Succubus (Chapter Three)

Jenn Whittaker
Nov 3 · 14 min read

Maple shakes me hard. “Get up for God’s sake. You’re going to be late for work.” I open my eyes, moving like a slug, over-relaxed and groggy. Where am I? Too much daylight shines. Maple continues. “I called Gary and told him you are changing a tire. Get your ass out of this bed, Mister. I’ve been trying to wake you for forty-five minutes.” I sit up and hone in on Maple’s forearm. It looks like a thin piece of skin has been shaved off like turkey on a deli slicer. The skin hangs there. It’s disgusting. She must have gotten the bleeding to stop on its own. Now, there is just a patch oozing ever so slightly where the skin used to be.

“What did you do?” It’s all I can muster from my uncooperative mouth. Maple snaps at me.

“Me? I covered your ass. That’s what I did. Now get a move on.” Her impatience shocks me into awareness. She’s more a delicate flower, tender and soft, than stinging nettle, harsh and aggravating.

“No. Your arm. What happened? It looks terrible.” She glances at the skinned spot.

“Oh, that’s just me being clumsy. Get ready for work. It’s the last time I’m going to tell you.” Maple storms out of our bedroom. I sit up and look around. I lift the sheets, and I’m wearing boxers. I always sleep naked. I went to bed naked. What kind of dream was that? It was a hell of a dream since I can’t even remember cleaning up.

It rained heavy last night, and the road is slick coming down the winding mountain. The jagged rocks climb high into the sky. There’re no other trucks on the road, so I take my turns wide, partly over the double yellow lines. The sun lights up the sky with dark oranges embedded in streams of yellows. This must be the most colorful place on earth. At the right time of year, we light bonfires while the arura borealis sweeps across the night sky off in the distance. Then, I see her tree, it’s trunk long, its bark strong. It reminds me of last night, but I don’t know why. I’m not sure if I’ve ever had such an explosive orgasm. I never knew that level of intensity was possible. I have a stubbly, half-cocked grin on my face, hoping it happens again.

I arrive late to work, but good, old Maple did try to cover my ass, though I still have the same four tires on my truck today as I did yesterday. Men up here notice that shit. It was certainly a sweet gesture from an otherwise prickly Maple. As I hop out of my truck Gary walks up to me.

“Overslept, huh? I hope it was worth it,” Gary starts in on me. I try to cover for Maple’s excuse.

“Sorry about that, Gary. Maple thought she was doing me a favor.” He chuckles.

“We all know that makes her a keeper.” He has a little twinkle in his eye.

“Hey, now,” I jest.

“Just kidding, man. You two have been destined since high school. Everybody knows that. Now, grab the axe, since you seem partial to it, and join your crew. You’re holding everyone else back.” Gary turns and walks away with a hitch in his step. He got caught up under a log years ago, and hasn’t been able to work the trees since. He was lucky that the doctors saved the leg. Now, he directs us, safety always first on his mind, so none of us end up with our own limp.

“On my way.” Too bad that’s not the end of it. I’ll get it worse from the boys than from Gary. He’s not doing the heavy lifting. I join them a few hundred yards out along the slippery, muddy mountain side. My feet dig into the mud halfway down my boots, and with each step, the mud makes a sloppy suction sound. I get ready for a ribbing.

“You need more beauty rest, if you ask me,” George jokes. He’s been unusually talkative lately. To my surprise, most of the guys ignore me, and I jump into my position. We work until lunch. That’s my first opportunity to pull Frank aside.

“Hey, man, can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask. He has a mouth full of food.

“This better be good. Alice’s bologna sandwiches are to die for.” He means it, bologna, of all things, being his favorite sandwich meat. I can’t explain this here.

“Not now, but after the shift, I’d like to ask you for a favor. I want to give you some heads up, too.” I try not to sound too emergent. That gets Frank’s attention. He’s the kind of guy to pick up the subtlest clues, no matter how hard one tries to conceal them. He, however, plays his cards close to the chest. He’s a private man unless someone knows him like I do. He moved to Jay a few years ago and we hit it off in an instant. Maple and Alice built a cordial friendship, too. He has two girls and, the youngest, a boy, turned four last month. He’d do anything for them all.

