the list of names always arrives by courier in the early hours of the day of the Harvest Festival. When it arrives, my father and a deputy of his choosing watch the mayor place the canister in a safe and input a combination that only he and my father are privy to. For the rest of the day, that safe is always guarded by one of my father’s deputies until the festival begins. Only then is the canister removed and taken to the projector in the town square, where the film is carefully prepared for viewing.

Being the sheriff’s daughter does have its perks since this little tidbit isn’t common knowledge.

Well, it used to have its perks. Nowadays not so much.

I push my deer mask up the bridge of my nose and stare at the projector aimed at the large screen on stage, praying that the film inside will feature my name tonight.

That’s the other tradition that somehow became set in stone—the entire town must wear a half mask featuring an animal to cover their faces during the festival. You are only allowed to remove it if you are called by name to join the Harvest Dozen.

When I was younger, I used to believe that this tradition held significant meaning. Something that we were supposed to wear for our own protection, forcing The Scourge to look into a person’s soul to make their selection. How naive of me to believe that such silly masks could ward off whoever was behind the games.

After reading Nora’s little black book, I now know that all of this… is for show.

It is nothing more than a false, superstitious event, governed by mythical rules and devised by the founding families of this town to mislead us. They want us to believe The Scourge possesses some kind of unearthly power rather than acknowledging it as the result of a man-made agreement to sacrifice their own.

It’s a lousy smoke and mirrors show. And like sheep, we all accepted it as fact. Worse-—we celebrate it.

Life blooms in the town square, filled with vibrant stalls forming a half-moon around the stage where laughter rises like the colorful streamers fluttering in the crisp autumn breeze. The air is thick with the fragrance of caramel apples and warm spiced cider, mingling with the scent of earthy hay bales stacked alongside the carnival games stalls. Men in rich browns and deep blacks move through the crowd, their joyful voices mingling with the cheerful squeals of children, while women in soft, white-and-cream dresses glide gracefully, their laughter like music hanging in the air. They feast and cheer as the looming clock tower stands sentinel over city hall, reminding us that time is fleeting and grows heavier with each passing minute.

Beneath the joyous facade, my heart weighs down like a stone, each chime of the clock deepening my sense of sorrow and resentment. How can they dance and celebrate when death is on the horizon for eleven doomed souls? At the stroke of midnight, the chosen few will vanish from this vibrant tapestry of life, leaving behind everyone they ever loved or cared for. I stand amidst the whirl of activity, feeling like a ghost in a bright world of autumn colors. The oranges and dark yellows that decorate the square taunt me with their warmth and festivity, cruelly contrasting with the cold reality that awaits a chosen few. I want to scream and shake them awake from their ignorant subservience and apathy. Still, I smile numbly instead, clenching the fabric of my dress like a lifeline, watching the merriment unfold around me and longing for this god-awful festival to finally come to its end.

And my fate to begin.

Thankfully, I’ve been able to keep myself busy rather than wallowing in such thoughts by helping Rosie with her stall and handing out pies left and right to our customers. However, every now and then, I can’t help but glance up at the clock tower to check the time, immediately disappointed to see the hour hand nowhere near midnight.

Wearing a bear mask, Joe leans against the stand and greets, “Heya girlie. Deer mask, huh? Nice! Though those antlers must be a bitch to carry around.”

‘Not as heavy as the secret I’m holding in,’ I think to myself.

“They’re fine. I can take them off whenever I want. See?” I demonstrate by placing the antlers on the table, leaving the rest of the mask in place. “I just wanted to try something different this year,” I add.

I’ve always worn a white butterfly mask in prior festivals, but this year, I made a late judgment call and decided against wearing it. The white butterfly mask screamed out hope and innocence, whereas a deer mask feels more like telling the world what an easy prey I am. If it will do the job of baiting The Scourge, or any hunter for that matter, to take me on my word, then it’s worth a try.

“Well, if different was what you were going for, you nailed it on the head.” Joe laughs, taking a swig of his drink.

“Do you want anything? Rosie’s pumpkin pie is selling like hotcakes.”

“Not really hungry, to be honest. Doubt I could eat a bite right now. Not until I know if my name is going to pop up on that screen or not,” he replies somberly, taking his flask out of his jacket pocket to drink.

My shoulders slump at the idea that Joe might be selected.

I’ve been so consumed with getting my name on that list that I’ve forgotten that eleven more names will be attached to mine. Eleven candidates who don’t want to go.

I understand why he can’t stomach the idea of eating. To be fair, I’m having a hard time just handing food out to everyone.

“Don’t look at me like that, girlie,” he says, pointing a teasing finger at me. “Remember, I’ve got a foolproof plan.”

“You mean your loopholes?”

He taps the tip of his nose with his finger and replies, “If all goes well, tonight will be the last night I have to come to this god-awful festival.” He takes another swig and continues, “Okay, girlie. I’ll see if I can find you just before midnight. I’m going to mingle.”

“Have fun.” I smile sadly, watching him wobble away until he gets lost in the crowd.

“How about you take a little break?” Rosie suggests beside me, misinterpreting the sad expression for something else. “I’m sure you’re eager to spend quality time with your father and your friends before things get… hectic. Don’t worry about the stand. We can handle it for the rest of the night.”

The pity in her eyes has me conceding to her request. I don’t have the heart to tell her that the last thing my father wants is to spend time with me. And as for friends… the only real friend I had is no longer alive.

Nevertheless, I do as she says and take a stroll through the festival. The sound of people having a good time and laughing alienates me. The laughter echoing around me feels distant, like a melody I can’t quite grasp. Colorful lights twinkle above, illuminating friends and families as they share the joy of the games and stalls, their faces alight with glee. I watch children racing to the ring toss, their delighted banter making my heart ache with a longing I can’t articulate. Couples dance to music I can barely hear, their smiles radiant, while I’m cloaked in an almost palpable sense of solitude.

Someone hands me a cup of warm cider, the heat flowing through my hands contrasting with the chill residing deep within my very bones. Everyone seems like they are all bursting with life, and I can’t shake the feeling of being a ghost, drifting through a celebration meant for the living.

Does anyone even care what’s about to happen at midnight?

Are they so used to it that they don’t care that their loud laughter feels like nails on a chalkboard to everyone here terrified of being called?

They’re easy to spot—the potentials. They all have this glaze cast over their eyes. They’re here… but they’re not. Like me, they can’t help but frequently check the clock tower to count down the seconds, craving to know if their lives will be spared or if they are called upon to The Scourge to confront certain death.

Just as I see them consumed by fear, I also see them surrounded by loved ones who do their best to cheer them up, trying to take their minds off the unsettling thought that their days are most likely accounted for.

I envy them.

I have no one.

Not that it matters since I volunteered as a sacrifice to the games.

Still… it would be nice to have someone that would miss me when I’m gone.

I doubt my own father will even shed a tear.

With these troubling thoughts running wild in my head, I feel like I’ll suffocate if I stay one more minute surrounded by so much joy and fear.

I need a moment to myself.

Even if only for a little while.

As I ponder for a while, an idea pops into my head—the gazebo in the middle of the park should be completely empty at this hour. Everyone is having too much of a good time to wander to the park. There, I’ll be alone, with only my thoughts.

But just as I hurry past the crowd, something grabs my attention—Mayor Davenport and his wife having what looks to be a heated discussion with their daughter. Mackenzie looks downright furious as she says something to her parents, only for her mother to slap her across the face. I stand back, stunned, as Mackenzie eyeballs her mother with what I can only describe to be a maniacal grin. The mayor then places one hand on his daughter’s shoulder and the other on his wife’s, whispering something that has both women’s rage simmering down. After his small lecture, both women seem to make peace with one another, their grievances long forgotten.

The current relationship with my father might not be the best kind, but he’s never once laid a finger on me.

“I wonder what that was about,” I whisper under my breath as the trio walk away from the shadows, displaying their fake smiles the minute they reach the beaming lights of the festival.

Seeing as I have my own problems, I shrug the sight away and head down the trail leading to the park.

Back here, only the moonlight illuminates my path, the sound of music and laughter becoming fainter with each step I take. The instant I turn the corner into the alley behind city hall, I grin as the gazebo comes into view. As I step closer toward it, I’m suddenly pulled from behind and then pushed against a wall, face first, a large hand covering my mouth before I’m able to call for help.

Crippling fear surges through my bloodstream as I try to fight off the attacker, with no success.

He’s strong. Really strong. This is not happening. This cannot be happening.

Every horror story my father has ever told me suddenly comes to the forefront of my mind.

“People aren’t themselves during the days leading up to the Harvest Festival. They do things they never imagined themselves doing. And it’s all because they need to feel some sense of control. They need to feel like they aren’t some cogs in the machine with no free will to speak of. Men turn into wild, ungodly animals if they feel they aren’t the masters of their own destinies.”

He had warned me so many times. Never walk alone during Harvest Season. Always stay close to a streetlight at night.

‘And for the love of all that’s holy, always carry your mace and rape whistle,’ he once said to me and Nora.

But I didn’t listen.

I’ve been so consumed with all the ways that I might die that I forgot there were some things worse than death.

With my cheek pressed harshly against the wall, all I can see through my peripheral vision is a wolf mask covering most of the assailant’s face. My eyes scan the perimeter, praying that one of the sheriff’s deputies remembers to search the park instead of focusing all their attention on the festival.

But I know that’s a long shot.

Which leaves me to fend for myself.

I wrack my brain, trying to find a way out of this situation, but the combination of shock and fear ringing in my ears makes it extremely difficult to focus. However, when I feel the aggressor pressing behind me with an erection digging into my backside, it triggers my fight-or-flight response. I bite down hard on his fingers, the familiar sound of Elias’s groan suddenly erasing all my previous fears.

It’s him. I know it is.

After putting a name to my would-be attacker, I feel my tense muscles starting to relax into his hold, no longer afraid of what might happen next.

He wants to scare me. Last night at the bridge, he told me as much. He said he was going to hurt me. And I believe that he would if he could.

The thing is… Elias has run out of time.

After tonight, I’ll be long gone, and whatever plans he had for me will cease to exist. All Elias has is a few hours at best. Not nearly enough time to punish me like he wants.

I saw it in his eyes last night… the yearning… the longing to make me feel his pain. If I knew that was his plan all along, I might not have willingly volunteered for The Scourge. I would much rather feel his hate and spend my last days hurting under his hand than anyone else’s.

But I did volunteer, and hopefully, by the end of this night, I will be named one of the Harvest Dozen. Whatever his plans for me, they are now null and void.

Pity. I would have enjoyed being hurt by him.

I take a deep breath, my skin singing in delight with the fragrance of sage and mint surrounding me. Even if my ears betrayed me, I’d know that scent anywhere—it’s definitely Elias.

I was wrong.

There is one person in this town who will feel my absence after all—and that’s him.

Suddenly, I’m reminded that I’ll never see Elias again after tonight. The thought is so unsettling that it feels like a fist has wrapped itself around my heart with the sole intent of strangling it.

Seeing as he lost my attention, Elias tugs at my hair, the sweet pinch to my scalp almost making me sigh in utter glee.

‘Take whatever you want, Elias. I deserve it. Do your worst,’ I think to myself while I pretend to continue to fight him off.

If Elias suspects for even a minute that I know it’s him, or worse, that I want this, he’ll stop and walk away.

I know that much.

So, if playing the part of the damsel in distress will get me what I want, so be it.

I would rather spend the last hours I have enduring his brand of hate than having to watch another second of people enjoying themselves on the night twelve of us are selected to die.

While I continue to pretend to wrestle out of his grip, I make sure to rub my ass around his hard cock, his arousal spurring me on.

Hate and guilt make for weird bedfellows, but here we are.

When he releases his grip from my mouth so he can grab my breast over my dress, my first reaction is to smile, but then I remember myself and act like I’m about to scream.

“Scream, and it will be the last thing you do,” he whispers in my ear, his voice so gruff I almost don’t recognize it as his.

I swallow dryly and nod, my heart beating so fast that I almost miss his next words.

“Good girl.”

Usually, I hate it when people call me that, but when it comes from Elias, there is something about those words that makes me want to be good, even if only for him.

I let out a shriek when he kicks my legs apart and bends me down until I have no choice but to grab onto the wall for fear that I might fall on my face. I stifle a wanton moan as his hands move under my dress and skim over my legs, thighs, and hips, only to have him surprise me when he flicks the hem of my dress over my head, covering most of my face with it.

Like this, all I can see is white lace around me, his wolf mask no longer visible.

But I can still feel his hard body pressed up against mine.

I bite down on my lower lip as he runs his crotch up and down the crack of my ass, his hands parting my cheeks, my thong leaving very little to the imagination. He takes a step back to appraise the masterpiece he’s created, a deep groan escaping his lips. My heart continues to pound erratically, especially now that I’m unable to predict his next move.

My knees almost buckle when I hear the tell-tale sound of a zipper being pulled down, followed by the rip of a condom wrapper.

Oh, my God.

Elias is about to fuck me.

Out here in the open where anyone can see us.

I’m unsure why the idea of someone catching us in the act is so thrilling to me, but it is. And from the way Elias slips my panties to the side to run his fingers up and down my slit, finding my pussy soaked for him, I’m not the only one who knows it.

I guess if his intent was to scare me, then being turned on defeats his purpose.

“You shouldn’t be enjoying this,” he says with that same gruff tone, making me wonder if he’s trying to camouflage his voice on purpose to confuse me into thinking he’s someone else or if his voice naturally becomes that raspy and deep when he’s aroused. “If you’re going to enjoy this, it’s only fair that I do too.”

And with that, I feel the crown of his large cock kiss my entrance just before it thrusts fully inside with one hard push.

I gasp in pain at the intrusion, my eyes squinting shut just to bear it down.

“That’s more like it,” he rasps triumphantly.

