Behind the Black Door: Bad Bad Supergirls, Book One Read online

  Behind the Black Door

  Bad Bad Supergirls, Book One

  Mav Skye

  Contents

  Introduction

  1. The Pig and His Whores

  2. Bring on the Dough--nuts

  3. Kill’Er

  4. The Whistling Deer Head Speaks!

  5. Bite the Apple

  6. The Mud Wrestling Whore Sisters and the Poker Face Demon Spec-tac-u-lar!

  7. Sisters of Pain

  8. Creepier Than a Clown Living in a Gutter with a Knife

  9. The Dead Can’t Dance

  10. Eye for a Bullet

  11. Behind the Black Door

  12. Supergirls For Reals

  13. The Dream of the Stars

  Excerpt of Supergirls 2: Night without Stars

  About the Author

  Also by Mav Skye

  Behind the Black Door, Bad Bad Supergirls, Book One is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Mav Skye, 2014

  Introduction © Jason Michel, 2014

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please contact the author at the following email address: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Mav Skye

  Image © Dreamstime.com

  For Sara and Evonna

  Introduction

  by Jason Michel, Pulp Metal Magazine

  Most people start life with dreams. Some are optimistic, some realistic, some fantastic; most are downright dull. Reveries are dreamed, and made concrete through pure grit and risk. That is what the Hollywood machine would like us to believe, anyway.

  What happens when those ambitions take a turn for the worst? When you find that the grit is finite and running through your fingers?

  Desperate times will cause people to act with a certain abandon. To risk everything for that one good score. The protagonists of this here book are products of pure Americana; their gutsy no-nonsense make-it-happen attitude; the dreamy pop culture sensibility; their impossible fantasy. Even their private name, SUPERGIRLS, tells us of secret optimistic ideals; these two sisters. Family. Yes, there are foul deeds afoot; a physical, psychological violence and a bloody rending of reality, have no fear of that, oh bloodthirsty readers, yet loyalty to family and how much of our desires we may need to sacrifice for kin is right at the pumping heart of this brutal fairytale.

  Mav Skye has written a story of suspense and horror that is woven in sinister psychedelic swirls. It is grounded in the mundane reality of poverty, yet as it unfolds becomes an increasingly surreal and cinematic experience; as if Sam Peckinpah or Tarantino had directed the girls from Scooby Doo, who were all grown up and had taken some real bad life choices. Back in a big old house, filled with secrets and ghosts. Be careful when you open this book: There Be Monsters.

  As I said at the beginning, most people's dreams are dull; Mav Skye, however, she dreams of dark wonders.

  - Jason Michel, PULP METAL MAGAZINE 6/17/14

  The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.

  John Milton, Paradise Lost

  Up, up and away!

  SUPERMAN

  1

  The Pig and His Whores

  Fat Bastard lies on the grizzly rug in silk boxers, his erection sticking out like a flagpole. He’s a sweaty old pig, and still trying to negotiate behind the gag.

  His hands and ankles are tied— “Just the way he likes it,” May singsongs at me with a barefoot tap dance and a nervous grin. She slashes the kitchen knife about her like Zorro and takes a bow.

  I roll my eyes. “Nice tease, whore child. Maybe cover your boobs or something? Geez, look at him.” I point to the pig’s flagpole.

  The pig snorts.

  “Shut up!” May kicks at his ribs. And as she does, the rest of her torn silk nightie falls from her, cascading across Fat Bastard’s belly.

  Fat Bastard laughs, his fake tan glowing orange in the light of the fire. The fireplace rises like a brick tomb to the high ceiling. The moose head hoisted above watches over all.

  “Gawd!” May snatches the nightie from his fat, hairy belly and throws it over her shoulder. It hides a breast. She holds the knife over his heart, carving the air with an x. “I’m sick of his shit. Hurry up, Jenn. Jesus!”

  I say, “The key was here yesterday. I saw him take it out of a book and put it in the desk.”

  May rolls her eyes. “Uh huh.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes,” I say with emphasis.

  “No, really? Sure it wasn’t his eyes?” May points at Godzilla on my t-shirt. Godzilla is breathing fire on a broken heart.

  I flip her the bird. She flips it back.

  I think back to yesterday. May says, “I need a cigarette. Do you got one?”

  “I thought you quit.”

  “Whatever. How’d you see it anyway? You know, the key.”

  I bow my head to the desk and tap my nails on the surface. My brain is tired and wired from waiting outside in the dirt, planning, and no sleep the night before. I have just committed a felony, but—I glance at the fat, hairy thing on the floor—it is for the betterment of mankind, and, most importantly, for May and I.

  “And the wolf said, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and find your money, you shit-faced fucker…”

  “May, please!”

  May flips me off again and sticks out her tongue, because she thinks I can’t see her. Baby sisters are such losers.

  I close my eyes and think back…

  2

  Bring on the Dough--nuts

  (2 Days Earlier)

  I sat in our pink fabric chair in the living room, drumming my hands against my thighs. I felt lightheaded, and hadn’t been able to stop moving. “What’s his name anyway?”