“Damn, what’s with all the mystery?” He sets the sandwich aside. I stare at it for some reason.

“We can talk about that later.” I try to put off the conversation as long as possible, but he wants an answer now.

“Spit it out for Christ’s sake.” Frank isn’t renowned for his patience.

“Well, in a fucking nutshell, if you insist, you were right about that woman in Granby.” My voice strains to stay hushed. Frank calls out to the rest of the crew.

“Did you hear that, fellas? I was right about that Granby murder.” A round of Bullshitsfollow. I try to get a hold on him.

“Shush. Hey, we’ve got to talk about this. It’s not that simple. It’s serious. How did you know about it?” Frank shrugs his shoulders.

“I thought everybody knew,” he says. It’s time to get back to work, but I manage to get a last word in.

“Come over to the house tonight, and we’ll talk about it some more. There are some things you need to know. I insist, man.” I drive the point home. Frank’s mood shifts on its axis.

“Fine. Yeah, whatever. Just get out of my damn way and start pulling your own weight. Got it?” The rest of the day goes by like molasses on Tuesday in Alaska — slow. It turns out to be a late day. Before nightfall, we all pack our gear for the next assignment a little further down the ridge. There are some boulders that the heavy machinery cannot move, so we must work around them instead. Frank tries to skirt out of our evening engagement.

“Tyler, can we get together some other time?” Frank asks, defeated by the day’s hard work.

“No,” I state in a firm matter-of-fact tone. He isn’t getting out of this.

“No? What the hell do you mean, no?” My insistence catches Frank off guard.

“No, as in, if you don’t want to end up hauled in by the Sherriff’s department in a few days, you’ll come with me now, no.” That message is clear enough.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Frank keeps asking.

“If you’re dumb ass would just follow me to my house, I’ll explain it there. Otherwise, you’re on your own.” The take away always hooks the fish. He bites.

“Wait, wait. All right. I’ll come over, but this better be good.” We both head toward our trucks.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I tell him. I don’t want to give him any false hope. Frank follows me home and, once inside the dry, warm house, Maple offers us drinks. We all walk out onto the deck I finished building last year, and I talk while Frank listens. I tell him about finding the girl and what went down at the Sherriff’s office. Frank sits slack-jawed at what he’s hearing. The crickets chirp in the background and light bugs blink in the high grass. Maple excuses herself and returns inside. Frank turns to me.

“So, get on with it. What the hell does all of this have to do with me?” He asks, frustrated. I adjust on top of the picnic table we both sit upon, shoulder to shoulder. I hang my head a little as I turn my face towards his.

“The Mounties are probably going to call you in for questioning regarding the case,” I blurt out. “You knew about the first murder and no one else seems to,” I finish. Frank’s mouth falls like a guppy’s kisser.

“So, you’re telling me, just because I heard some old ghost story, they might think I did it?” Frank sums up, remaining calm, at this point, though I’m confused.

“What old ghost story, Frank? You said you heard about a murder up in Granby. You didn’t mention anything about a ghost story.” Frank lets out a large exhale and sits quiet, staring out at the wood line.

“It doesn’t matter.” He resigns with a finite breath.

“It does to me. It does to Henry. And, it will certainly matter to the police,” I scold him. “Just tell me what’s going on? You know you can trust me.” Frank looks me dead in the eyes.

“Can I? Then, why did you bring me into all this?” He asks, standing up, his temper getting the best of him.

“I didn’t mean any harm. Besides, only Henry knows for the moment. But, when the Mounties come down, it won’t be that simple. Henry wants to meet with you first, anyhow. That’s the favor, which will probably serve us both best. Maybe he can make heads or tails of all this.” I pause, waiting for his reaction. He sits silent, again. Finally, he starts by asking a question.

“You said all of her blood was drained, right?” Frank asks.

“Yeah,” I confirm.

“And her teeth were missing?” he continues.

“Yeah.” I wonder where this is all going.

Frank is ready to tell his tale. “Well, from the legend I heard, she must be a sorcerous. Some say demon. She must have belonged to some witchy cult that believes a woman can live forever off of the energy of a man.” I cut him off.

“Wait, what?” I stammer in disbelief. He continues as if he doesn’t hear me.

