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Stories [HORROR] My Father Accidentally Sold a Demon to a Pédophile


Nov 27, 2016

My Father Accidentally Sold a Demon to a Pédophile by reddit user u/Dopabeane

My father was a piece of shit. Twenty years ago, he turned himself over to the feds and pled guilty to human trafficking, sexual exploitation, and murder. He was supposed to be in prison for the rest of his life, but a couple weeks ago he got released to a nursing home on compassionate leave. He had pancreatic cancer. It’s a beast. Almost nobody survives two years after diagnosis, and it hurts so much you want to die anyway.

I don’t really know why, but I decided to visit him. The thought made my skin crawl, but the reality wasn’t so bad. I’m actually surprised he told me this story. I don’t know if I believe him, but I can’t get it out of my head.

It started with a transport order.

My dad was basically a part-time drug runner, but for people instead of narcotics. He did the heavy shit, transporting large shipments of human cargo to pimps and other bulk buyers, along with occasional deliveries for private clients.

His performed his very last delivery for just such a client. The guy wanted him to drop off a “very special little girl” to “her new daddy.” It made him laugh a little, these rich fúckers with their euphemisms.

My dad got instructions to meet at a dropoff point outside Lancaster at 10PM. He and his partner, Christophe, arrived early. The moon wasn’t out that night, but that’s what you want out in the high desert. The stars are spectacular: brilliant swirls of constellations so clear you can discern the color of every sparkling pinprick with the náked eye. Stars aren’t white, you know; they’re red and yellow, orange and blue, purple and pink. The desert’s combination of thin atmosphere, clear skies, and high altitude plunges you right into a dreamscape.

It was under this hallucinatory blanket of stars that my father took possession of a crying boy with bound hands and a smiling girl in literal chains.

Their contact was incredibly skittish of the girl. “Don’t lose her,” he warned. “Don’t matter what she does, you keep her locked down tight. Let her do what she wants to the boy no matter what. And I mean, no matter what.”

“Don’t worry.” My dad fought the urge to roll his eyes; he’d done this a hundred times, after all.

“Just be careful. It’s a long drive.” The man gave my dad a look that made him nervous: half pity, half relief.

After loading the kids into my dad’s van, the dude peeled out. Watching his red taillights bounce and fade across the sand gave my dad a bad feeling.

The girl kept smiling and the boy kept crying. Finally, my dad tried to quiet him down. Conversation isn’t exactly encouraged under these circumstances, but the kid’s bleating was putting Christophe on edge. Chris had anger problems and jobs made him nervous, so my dad was keen to keep everyone calm.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Alex,” was the tearful answer.

“What’s the matter? You got food and water and a blanket, so why are you crying?”

“Because,” Alex wept, “she’s scary.”

My dad glanced the girl in the rearview mirror. She smiled widely in return, baring unremarkable milk teeth. “What do you mean? She looks perfectly nice to me. What’s your name, sweetie?”

She continued to smile.

“She doesn’t talk when people are awake.” Alex wiped his face. “Only when they’re asleep.”

“How would you know that?” Dad asked.

“She told me in my dreams.” And, with a sad little hiccup, he kept crying. Chris’s hands tightened dangerously on the steering wheel.

Now, it really was a long drive. Their destination lay deep in the Arizonan boonies. Believe it or not, there are a lot of rich people there, lots of secluded estates pocking that wild, desolate landscape like boils.

Around two in the morning, the boy started whining. “I have to pee.”

“Only been a couple hours, kiddo,” Chris snapped.

Judging by his heartbroken expression, this was perhaps the most tragic thing Alex had ever heard.

“It’s been more than a couple hours,” Dad said. “Pull over. Don’t need a couple babies pissing themselves in the back seat.”

Chris obeyed, as usual. My dad walked Alex around to the back and waited while the boy finished his business. The girl pressed her face to the window, toothy smile plastered to her face. She looked like a perfectly normal little girl, but the whole situation was starting to freak him out. The sooner this run was done, the better.

He loaded Alex inside, then took the girl out. He figured that’s why she’d been watching; clearly she had to piss, too. He wasn’t quite sure how well she’d manage in her chains, though. They were ridiculous: shäçkles on her wrists and ankles, and what looked like a chastity belt around her hips. He had a key, but it was for the client to use, not him.

He walked her out into the desert and turned his back while maintaining a firm hold on her chain. Sure enough, a rustle of clothing and telltale hiss sounded. Perfectly normal.

Until it kept going.

Confused, my dad turned around.

The girl was down on all fours. An enormous, segmented tail arched over her body, and her face was turned inside out.

A massive, pulsating mouth dominated the glistening inversion of her head. Runnels and rifts of flesh glimmered with starry knots of light. Dozens and dozens of pearly milk teeth erupted from the mass. She faced the sky like a nightblooming flower. Starlight gathered into a soft, hazy spotlight around her, seeming to pour into her enormous mouth.

