My Apparition
My Apparition
A "Midnight Secret" Contest Story
By Bunny Hops
http://www.furaffinity.net/user/bunnyhops/
http://bunny-hops.sofurry.com/
It was the witching hour, nothing so crude as midnight of course. Anyone can be a witch at midnight under a full moon. It was past 3 am and he had been awoken by a hand on his shoulder, shaking him urgently. His eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling and the usual questions of "Who am I?" "Where am I?" "Am I wearing clothes?" filled his head and were promptly banished. A finger pressed against his lips and words were whispered into his ear barely above the threshold of hearing, the voice one of a distant memory his sleep addled brain could not yet recollect.
"I want to tell you a secret."
He grabbed his long, white leporid ears and casted them over his eyes, screeching into the strange room, "Stop! Fucking, stop!"
The voice swirled around the room, emanating from distance corners, bubbling up around his head like steam through mud, "If you would only stop fighting me, it would all be fine."
He sat up and let his ears pop back up, "Where the hell am I?"
Of course he was naked, he was always naked after such adventures, but where he woke up changed from outing to outing, excursion to excursion. The hand on his shoulder was just a passing figment of his imagination; his troubled mind trying to add physicality to his haunted mind. A streetlamp outside streaked light through the blinds, illuminating parts of the room while casting others in shadows. The room he was in now was a normal everyday studio apartment, save for the mutilated...something...in the corner. The ceiling was still dripping lazily with the viscous blood.
He pointed to the bloody heap and spoke into the ether, "What's that? Who's that? Is that your secret, your fucking secret?"
"Nope," the voice cackled playfully like a possessed toddler, "not my secret, guess again."
"Have I ever been in the mood for this shit?" he sighed. "I'll say it slow so you can wrap your little fucking mind around it, if you even have a mind: what is that in the corner?"
"That would be the nice resident of this fine dwelling. He had the good fortune to allow us to stay here."
"Didn't know what hit him."
If the apparition had lips it would have smiled, "They never do."
"Do I really want to know what your secret is?" He squinted down at his bare fur. He couldn't quite see it, but running a paw across his arm he could feel the drying blood; sticky, crusty.
"Guess what city we're in."
"No," his head fell into his paws. He would have cried if he still had it in him. "I'll never be able to get Albuquerque out of my mind. I would have been happy to stay in the fallout."
"Now, now, don't get that whole angst thing going again. We wouldn't want you going off and killing yourself again. It takes too much time before we can have our fun again."
"Fun?" He found himself raising his voice despite the futility of chiding a phantom, "You fucking nuked Albuquerque!"
"You can't go on and on and tell me that us nuking the birthplace of the nuke was epic," the voice rattled off in between his ears.
"How the fuck did you even pull that one off?"
A faint chuckle reverberated about the room. For the life of him, he could never figure out how the damn phantom set off that bomb.
The bunny bounced off the bed. Natural instincts of fight or flight coursed through his body, but he knew there was nowhere to go. Pacing up and down the length of the room was the best he could do. There was no escaping that voice. For decades that voice had been haunting him, possessing him, torturing him.
"I'll ask you again, and if you don't answer plainly I'm going to tear my veins out of my wrists with my big buck teeth and you'll have to deal with that," he said through gritted teeth, "What's your fucking secret, and what city are we in?"
"They are one in the same," the voice cackled in his head, "just like you and me, buddy."
"Go fuck yourself," he moved his wrist up to his mouth. He had tried to end his life on many occasions, with the same result every time: resurrection. Death was not a fun place to be. He didn't remember much of it, but he would wake knowing he had been in Hell. It stayed with him every time, and the wraith seemed to feed off of it. Still, being released from the demon--from his possession--was a release better than any orgasm. He couldn't recall what he did to be condemned like this, but it must have been bad.
"Los Angeles."
"Los Angeles?"
"Los Angeles."
"Los fucking Angeles."
"El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles del Río de Porciúncula," the voice stated matter-of-factly with a perfect accent.
He eyed a closet in the corner adjacent to the bloody heap through the dim light and made his way to it. Opening the double doors he asked, "What brings you to The City of Angels?"
"Us," the voice corrected in a chipper tone.
He tossed a pair of slacks onto the floor, making sure not to let it land in and blood. He needed a shower himself before he could think of leaving the apartment.
"Fine," the bunny decided to make things easier and play along. "What brings us to The City of Angels?"
In a voice that could scrape paint from walls, grind rocks to gems, and curdle blood in veins, it stated, "I want to hear the sound of a million angels dying."
"Shit, shit, shit," he knew that voice, that fucking voice. He reached his wrist to his teeth, but it was too late.
He wasn't himself anymore.
The first thing that went--that transformed--was his eyes. They bite, stung, and burned; in all of an instance he went from being practically blind in the dim light to being blinded by the streaks of light crawling in from the street. Tears coursed down his cheeks as he lost all control over his body. He wanted to scream out, but couldn't.
His fur hurt at the pores. The long strands of fur were being pulled in back into his body. His whole body felt warm all over. His eyes closed and he smiled, but it wasn't what the bunny would have done if his had control. Blood trickled out of where his fur was being pulled backed in.
His paws were next, contorting and crackling into the claws of a demon. The bones of his fingers pulled back, arcing into his wrist as black...things...as strong as steal and as sharp as nothing else on this Earth dug out in their place. His tail felt the same way; it ground back into spine and fused to in the center of his ass crack.
His skin turned to the blackest black, stealing all light while reflecting none, and his face pulsed and flattened and all but disappeared. His ears turned to flat, jagged versions of themselves. His cock even disappeared, sinking into his pelvis like it was made of pudding--what did a demon need with a cock, anyway?
The last things to appear were sharp glowing red and orange designs in the vein of sinister tribal tattoos. A strange horniness fell over the poor bunny, but he could not explain why it came. It always came over him when the transformation stuck and he had his suspicions it was from the demon and not his own reaction.
"Let's get this party started, shall we?" the apparition's voice tore through the silence like crushed metal.
The bunny could feel his mind slipping away like it always did. His possession seemed to be getting stronger and stronger. It really was time for him to off himself once again, just to put the wraith in its place. It there was one thing he was going to have to remember, it was to kill himself immediately upon waking.
He was also sure Los Angeles would not be there when he did wake.
With a wave of its hand, the spirit blew out the wall of the studio apartment into the street below. The silence of the night was molested by its shriek as the thing bounded out of room like a frog outta hell. Its foot claws sliced through the lamppost as it ricocheted off into the night. The sparks -let alone the top of the lamp itself--had yet to reach the ground by the time the specter shot a beeline through the urban-suburbia of Los Angeles, ripping the souls from resting furs with its venomous dripping claws.
Tonight would see the death of ten million angels.