“The killing is voluntary. These women believe that they are some sort of kin to vampires, but they have their own set of rules.” What the fuck is Frank saying? Now, I have to wrap my head around this crap, now?

“You’re blowing my mind here, man. Vampires? This is serious.” I get angry with him.

“Just listen,” he responds.

“The cult kills the woman in this…this ritual. They drain all her blood and remove her teeth, like the opposite of so-called vampires. They leave the body out where a horoscope or some shit tells them the right man will come along to find her. That man, the one who finds her, she, for a lack of better term, attaches herself to him somehow. It’s supposed to be this spiritual connection from the ritual. They believe he’s her energetic lifeforce.” Frank pauses. I can’t help but ask for more details if he can give them.

“Well, what the hell does she want?”

“She thinks her spirit will live forever by feeding off of the energy of a man — sexual energy,” he states. I can’t believe Frank believes this.

“This is horse shit.” My emphatic response sets Frank’s nerves further on end.

“Are you going to listen or not? You asked me to tell you the story, and now, I’m trying to, bro.” Frank puts down his empty beer bottle next to me on the picnic table and readjusts his foot up on the bench seat.

“Okay, fine. I’ll keep my mouth shut until you’re done.” Frank rolls his eyes and sighs.

“She visits in your sleep, until she’s strong enough to start to come back into the physical world — reborn a new woman.” I cut him off, again.

“Like as in a baby?” I ask.

“No, man, let me finish. At first, like a poltergeist. She can move stuff around and make things happen. Then…” his voice trails off.

“Then, what?” I break my promise to only listen.

“She takes control over another woman,” he says, trying to avoid my steady stare.

“So, let me get this straight. Because I found this body, I’m going to be haunted until some sex spirit can possess Maple?” I ask with a protective luster in my voice.

“It’s said, she can only do it once you’ve fallen in love with the spirit. That’s how she gets in. After that, her coven leader, usually some old crone, gets involved, or whatever, to ensure the process takes hold. That’s why you hear so many stories about succubi being accompanied by old women,” he finishes.

“Did you just say succubi, like in a succubus? You think I’m being haunted by a succubus? What does that even mean? How could I even tell?” I don’t know why I ask or feed into Frank’s bullshit.

“I’m not saying that. Hell, how would I know?” Frank looks anxious to end the conversation, but I just can’t let it go.

“Let me get this right. You’re saying the girl in Granby died the same way? How would you know that?” I demand.

“Man, most of my family lives up there. The other girl was found deep into the forest. Everyone said it drove the man who found her crazy. He shot himself to make it stop. But the story is just an old folk tale from those parts. That’s all I know,” Frank confesses.

“But you know about the details. If the Mounties had released those details, everyone would have panicked. How do you know them?” I demand, again.

“They are just rumors. People up there talk. I didn’t take it all that serious. Come on, female sex crazed spirits. Who would take it seriously?” Frank adds, bringing some logic back into the conversation.

“And how did they know who found her?” I ask, hoping for a reasonable answer.

“He came forward, just like you. But after he shot himself, the Mounties thought it was because they were closing in on him as the murderer, and, then, just closed the case when he died.” That doesn’t sound good for me.

“But, now they’re reopening it because of what took place down here. Oh, god. Will they think I had something to do with both women?” I ask, practically hysterical.

“Calm down. The last girl was found in the woods by a hunter. You found this one tied to a tree on the side of the road. I’m no cop, but there’s got to be a difference.” Henry is going to have a field day with Frank.

“That’s a hell of a story. But, something still nags at me.” I confide.

“And what’s that?” he questions.

“That girl, the one I found, was young. Why would she want to do something like this for some old hag?” I contemplate my own question. Frank snaps me out of it.

“I have no idea, man. Besides, it’s just a story. When I tell Henry, he’ll look at me like I have two heads, kind of like you’re looking at me, right now,” he notices.

“Look, Frank, it’s not an old ghost story. Something like what happened out on that curve happened last year right where you said it did and maybe how you said it did,” I remind him.

“That doesn’t mean that I fuckin’ done it. Shit.” Frank runs his fingers through his salt and pepper hair and walks circles on the deck.

