Mister Kreasey's Demon

Mr Quiet, Mr Whisper, leave our Amy, she's our sister...

He smiled to pretend he hadn't heard a voice which he couldn't share with her, smiled to melt away for her the teacher and the pedant in him. She'd have been the closest thing to a goddess if she could have granted him passage amongst the thicknecks, the close-crops and the ear-ringed who only needed to understand.

But the more her glossed lips moved and the longer she stood rooted in the middle of his bedroom holding up his boxer shorts, the more it was clear she was no Persephone offering to deliver him from that cadaverous underworld on the teacher's side of the desk. All that was left was to wonder what Amy could really want... of him....

'Well, are we going to see you in them?' she smiled, still holding his shorts out like her trophy.

But as he watched her lips they seemed to shape like those in a poorly dubbed film where the voice is out of synch' with the words... reminding him now to "eat up" all his tablets and that, then, he wouldn't need to be "cut up".

Kreasey managed to turn away from her smile, wondering whether the 2.5 milligram mustard-coloured tablets to which he'd switched might have left him more confused this time than the slow-releasers. One thing was for sure, from where he'd been lying in bed, half-mesmerised by Amy's swaying of his shorts, he must have been gripping the neck of his medicine bottle under the top sheet. It was only now that he was aware of something he should have noticed before.

The bottle's cap, shoulders and neck... they seemed to feel thicker... the neck of the ugliest in 12d; the one who might have grown most resentful of his sleeping with Amy and now right inside his flat... beneath his top sheet... brushing his left thigh, cold ... cold as steel.

He tried but failed to snap the neck of the bottle between his fingers.

'Can't break it? Too weak, teacher?' The voice of 12d's most idle, Jake Blacksmith, seemed to be escaping from the bottle where the lid had been partly loosened.

He was forty-five, Kreasey thought, middle-aged and he still needed a sixteen-year-old girl to open the bottle for him. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps he should eat up all his tablets. He was going to need the next so badly when Amy had left his bed and the night seemed as if it feared returning to morning.

Every tablet that huddled inside the bottle seemed to be a face - not just Jake Blacksmith's - but every shaven head and ring-in-the-nose that noisily packed out room 329 where he'd once had to cope...

'Long night teacher,' they seemed to chorus.' Long is for lithe, panting tiger waitin'for you.'

Something warm and fleshy had covered his eyes, the whole mattress had sagged deep beneath him, his body sprung with the bed... all was dark as moonless night.

Kreasey turned his head to left and right to escape the form spread-eagled above him. It wasn't going to go away. He could feel himself sinking deeper into the mattress beneath the warm pulsing belly that sagged between his thighs, over his stomach and chest. Reflex forced him to stretch his arms back over his head and try to take hold of what seemed undeniably, thick highly muscular forelegs, the creature's strength overwhelming. He could feel a moist tongue filling out his ear, searching, squelching around until he loathed himself for beginning to enjoy the feeling...

He could hear History 12d's jeering and laughter... mounting...

'...Little Percy isn't going to play today?' a chirpier voice asked, silencing his musings.