  May smiled. “Frederick Bells. Leroy says he’s fat.”

  Leroy had met May at 7-11 to set up the three-night affair. I ran his name over and over in my mind, trying to recall if another girl had mentioned him. Fredrick Bells didn’t, well… didn’t ring a bell.

  She threw her pills into her Nightmare Before Christmas bag along with her clothes. “Apparently the bastard is sensitive about it.”

  “Fat Bastard,” I said.

  May snorted at me and repeated, “Fat Bastard. Remember Austin Powers?”

  It was our favorite movie to watch together. I wanted to laugh too, but couldn’t bring myself to smile. I had this feeling in my gut, a-pressing-down-something-is-wrong feeling, but this was our chance. May was game to play, and Fat Bastard, or whatever his name was, could not going to get in the way.

  May slung her bag over her back. “Are you sure you’re alright? I think you might be the one who needs help for once.” She giggles as if it is a joke.

  It wasn’t funny. “This is our jackpot, May. I know it.”

  “Maybe.” May frowned back. “I don’t see why you’re so determined for things to change. It ain’t so bad here.”

  We both glanced about our studio. It held: one stained pink reclining chair that we’d picked up on a sidewalk, a chipped plastic table from one of May’s old boyfriends, and two dining chairs made for midgets. Our sleeping bags and pillows were scattered about, along with a
deck of worn playing cards. Our clothes were nicely stacked in plastic milk crates. The dented door hung wrong from when the acid freaks broke in and stole May’s meds.

  Trash. This place was trash. Our whole lives had been trash, even before our mother ran off into the sunset, leaving us to the wolves. It was time to get out. Get out somewhere in the country with fresh air.

  “Not so bad, huh? Living here, working at 7-11, and flipping tricks on the side, that really how you want to live your life?”

  “I thought you liked 7-11.” May shrugged. “Free donuts.” She plucked an old glazed donut off the table and held it up to make her point. “When you say flippin’ tricks it sounds bad. If you say, escort service for gentlemen, it means we’re in business for ourselves. You and me, Jenn, living the American dream.”

  “May.” I rolled my eyes. I wanted to tell her, again, about the little house with--

  “And don’t tell me about the little house with hanging flowers on every porch story again.” May popped an oversized bite of donut in her mouth and said something unintelligible.

  “Whatever.” I stood up and paced. “Keep your eyes open. Call or text me if you see anything.”

  “And what’s your big plan if I do?” came out as “An whath-bi-pla-ifido?” May swallowed the donut and fanned her hands. “I need coffee.” She glanced at our small pot, sighed and shook her head. “No coffee,” and slipped her phone off the charger. She slid it in her back pocket.

  I said, “The big plan? Tie him up, and we’ll take it from there.”

  May laughed, fingering the strap of her bag. Her blonde hair, all pony tailed up, flipped as if on command. “Tie him up? Your ex told me you liked the kinky stuff.”

  “I haven’t had a boyfriend since high school,” I shot back.

  She made a kissing smack with her lips, and faked snapping a whip. “That’s the one.”

  May’s charm was addictive. I said, “Maybe I should tie you up and serve you to Fat Bastard on a silver platter.”

  She suddenly reached out and hugged me. “Just try, twisted sister.”

  I squeezed her back, then let go. She turned to the door and I slapped her on the ass. “Get out of here before I call the cops, whore child.”

  She opened the door. “9-1-1 is hawt.”

  Before I could reply, she said, “Laters.” And slammed the door.

  * * *

  The text came that night:

  money safe! jackpot

  I was working the register at 7-11. Apparently, it was slurpee heaven day. The register was nonstop.

  Between customers, I texted May back:

  where?

  She wrote:

  room

  I took a buck from a kid with glasses and zits the size of M&M’s. As I handed him a penny from the register, he said, “How much does a pack of Camels cost?”

  I pulled my phone from my bra and typed:

  key or code?

  I told the kid. “Your life.”

  The kid’s mouth dropped in an “OH.” He slid his drink off the counter and wandered out. A trucker slammed a coffee on the counter. “And a pack of Virginia slims.”

  I turned to get them, too distracted to be amused, and checked my phone again. May texted:

  silver key. i saw him w/it by safe. Phone dying. Luv U.

  I typed back, Luv u 2.

  * * *

  The second night, I waited in the bushes at Fat Bastard’s gate. At four AM, a dark Lexus pulled out of the driveway and paused. The gate moaned open. I recognized Leroy as the driver. By the pale light held to his ear, I deduced he was talking on the phone.

  The car purred away. I slipped between the metal before it clicked shut. Easy shmeesy. The trimmed lawn rose and fell in gentle waves away from the small mansion. A cluster of tall pines hovered by the fence. I spotted a camera.

  I knew a thing or two about surveillance cameras. You had to when you flipped tricks on the streets where May and I worked.

  I crawled through the yard and looked for the camera’s cable at the base of the tree. It was cut straight through. I inspected the damp dirt at the base of the maple and saw a fresh shoe print, much bigger than my own—a man’s. So, the cable had been clipped recently, as recently as tonight. Tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Someone else was out to get Fat Bastard. I wondered if they knew about his cash stash, too? Didn’t matter, our business would be done and over with tonight.