“Sorry about that, Frank. I just don’t know what to think, either. But I must admit, with a story like that, it makes me feel a little better. Who would believe that enough to act on it? They certainly can’t prosecute anybody with that. And that means both of us. I got to tell you, that’s really a weight lifted off my shoulders,” I admit. Maple comes outside in the nick of time.

“Hey boys. Why don’t you come in and let me cook you both some French toast? Nothing makes me feel better than breakfast at night with syrup.” Maple never calls it maple syrup. Her sense of humor doesn’t go as far as her parents. Frank takes the reigns.

“Thanks, Maple, really, but I’ve got to be getting home to Alice and the kids.” He turns back to me. “Should I mention any of this to her?” Maple doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I break the silence.

“I wouldn’t. Don’t worry her unless you have no choice. Talk to Henry tomorrow. Wait to hear what he has to say about it. It’s only one day.” I do my best to comfort him. Hopefully, this won’t wreck either of us, but at least we’re not alone. I show Frank to the door, who looks pale with sickness. We say our goodnight. Then, I turn to Maple. “I’ll take some of that French toast if the offer still stands?” Maple and I haven’t had our daily sex routine down, but it’s hard to keep up the passion when all we’ve talked about is a disfigured, dead woman tied to a tree. At least this evening, I fall asleep on a full stomach. The frosty light is there to greet me, again.

I fall into the light and it’s chilly there. I don’t have any sense of time about me, but who does while they’re falling asleep? It’s a deep, black sleep. Then, a miracle happens. Maple must want some cheering up of her own. I love the part when I wake up with her mid-stride, her legs spread against my hips.

“Oh, Maple,” is all I can manage to say while my eyes roll back into my head by ecstasy.

“That’s not my name,” a soft, barely audible siren whispers. I love it when she wants to play games.

“What is your name then fairest one?” She loves that Medieval fairy-tale shit.

“You may call me Luna, and you are all that I desire,” she replies. She rides me and works her body into a slow grind. I can feel her warmth surround me completely. She takes all of me inside her. She moans as if I can’t hear her, a true moan of pleasure.

“I’ll be your stable-boy tonight. Just don’t stop.” And she doesn’t. For an hour, she grinds me — Slow — Fast — Light — Hard.

“Look at me,” she whispers. “Look upon your Luna.”

I open my eyes, but before they can fully focus, I see a young, pale woman with black, wavy hair and grey eyes glowing in the moonlight around her. She takes my breath away. She kisses me. Her kiss is long and slow, passionate, but sensual, her lips juicy.

“Luna,” I say in the grips of passion.

“Luna?” Maple barks and comes to a stop. “Who the fuck is Luna, Tyler?” Her words of rage burn my ears. I open my eyes. Again. That’s got to be the strangest feeling ever. There’s Maple sitting on top of me with her beautiful breasts bare, but her face in disgust.

“I thought that was your play name tonight?” My passion has drunken my other senses.

“Tyler, what are you talking about? You just started this.” Confusion riddles her voice. I can’t stop the yearning, the wanting for more.

“Oh, don’t fuck with me now. Fuck me. Now.” I try to keep the action moving. Maple dismounts me, wraps herself in our sheet, and heads for the bathroom. She slams the door. I’m lying there with my dick in my hand, so I decide to finish the session off. But the woman I saw — Luna — is the only image in my mind. I release all that I have built up inside me and then wake up, again, with my dick still in my hand.

It’s early and proper for working hours. Maple’s gone. She must have slept in the guest room after how nonchalant I was over the switcheroo of names. Was I supposed to chase her for our game, or is she really pissed? I go downstairs, and everything is quiet. She’s usually up before me with breakfast going. I guess I can’t have dessert in the middle of the night and breakfast before dawn. Although that would be nice. She was amazing last night.

I don’t know how I dreamt of this dark-haired vixen, but it disturbs me, her midnight black hair, full of form and bounce, silky, possessing a lively resemblance to that which I saw on the tree, though wet, stringy, tangled. Maybe it’s been all the talk; maybe it is shock. I disregard Frank’s ridiculous notions. Even still, I must keep my mind off her creamy skin unless I want to walk around with a hard-on all day.

Return to JennWhittaker.com

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade