Satan's Affair Carlton, D. (free romance novels .txt) 📖

really. He’d let men and women pleasure him with their mouths and then ride him while he just took the pleasure like a greedy fucking sloth.

When I had asked him why he lets all of these people do those things to him, he had said that the fluids in his body were God’s nectar, and the only way to truly bless people with God is by them draining the fluids from him, in whatever form they chose.

I wasn’t so sure that was true, but I didn’t argue. I knew even then it was pointless.

Daddy smelled like rotten eggs. So did a lot of the people in our Church, draining him of his nectar. But I didn’t understand that I was shown these things for a purpose—to eradicate these demons. At the time, I was too worried about Mommy and her increasingly depleting body. She turned into nothing but skin and bones, an empty shell of a woman who had little left in her but her aching soul.

Mommy smelled like black roses. Daddy tainted her, and her petals started to wilt and decay.

I lost her when I didn’t have to. If she would’ve removed us from that evil Church with an even worse dictator, we could’ve had a happy life. I suppose her death wasn’t all in vain—it gave me my purpose in life. If I can just extinguish all the evil, then I can finally live in a pure world with my flower garden of people.

Huffing, I stand up and glare down at Mortis. He’s been needy today. I don’t like needy.

“What is wrong with you today?” I hiss, putting my hands on my hips.

“You’re on edge,” he says, his voice monotone. Mortis never speaks with much inflection in his voice. “I want to calm you down.”

I sneer. “The only thing that’s going to calm me down is catching another demon. You should know that by now.”

He just stares at me, his face blank and lifeless.

Growling, I whip around and storm out of the house. No one has arrived yet for the haunted houses, which I’m thankful for. I don’t like interacting with the others. They’re terrible actors, dirty up my house, and then leave their messes for me to clean up later.

During the Halloween season, I live in the house. I don’t like to leave, should an opportunity arise for a cleansing and I need to act quickly. My henchmen will leave with the rest of the crew at the end of the day, and then sneak back in after the fair closes.

Once I’ve cast my judgement and my henchmen separate the demon from whoever they came with, I’ll pressure point them until they’re unconscious, tie them up, and keep duct tape over their mouths. Whatever screams and noise they make once they wake up blends in with the screams of terror from the guests. I make sure they’re unconscious when the staff are shutting down the place, but once everyone is gone, they are moved back into my playroom.

Normal people—the ones who occupy this world without contributing much to it—they wouldn’t understand. Whether they’re pure or not, murder is wrong in their eyes, even if it’s justified. It doesn’t matter that I do this for them.

They’re just weak.

Stepping out of my house, I inhale deeply. Greasy food, mud, and fabricated scents waft towards me, filling my senses first. It takes me a minute to adjust to the distracting odors and differentiate the smell of people’s souls apart from their perfumes and the surrounding aromas.

I wander the fairgrounds; the crunch of brittle grass blades a soothing sound beneath my thin white slippers. My feet itch from the little pinpricks from the grass, but I don’t mind. I steal a pack of cotton candy when the vendor isn’t looking and trounce off with my treat. I happily pluck sweet, sugary fluffs from the cone and plop them in my mouth as I observe the guests.

Already I’m picking up on the stench. With so many people packing the grounds, it takes me awhile to pinpoint the exact source. Moving towards the stench, I continue to observe while I continuously inhale, much like a K9 with paraphernalia.

The smell is definitely rotten. I wriggle my nose, stopping mid-step to sniff out the direction. Someone knocks into my shoulder, jolting me forward and knocking my cotton candy out of my hand. I watch the cloud of sugar roll across the filthy ground, picking up mud and grass.

I frown, deep sadness swirling in the pit of my stomach.

The girl turns, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry,” she rushes out. She’s got pretty white-blonde hair and brown eyes with beautiful porcelain skin.

She’d be real fun to cut up.

I glare at her and step into her space. She freezes, flinching away from me when I put my nose to her neck and inhale deeply.

“Dude, what the fuck?” she bursts, snapping out of her stupor and stumbling away. “Did you just fucking smell me?” she asks incredulously, staring at me like I’m a creep. My dark brown hair is piled into high pigtails, sloppy red lips and my face painted to look like a doll’s glass face is cracking must look creepy.

My eyes nearly roll when I pick up her sweet aroma. She smells like daisies.

“You smell good,” I answer, smiling so she’s not mad at me anymore. I’m not mad at her anymore, and she’s the one that ruined my cotton candy.

Her friend, who was standing behind her, walks up beside my little daisy. She’s also staring at me like I’m a freak.

I don’t like that. I just was trying to make sure she wasn’t rotten.

“Do you not understand personal space?” her friend snaps. Her orange hair is frizzing, and too many freckles cover her face. I sniff her, too. She smells like poppies. I like her smell, and if I didn’t want to preserve the good people in this world, I’d try to bottle her smell. Maybe soaking her flesh for a little while to see