My dad didn’t know how long he stood there. When he finally came to, the first traces of dawn stained the horizon and Chris was kneeling on the sand beside him, blank-eyed and open-mouthed. The little boy, whoever he was, was long gone.

The girl finally melted back into her human form, smiling winningly as the sun rose. Chris snapped out of the spell abruptly and began to panic.

“We can’t take that thing.”

“We’re going to do what we’re told, or we’re going to get killed.”

“Already will because we let that fúcking little kid run off. You know what’s going to happen? He’ll identify us.”

“Desert’s going to kill him,” my dad said.

“What about the client?

He remembered what the contact said about letting the girl do whatever she wanted to Alex. “I don’t think anybody wants him, Chris. I think he was food.”

Chris gaped, then laughed, then screamed: “Well, if the little bitch didn’t get her snack, she must hungry! Where does that leave us?”

“Needing to finish the run now,” my dad answered.

They sped along desert highways, racing to compensate for the hours lost the night before. In the early afternoon, they reached their destination: a modern mansion surrounded by a carefully engineered courtyard straight out of the antebellum south, incongruous against the rugged mountains, sloping deserts and high, striated cliffs.

Except for the gaudy house, everything was beautiful desolation, my father thought. The end of the world and the beginning of the world meeting in this breathtaking little corner of the earth.

As they parked, the girl uttered a strange chuckle: rhythmic and surprisingly low for her body. Through her parted lips, my dad saw flashes of starry light.

A man in a white suit rushed out to welcome them with a predatory smile. His eyes were cold and angry, of course: he’d expected them at dawn, and it was already after lunch.

My dad eagerly went to greet him, leaving Chris alone with the girl.

The man pulled my father close and hissed: “What took so long?”

“She needed a break,” my dad answered. “We couldn’t exactly tell her no, hey?”

“The boy?”

Dread coiled in my father’s belly. “What about him?”

The white-suited man bared his teeth again, much closer to a snarl than a smile. “Did she eat?” he hissed.

The lie came easy: “Yes.”

The buyer shouldered my father aside and strode eagerly to the vehicle. Dad started to follow, but stopped dead when he saw all the doors were open.

The buyer poked his head inside. “Where’s my special girl? Daddy’s he –”

He broke off and screamed.

Dad ran over, trying to ignore the nausea bubbling in his belly. He could only think of the lights in the girl’s inverted head, starry and pulsating, utterly hypnotic. The lights that had blazed to life again just as he left the car.

Dad shoved the buyer out of the way. The girl was gone. Chris slumped in his seat. A pile of chains and a strange little chastity belt dangled from his hands, and blood sheeted from a massive puncture in his throat. His face was terribly, hideously bloated. Dark veins and livid discoloration contrasted sharply with milky pallor.

Chris wheezed, then vomited a spray of clear, glistening liquid that covered Dad’s hands. He watched, mesmerized, as it bonded to his fingers like gloves and began to painlessly dissolve his flesh.

The buyer screamed again. Dad whirled around as armed security burst into the yard and surrounded a flowered hedge.

For one mesmerizing moment, an enormous, barbed tail arched and danced over the frantic knot of bodies. Then it plunged down. A meaty pop accompanied a scream as blood spattered across the lush lawn. Gunfire roared, followed by another pop and another scream, then another and another in a maddening succession until finally, everything fell silent.

The girl rose from the pile of bodies, inverted head glistening with starry lights and blood. Tiny teeth pulsed in time with the hypnotic lights.

When she saw him, her face slid out of her mouth and rewrapped itself around her head. She smiled widely, oblivious to the gore streaking her skin.

They watched each other. Heat and painfully still air suffocated him. His ears began to ring.

The girl returned to her feast, enthusiastically tearing chunks of mingled flesh and clothing from her prey.

The spell broke. My father rushed into the mansion and tried to call 911. His phone had no signal, so he ran around in search of a landline. When he found one, the dispatcher warned him that it would take at least forty minutes because the house was so very isolated.

When the police finally arrived, the girl was gone. The pile of dismembered corpses remained. My father took the fall. He pled guilty to everything, even the murders, because it meant he would go to prison. Nothing can get out of prison, sure, but nothing can get in.

By the time Dad finished the story, he was sobbing. The nurses ushered me away angrily, telling me to visit tomorrow.

I couldn’t even if I’d wanted to, because he died that night. It’s no great loss to the world or me, but it would have been nice to discuss a few questions. You know, like “Does anybody know or care what happened to Alex?” and “Why would a rich pédophile knowingly buy a séx slave that eats people?” I don’t know.

I hope the story’s true, though. For what it’s worth, Dad had no hands. He lost them in a double amputation right after his arrest because the flesh had somehow melted off, leaving nothing but damaged bone.

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