  I slipped like a shadow down the long driveway. The windows of the Bastard Mansion were covered; the lights off. I crawled into a thick maze of azaleas, rhodies and African daisies planted like a fortress. I wormed along the foundation to the back of the house until I found a bay window. Bingo—no blinds.

  Peeking in, the baby grand sat next to a potted tree, flanked by a high end table and a white leather couch. The window was floor to ceiling, I could watch from beneath the baby grand, relatively concealed. My view was perfectly centered on the fireplace and the desk with the wall of bookshelves behind it.

  As the sun climbed its invisible path, I watched and waited. The house was silent. Nothing happened. Fat Bastard and May must have been sleeping late. I wished I had an ipod… or a doughnut.

  I wiggled out of my sweatshirt, rolled it under my head, and stretched out. Finches flitted in and out of boxwood hedges. Lavender surrounded me. Its strong scent calmed my nerves. Clouds moved in droves across a lazy blue sky, almost hypnotic. I found myself thinking back years ago, May and me, stretched out on a blanket of grass by our trailer court…

  May points at a dead maple towering beside us. “Those ugly crows are secretly fan tailed doves, exiled from their mother’s kingdom in the sky.” And then she says, “It’s hot. I want ice cream. Where does ice cream come from, you think?”

  I wipe sweat off my forehead. “Ice cream drips off clouds, fluffy clouds, just like these, but only at night.”

  May turns on an elbow to face me. “Why not during the day?”

  “Because then,” I say, ”All the rich kids and poor kids would get ice cream. It would be fair. Nothing is ever fair.”

  She nods. “How does it get to the stores?”

  I watch a cloud shaped like a mushroom float by. “It falls on trees like snow, and every morning the elves come from underneath the mushrooms and collect it in buckets and bring it to stores. Only the rich people can buy some whenever they want. Poor people, like us, have get up early, even before the sun wakes up, and steal it before the elves get it.”

  “Really?”

  I nod my head.

  “I wish it was night,” says May.

  A crow flies overhead. For a single instant, its shadow wraps his bird wings about us.

  “Night is coming,” I tell May.

  A bird shrieked and my eyes startled open. The sun had swept to the West and was shedding her pink glory across sky.

  “Shit!”

  I flipped back to my belly and slowly rose myself up to the window. I heard voices inside. A male figure appeared from a hallway to the left, he glided across the wooden floor glancing around the room. The voices were coming from elsewhere. He wasn’t talking.

  He stepped closer to the window and I could tell, from May’s previous description, it was Leroy. He was all done up macho style in a Giorgio Armani black t-shirt and slacks. When had he arrived? I hadn’t heard a car. Must have been while I was snoozing.

  Leroy moved to the bookcase, drew out a book, looked inside it, and pushed it back in. He strode out the same hallway he entered.

  I wondered what was he looking for. Or hiding.

  A minute later, I heard Leroy leave. I knew it was Leroy who left because Fat Bastard paced into the living room, talking on a cell. Gawd, he was fat-- and dripping wet. His hair, what was left of it anyway, slicked back to the nape of his neck, and the wrinkles on his jowls sunk to the ever after. Fold after folds of skin gobbled and wobbled about each other over his nearly nude body. He wore a bright white Speedo so tight his pubic hair poked through. Ewww.


  Must have an indoor hot tub.

  He clapped the cell shut and tossed it on the couch. He searched through his bookcase, found a book (I wondered if it was the same one Leroy popped out), opened it and withdrew a key. A silver key. He turned (I ducked lower) and practically leapt at the cherry wood desk. He opened a drawer slid in the key and slammed it shut. “Just a minute!” he yelled. He must have been talking to May. Fat Bastard replaced the book, and hurriedly exited the room.

  I stared at the cherry wood desk. Bingo. I texted May my plan, hoping her phone still worked.

  3

  Kill’Er

  I lift my head from the desk. “It was after Leroy left and you two were in the hot tub.”

  Fat Bastard breaks out into another protest. May kicks him with her bare heel. “I said shut up, you fat, ugly pig!”

  Fat Bastard quiets.

  May says, “You were in the house?”

  “Yeah, I told you I saw it with my own eyes, that window was open.” I point to the bay window by the bookshelves. I give her a devil’s grin. “I spent most the day watching through that one.” I point at the long window behind the baby grand. “Besides, didn’t you get my texts?”

  “No.”

  She glances away, and I feel a flip flop of guilt in my gut. She looks frail. Dark blotches bloom into larger purple ones on her thighs. Were those bruises? I worry more had gone on here then a little kiss and poke with pimp daddy.

  “How did you know we were in the hot tub?” May demands.

  “I don’t know. Fatty here was decked in a Speedo. He was all wet. I heard noises or… something.” I take out another drawer and dump it over the top of the glossy cherry wood. It holds expensive pens, cigars, and a lighter. There had been a key.