Mentally I was ready for him, ready to live out my teenage fantasy of fucking Elias like I always dreamed about. But apparently, my pussy wasn’t as prepared. I’ve never felt something so big inside me, and it’s taking me a hot minute to get myself accommodated with his girth.

It hurts.

It fucking hurts.

Tears start to stream down my cheeks as I try to breathe through the pain.

Every pounding thrust feels like a hot spear is splitting me in two.

It’s too much.

Not even when I lost my virginity did it hurt this much.

This isn’t me living out a fantasy.

This is me being completely engulfed in a nightmare.

I’m in such excruciating pain that I start to honestly believe that this is how I’m going to die, with Elias’s huge cock fucking me.

Just as I’ve made my peace with it, I hear Elias curse under his breath before pulling halfway out and ending his merciless thrusts. He then proceeds to coat his middle and index fingers with my juices before lightly pressing them against my clit. Ever so gently, he begins to knead it, flicking it until he’s sure that the worst of the pain he’s caused has subsided.

This time when he drives his monstrous cock inside me, he takes his time until my body is fully acquainted with his size. He then fucks me nice and slow as his fingers play a song on my clit that I’ve never heard before. All too soon, my body begins to submit to his orchestrated ministrations, every inch of me suddenly feeling hot to the touch. Beads of sweat start pouring down my brow as I push myself back on his length, needing more than what he’s giving me.

“Such a greedy slut,” I hear him murmur, unable to hide his own suffering for having to slow down for my benefit.

“More,” I plead, completely surrendering to the sensation.

Elias slaps my ass cheek so hard that the corner of my eyes stings with a fresh batch of tears.

But he doesn’t refuse my request. Instead, he slowly speeds up his thrusts, making sure that the head of his cock deliciously hits every wall inside me.

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that sex could be like this.

So raw.

So ugly and violent.

So earth-shattering.

My breasts feel tender to the touch that the friction of my dress rubbing against my nipples has me moaning out in pleasure. Elias continues to expertly flick my clit while his cock buries itself right to the hilt. I can barely hear the sound of laughter and music coming from the town square over the loud slapping of our two bodies uniting as one. My schoolgirl crush is obliterated and replaced by a carnal desire that only a woman could have for her man.

God, how I wish he would pull my dress down just so I could see his face.

He could even take the whole thing off, leaving me stark naked in this alley for anyone to see. I really don’t care at this point. One glance at his beautiful face, and I’d come on the spot.

If I could just stare into the depths of his dark blue eyes…

Or if he stopped just long enough to kiss me…

Elias groans as my pussy clenches around his cock, as I imagine his lips on mine.

I let the fantasy play out in my head, my breathing becoming more erratic as white light starts to color my vision with every deep thrust. As his body overpowers mine, I imagine his teeth biting down on my lip before his tongue sneaks its way into my mouth and claims it as his own. His fingers dig into my hip, bruising my skin and leaving its mark as I continue to imagine our tongues battling it out in their own devilish dance.

I’m so close now.

So damn close.

All I need is his mouth on me.

And as if hearing my silent plea, I feel Elias lean down until his lips graze my ear, the scent of clovers and smoke making me hazy with lust.

“Come, my doe-eyed slut. Come all over my cock like your greedy pussy is begging to,” he whispers, biting hard into my earlobe.

His strangled order sets me off as I cry my release, my orgasm so violent that Elias has to hold onto my hips with both hands to keep me from falling. My entire body feels like lightning has struck it, electricity vibrating through me as I ride a high I’ve never experienced before.

Elias’s own orgasm quickly follows mine, his low moan making my hot skin tingle with pride.

I’m still panting for breath when I feel him pull out. I start to straighten up, needing to look at his face at least once, but I am immediately stopped when I feel his strong hand push me back down, his silent demand ordering me to stay exactly as I am. I swallow dryly as I remain bent down, my ass and pussy on full display. He releases his hold on me and steps back, taking pleasure in watching me like this.

I wait for him to say something—anything—but when two full minutes pass without him saying a word, I dare to stand up straight and turn around, only to find that I’m completely alone, Elias nowhere in sight.

I lean against the wall and place my hand over my heart, ordering it to calm down.

Because instead of the moment of joy I just felt, all I feel now is a profound sense of loss.

After tonight, I will never get a chance to repeat what Elias and I just did here.

I’ll never get that kiss that I was fantasizing about.

I’ll never feel his hands on me again.

I’ll never feel the heat of his breath on my skin.

And to his bitter resentment and my eternal regret, I’ll never be the recipient of his full, hateful punishment.

As soon as the first rays of dawn arise, I’ll be gone.

And Elias will forever be a what-if in my short-lived life story.